Page 182 of The Reaping Rose

Malachi’s eyes shift to him. “Maybe you are not paying attention. This is a story. That which you will fulfill because of those fates and gods.”

“We aren’t doing anything for you.”

“She already has.” Malachi’s eyes gleam in response, flicking to me. “All we need is already here. Need… there’s that word again. I warned you that you would need me.”

“Is that so?” I lift my chin. “It seems you need me more.”

“You have no idea how right you are.”

That answer sends a chill down my spine. Wilder’s hand lands on my lower back, his fingers curling like he senses it too. We always knew we were walking into a trap but hoped that if we delayed long enough, we would get the upper hand.

As Malachi watches me, a trickle of doubt seeps into my belly.

“It is difficult to see the path until we reach the end sometimes. I used to want things, like you. And like you, I did not understand that the fates do not care.” He reaches for the orb again, and my stomach immediately sickens. “The fates answer to no one, not even the gods. What the Luminess weaves cannot be undone. Fate always has a way to fix itself. You may hate what you think I am doing, but I am simply the instrument correcting what you broke.”

“I didn’t break this.” I wave out my arms to the scorched beach. “The realms collided long before I was of flesh and blood.”

“The realms are not all that has been broken. They are simply a result of what was done.”

“What is that?” From the corner of my eye, something sparks, so I shift, keeping Malachi’s attention toward me.

He’s spouting the ramblings of a mind long gone, but maybe if I can keep him talking, then I can delay what he might be planning.

The orb twists between his fingers. No one on the beach has moved or spoken. Has he bound us all in place? My limbs are unusually heavy, practically unmoving.

A crinkling web of torn flesh climbs his neck, as if the surge from the orb has ripped him open. Just as quickly, it sews back together. Healing and breaking. How many times has the orb done as much to him? How much longer can his body withstand the power in that object?

Malachi closes his eyes, but I’m not daft enough to think I can attack. He watches even when he doesn’t.

“When I was gifted this necklace, I was given a story along with it.” Malachi’s dark eyes meet mine. “To be without it is to be lost. And to be with it is to be found. To bear the gods-touched orb is to bear a map of the stars, so that all that binds can be put back together.”

He steps forward, his face solemn.

“I did not wish this on my realm. But I saw what my father had done. A king who did not fight for his people. Who colluded with those who were against us. So I sought to fix that, and I was given the gift—the power to do what I wished. What some see as an unmaking is simply creation. I only unwrite this so that I can create something new. Something better for my people… so long as I could find my other half.”

“I am not yours, and I’m certainly not your other half.”

“You are not my mate,” he agrees with me. “But that does not mean you aren’t the other half of what I need. When you rewove fate bringing Wilder back, I saw what we could be. Together, we can do so much more.”

“I already told you I will not help you.”

His eyes darken. “You will not have a choice. Your fate is already written. The unmaking of the daughter of the stars is all that can put us back together.”

My throat tightens. Lady Reah’s words from Tempest ring in my memories.

“The price you pay may be yourself.”

It doesn’t make sense as Malachi moves toward me. My throat seizes when I cannot move or blink. He begins to close the distance, and I fear he might until something dark weaves between us.

Only this time, it’s not Hazel. A flutter of shadow condenses, and then Esen is there. Her shoulders are pulled tight, but her fingers are relaxed.

“What have you brought me, Elorie?” Malachi’s eyes narrow, looking Esen over as Hazel lifts her hand.

Liquid shadow reaches out but touches nothing. It becomes fragments before it can reach Esen.

Hazel’s eyes widen, and for a beat, the composed mask slips from Malachi’s face.

“Immune to my sister’s magic?” His eyes narrow. “Let’s see how you do against a gods’.”