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“You’ll get it back when you do what you came to do.”
Calista huffed, facing Valen again. “You want to unravel all my hard work in fixing you the first time?”
“I think Elise and I did some of the work.”
“Only a bit. Never would’ve happened without me. Now you want to ruin it,” she said, nearly pouting.
“I don’t,” Valen admitted. “But there are children at risk, and there is magic we don’t understand in this war. To get an object needed to win, and if we want to spare a great deal of lives lost, one must be invincible. Unless there are other ways to make one invincible.”
Calista sighed. “I can’t make someone a god. But bring back a fated curse, it could be done.” Elise closed her eyes and turned away. Calista seemed to notice and cleared her throat, her forehead wrinkled with unease. The girl reached into the pocket of her trousers, removing a wadded roll of parchment. “Stefan, my quill.”
“I don’t like this, Cal. Sounds like too much.” The man with the herb roll spoke through a long drag.
Calista rolled her eyes. “He’s my brother and doesn’t think I have the strength to write new tales.”
“It’s not about strength,” Stefan said. “It’s about drawing too much unwanted attention.”
“They’re not hunting me anymore, Stef.” Calista tilted her head toward Valen and Elise. “They won.”
“It’s not distant kingdoms I’m talking about.”
“Forgive my brother,” Calista said. “He believes in ghost stories and old myths. Thinks I’m going to attract the dark godly-like attention.”
“Many of us believe similar things,” Thorvald muttered.
With a shrug, Calista unrolled the parchment. “The way I see it, the Norns gave me my magic, so it’s their fault if I use it.”
“Is it too much for you, Calista?” Elise asked, almost hopeful. “Before you left us last, you mentioned you felt you could not twist any more stories.”
“True,” she said. “But I’ve been learning in the turns we’ve been apart. I have a teacher who’s helped me uncover a few tricks.”
Her brother shifted. He didn’t like this, and I wanted to know why.
“Who is this teacher, and what makes you certain it will help us now?” I asked.
Calista tilted her head, studying me. “I don’t know his name, Shadow Queen. But he’s helped me feel the words instead of trying to outwit the Norns. Seems to work better.”
My eyes widened. “Why do you call me that name?”
“If my brother will stop being stubborn, and if the bleeding sea fae will give up my ink, I suspect you’ll see soon enough.” She looked to Elise and Valen once more. “You’re certain about this? I do not know the endings when I put pen to parchment. I cannot say what will come.”
Valen pressed Elise’s knuckles to his lips, searching his wife’s face. She averted her gaze, looking away toward the ship’s deck. With a sigh, Valen’s shoulders slumped, but he looked back to the girl. “We do not see another choice.”
“If you say so.” Calista cracked her knuckles and nodded. “I’ll do my best to keep you breathing.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
THE MEMORY THIEF
Stefan tossedhis herb roll over the side of the ship and reluctantly pulled out a black raven quill from the pocket of his canvas jacket. He hesitated for a breath, then handed it to his sister.
Thorvald snapped his fingers and one of his sea swabs on the ship revealed an inkwell wrapped in a dirty linen cloth. The swab handed it to Calista, then scurried back to Thorvald’s ship as if standing near land fae would force him to stay on our side of the chasm.
“Once this quill touches parchment, have it understood there is no shortage of messages the Norns may give,” Calista said. “I will alter a path through a curse, but that does not leave anyone in our presence immune to missives of fate.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means, Shadow Queen, when the pathways are opened through me, sometimes hints of destiny come through to help guide another toward a fated path they might not choose otherwise.”
