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With Himureal standing in front of me, I begin to doubt that it was necessary more than I ever have before. As eager as I am to beg for the answers to all my questions, my trust in this God is quite thin, and I doubt the motives of anything he says at this point.
What have I done? Was all the death and destruction for naught? Himureal has no desire to bring back the other Gods, effectively choking off all magic but his own. I spent the past forty years working towards this, and now I wonder if I have doomed us all.
Viola slides out of my hands and steps toward the towering God, looking up at him without fear. I have grown to admire her resolve and bravery, but sometimes, I wonder if she could do with a healthy dose of fear when faced with an adversary.
“I want to make sure I understand what you’re saying, Frostweaver,” she begins, hand resting lightly on her hip. “You’re saying that I am your daughter and you, wherever you were, orchestrated my life to get me here in front of you?”
Frustration laces his face, not unlike when Viola wouldn’t tell him her name. “Not born from my body, no. But you were born of my magic.”
Stepping back from them, I move to Plume’s side, touching her shoulder with mine. We share a look. This God is nothing like what either of us thought he would be, and chances are neither are the other three.
Viola’s hands tap a rhythm on her thighs, and my eyes track it as she speaks. “Aren’t all Winter fae born of your magic?”
He chuckles, a gentle sound so inconsonant with the fierce image he portrays. He taps his fingers together, long, sharp nails clicking loudly. “No, Shadowweaver, they are not. They were able to utilize my magic, but you, as you now are, were created by it.”
Her body stiffens, the shock of what he said freezing her tapping fingers. “Explain.”
Himureal rolls his eyes, frustrated with the exchange, but speaks anyway. “Humans may have banished us, but they also created a door for us to return through. The other Gods and I planted seeds throughout the land to speed our return. One was placed with each of the four families, an insurance that they could bring us back if they regretted their decision. Over time, the families carrying the seeds expanded, and the seeds must have gotten lost, but I knew someone worthy would eventually find mine. And so, you did.” Viola’s nose crinkles, and she looks at me as if I have the answers for her. Unfortunately, I am as lost as she is at this point.
“What seeds?” she asks tentatively. “I never found any seeds.”
He closes the distance between them and touches a stray piece of her hair, then drags his fingers down her cheekbones, lingering a touch too long. Anger blossoms in my chest that he’d touch her so intimately. “Not actual seeds, Shadowweaver. Mine was a Ladder.”
I cannot see her face, but her body language tells me everything I need to know. A rapid step back, hands fisted at her side, legs braced as if she expects an attack.
Viola Mistflow is furious.
“The Witch’s Ladder? That’s what started this?”
The smile that rips across Himureal’s face is devoid of all warmth. “It’s what finished it, my dear. Do you think anyone could have claimed it and made themselves into what you are? The magic you naturally had in your veins sang to the Ladder and made it respond to you. Did it not speak to you, guide you? It recognized my magic within you. I could feel, even locked away, the moment you touched it. The moment you released the first spell awoke a long sleeping part of me. You have always had Winter magic within you – the Ladder just enhanced it to what was inevitable. You were meant to be by my side.”
Her shoulders droop, and she stumbles back, but my hands are there, quickly grabbing her and steadying her against my chest. “It’s really all my fault. Max wouldn’t have died if I hadn’t stolen the Ladder. It made me powerful. I killed her.” Her words are a soft mumble, spoken just for her but overheard by me.
“Even if the magic wasn’t already in you, she still would have died without the Ladder, Viola. It would’ve been during the Wendigo attack, but it still would have happened,” I whisper in her ear, hand closing over her tapping fingers.
“As much as I wish to disagree with the Autumn,” he sneers, “he is correct. Everything that happened was meant to happen. And now, daughter, you will join me. We will assume our proper places at the head of this world, and Winter will become the only magic this land possesses.”
Chapter 55
Viola
“Iamnotgoinganywhere with you, Himureal.”
The words come out before I can barely even blink, but they still ring true. “I have no desire to rid this world of its magic or its Gods.”
He rushes me, snarling in my face, the beauty he possessed transforming into a savage anger at my denial. I push back against an unyielding Mace, an ever-present steadying force at my back.
“You will help me, daughter, because your magic is mine. You will not be able to resist me. You will submit to me, and I will rule this land with you by my side.” Himureal grips the front of my shirt, fingers tight in the fabric. This close, I can feel his cool breath across my face and see the shadows swirling in his eyes.
The more upset he gets, the wilder he becomes, showing that all our mothers were right about the horrors of Himureal.
I grab his hand and wrench it from my shirt. He lets me. “I am tired of being told what to do. I am tired of men trying to make my decisions for me. I want to settle down and just exist for once in my fucking life. I owe that to Max. I’m not fighting your battles for you.”
He moves to snatch me from Mace’s arms when bright white light floods the space, blinding all of us momentarily. As the light fades, I spot Morrow, silent until now, bright lights floating off him. Before I can blink, thick green vines covered in flower buds wrap around Himureal’s arm, holding it down and allowing me to slip from beneath his grasp. I take a breath, and the vines surrounding the God begin to wither with decay, leeching magic out of the God.
Morrow sends flames licking up the legs of Himureal, but they’re quickly doused with water. He fights against the vines, the skin touched by them morphing from stark white to a sickly green. I see flecks of gray flying around Mace, and a boulder lands on Himureal’s feet, a roar leaving his mouth. Shadows whip around the God, reaching to grab us and hold us back. My shadows rush to meet his, tangling in an almost even match that I can only hope buys us enough time.
“Run, Viola!” Plume shouts, heading for the exit of the garrison with Morrow. Plume grabs Tulip’s arm as she darts by, wrenching her from her seat and leading the two down the hall to the elevator, where this all began.
