I swallowed a groan. This day just kept getting better.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Winter
The red thread shimmered in the air between us, impossibly thin yet impossibly strong, connecting my index finger to Fenric's as if we'd been stitched together by some cosmic seamstress. It pulsed with a gentle rhythm that matched the blue markings on my arm.
"What is this place?" I whispered, afraid that speaking too loudly might disturb the thousands of similar threads that crisscrossed the vast chamber around us.
We stood in what Fenric had called the Bureau's Deep Archive, a sealed, ancient sub-level beneath the main tower that I hadn't known existed until he'd summoned me this morning. The circular room stretched at least a hundred feet in diameter, its ceiling lost in shadow above. The walls were mirrored, reflecting the threads that filled the space like a three-dimensional spider's web, each one glowing with varying intensity.
"The Red Thread Archive," Fenric's voice was hushed. "The Bureau's most classified facility. Only those with Seer blood or prophetic markings can enter."
I glanced at him, surprised. "Is that why you insisted on escorting me? Because of your Seer heritage?"
His ears turned pink slightly at the tips. "Partially. The Archive can be disorienting for first-time visitors. Especially those with active prophetic energy."
What he wasn't saying was obvious, he hadn't wanted me going in alone. The realization warmed something in my chest that I tried to ignore.
"And these threads?" I gestured around us with my free hand, careful not to disturb the one connecting us.
"Fate bonds. Prophecy lines. Destiny connections." Fenric's silver-blue eyes followed the intricate patterns. "Every major prophetic event leaves an imprint here. The Archive records them all."
I studied our connecting thread more carefully. Unlike the others, which seemed fixed in their patterns, ours moved slightly, swaying like seaweed in a gentle current.
"Why is ours moving?"
"Because it's active," Fenric pointed to some threads. "Your prophecy is still unfolding. The others are completed or severed."
I noticed several threads that ended abruptly, their cut ends frayed and darkened. "Severed?"
"Interrupted prophecies. Failed ones. Or those that were deliberately terminated." His expression tightened. "Not all prophecies reach their intended conclusion."
That was a cheerful thought. Yay me.
"So why are we here?" I tried to focus on the task at hand rather than the unsettling implications of all those broken threads.
"Information," Fenric finally released my finger, our connecting thread dissolving into sparkling motes that drifted away like embers. "The Bureau's databases have been compromised. We need to research Chalice-bearers, and this is the only secure repository left."
My heart skipped. "Compromised? You mean the cultists have infiltrated the Bureau?"
"We don't know yet. But after your encounter with the Harbingers and the subsequent attacks, the Director is taking no chances." Fenric moved deeper into the Archive, his footsteps unnaturally silent on the stone floor. "This facility exists outside normal space-time. No electronic or magical surveillance can reach it."
I followed him, careful not to touch any of the threads we passed. Some seemed to reach toward me as I moved, drawn to my prophetic energy like plants to sunlight.
"The information on Chalice-bearers should be in the central repository," Fenric led me toward a raised dais in the center of the chamber. "Historical records, previous manifestations, potential outcomes."
"Previous manifestations? You mean I'm not the first?"
"Chalice prophecies are rare but not unique. The Bureau has records of at least seven previous occurrences throughout history." He paused, glancing back at me. "None in the last three centuries, however."
"Let me guess. They all ended badly?"
Fenric's silence was answer enough.
We reached the dais, which held a circular table of black marble. Its surface was inlaid with silver symbols that shifted and rearranged themselves as we approached.
