Page 84 of The Blood Queen

Throw away my—

My eyes widen. “If I cut the High Blade’s thread,” I start, “what will it cost me?”

“Ah,” the middle-aged woman sighs. “Now she starts asking the right questions.”

“What will it cost me?” I repeat through my teeth.

The youngest smiles. It’s small. Sad. “A life for a life, to cut a thread.”

Samson sucks in a breath, angling his body alongside mine like he can take a blow for me. “No,” he grunts, grabbing my arm. “No—that’s—”

He silences when he sees the look on my face. Calculating. Considering.

A life for a life.

Who died when the Faerie Queen vanished? She cut her own thread, right—by accident, surely, but…

Someone else died when she did. Not the High Blade. She must have contrived for someone else to take the fall. Some poor, desolate creature who had no choice, who followed orders, who did everything, everything they were asked to—

I drop my chin to my chest, heart racing, sorrow fighting with anger fighting with grief. I don’t say anything, but I think the goddesses can see my resolution.

“We’ll find a different way,” Samson says, his voice cracking.

I glance up in time to see the youngest shrug. She’s still watching me, observant and steady. “There are always other ways. There are always other questions.”

Anger creeps up through me, pinching my throat, constricting my lungs. At every turn, even when there seems to be help, there are only more riddles, and I’m sick of it. If this threat is so severe that these powerful goddesses came to offer aid, then they should offer aid, not taunt me with ambiguity.

“How do I fix this?” I demand. “How do I stop fate?”

The crone nods, an oddly relieved smile on her stoic face. “Now that’s the right question.” She taps the youngest on the shoulder with her cane. The young woman steps aside, and the crone levels me with a glare. “Just be sure it’s a price you’re willing to pay. You’re dealing with old magic.”

That’s what the Damhan-Allaidh said. Blood and sacrifice to fuel the magic.

I suck in a breath.

Cutting the High Blade’s thread is going to cost me something.

A sacrifice.

A life for a life.

To rewrite fate. To rethread it.

They kept saying there was another way, but there’s only one path I’m seeing.

The crone nods solemnly, her gaze unbreaking.

“Excuse me, what does any of this mean?” Samson says.

I blink.

And time restarts.

21 Samson

White light washes over us.

I throw myself around Alyth, shielding her as much as I can, and the moment the light recedes, I whirl. I still have the sword, and I unsheathe it, primed for attack—