A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire 1)

“I believe so,” Holland confirmed. “Eythos made the deal with Roderick shortly after he learned of the prophecy. But again, so many things can change a prophecy. That can change the meaning and the intention behind every single word.”

“Well, that’s great,” Nyktos muttered, and I almost laughed.

Holland’s smile was sympathetic. “There is never just one string that charts the course of a life or how that life will impact the realms.” Holland opened his hand, spreading his fingers wide. I gasped as numerous strands appeared, no thicker than a thread and shimmering a bright blue. “There are dozens for most lives. Some even have hundreds of possible outcomes. You.” His gaze lifted to me, and I swallowed. “You have had many strings. Many different paths. But they all ended the same.”

A chill skated down my spine. “How?”

“Sometimes, it’s better not to know,” he answered.

Penellaphe drifted closer. “But, sometimes, knowledge is power.”

I nodded. “I want to know.”

A brief, fond smile appeared, and then Holland said, “Your paths have always ended in your death before you even saw twenty-one years of life.”

I went numb. Before age twenty-one…? That was…gods, that was soon.

Nyktos stepped forward, partly blocking me. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You may be a Primal,”—Holland’s attention shifted to him—“but you are not a Fate.”

“Fate can go fuck itself,” Nyktos growled. His skin had thinned, revealing the swirling shadows underneath.

“If only.” Holland’s smile was faint, clearly unbothered by the storm brewing within Nyktos. “Death always finds you, one way or another.” His focus had returned to me. “By the hands of a god or a misinformed mortal. By Kolis himself, and even by Death.”

I stilled, my heart lurching.

“What?” Nyktos snarled.

“There are many different threads,” Penellaphe said softly, looking up at Nyktos. A great sadness had settled into her features. “Many different ways her death could come at your hands. But this one.” She lifted a finger, nearly touching one of the shimmering strands—a thread that appeared to have broken off into another shorter thread. “This was not intentional.”

“What are you talking about?” Nyktos demanded.

“She has your blood in her, doesn’t she?” she asked.

Nyktos went so still, I wasn’t sure he even breathed. My gaze darted between them. “I don’t have his blood. He hasn’t—” I sucked in a breath. The night Nyktos had fed from me. I’d bitten his thumb and drew blood. I’d tasted it. I saw the moment Nyktos remembered. I twisted toward Holland. “It was just a drop. Barely even that.”

“But it was enough,” Holland stated. “The ember of life in you is strong enough to cause you to have the symptoms of the Culling, but it wasn’t strong enough to push you into the change. The symptoms would’ve eased off, but not now. Not with the blood of a powerful Primal in you. You will go into the Culling.”

“No.” Nyktos shook his head, twists of eather swirling in his eyes. “She can’t. She’s not a godling. She’s mortal—”

“Mostly,” Penellaphe whispered. “Her body is mortal. As is her mind.” She looked at me, her eyes glistening. “But what has always been inside of you is Primal. It doesn’t matter that both of your parents were mortal. You were born with an ember of not one but two Primals inside you. That’s what will attempt to come out.”

“That can’t happen.” Nyktos thrust a hand through his hair, dragging the strands back from his face. “There has to be a way to stop it.”

“There isn’t.” I gripped my knees as I looked between Holland and the goddess. “Is there? No special potion or deal to be made?”

Holland shook his head. “No. There are some things that not even the Primals can grant. This is one of them.”

“She won’t—” Nyktos cut himself off as he turned to me. I’d never seen him so pale, so horrified.

“This isn’t your fault.” I stood, surprised that my legs weren’t shaking. “I did it. You didn’t. And it’s not like you had any way of knowing that would happen.”

“So reckless. Impulsive,” Holland murmured.

A laugh choked me. “Yeah, well, you’ve always known that is my greatest flaw.”

“Or greatest strength,” Holland countered. “Your actions could’ve given whatever it was Eythos believed upon hearing the prophecy a chance to come to fruition.”

Both Nyktos and I stared at him. “What?”

“Look closer at this thread.” Penellaphe lifted a finger once more to the string that had broken off. “Look.”

Nyktos’ head lowered as he stared. At first, I saw nothing, but when I squinted… I saw it—the shadow of a thread, barely there and ever-changing in length, stretching farther than any of the other threads and then shrinking to the length of the others.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s an unexpected thread. Unpredictable. It is the unknown. The unwritten,” Penellaphe explained. “It is the one thing that not even the Fates can predict or control.” The corners of her lips turned up. “The only thing that can disrupt fate.”