Page 115 of Veil of Blood and Bone

“The Unseelie Fae want the chance to stage their comeback and claim power for their own. Control,” Hríd adds. “They say the strings of destiny that have already been woven are coming to an end, and soon the Norns will have to spin fresh thread.”

My stomach drops, but my voice holds firm when I ask, “Any idea of a time?”

Fuck me.

The Norns are ancient, influential, and deeply irritating.

Imagine fate itself run by vindictive older sisters.

Needless to say, I'm not a fan.

“It’s a big deal, Wren.” Hríd gentles his tone, eyes narrowed.

Pressing my cards so tight to my chest grows tedious. Shoving them in his face might ruin everything.

“You think I don’t know?” I steal a steadying breath. “They only weave fresh thread every few thousand years.”

It opens up options for many different factions to come out of the closet. Virgin weavings are a time to forge new alliances, solidify old ones, change destinies, and make bold choices.

If the threads reshape...

Could I finally stop watching her die?

The wind kicks up with a mournful banshee wail. When I glance at the window again, it’s shuttered against the cold and ice, and Helene is gone.

“The rumors were worth the trip past the river. I thought you’d want to know even if there is nothing you can do about it.”

“Selflessness? I’m shocked.”

Hríd stares at something to the left, his blue skin tight across the bones of his face, ignoring my tone. “The Norns spinning fate...” he trails off.

“Huge,” I add.

They never work their weavings in my favor, those sibilant bitches.

Hríd steps in front of me to block another pelt of snow. His lanky form bends with the blow, and it cuts around him. For a long moment we do nothing but stare at each other, read each other.

This world is poised to tip, and the domino effect of a new weaving will either give me the advantage I’ve lacked or someone else will take it.

I’m not stupid enough to go up against the gods and Draven at the same time. Not unless I find a way to reframe it.

Hríd inches backward. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

“You didn’t answer me, either,” I say, rocking back on my heels. “How long?”

He shakes his head. “It’s impossible to know. Time is such a foreign concept. And when you’re dealing with immortals, they have much of the stuff. They may make their move the moment the new threads weave together. Or they may choose to act a hundred years from now.”

“No. They won’t wait.”

They think I fell in love—as if that’s the problem. The problem is I keep losing her.

“My thoughts too.” His form thins.

“What? Leaving so soon?”

“The worlds are stirring, Wren. This place is too steeped with the leaking of the mist. And if any of them sense my exit, they will come running. We’ve already taken a significant risk in meeting like this.”

“Then I appreciate your bravery, my friend.” I tip my head toward him. “Always.”