Page 83 of The Blood Queen

“It depends on what you do,” the matronly one says, as if this was all incredibly obvious.

“Could I…” I pause, wary. The fae deal with trades; the answer to any question comes at a price. But these beings are not fae. I think. I risk it. “Could I stop time with the Faerie Queen’s loom? Is that what I’m supposed to do?”

“What is fate but time?” The youngest holds up her hands, fingers splayed as if there are threads connecting them. “It’s all the same in the end.”

“Except for what you change,” the middle-aged one says.

“Obviously,” the crone adds.

“Are you saying that fate can be changed?” Samson asks. He glances at me, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

The eldest thunks her cane on the ground. “Fate is as impossible to change as time.”

But…they’ve stopped time. They’ve changed the way time flows. So it’s not impossible at all.

For them at least.

“Speaking of that,” the middle-aged one says, “it’s almost time for you lot to go back.”

My heart thuds. We’ll have to face the Red Caps again as soon as these goddesses restart time. I step closer to Samson.

I won’t leave him again.

I won’t run again.

“You will,” the crone says, looking right at me, and I get the distinct impression she’s reading my mind. She smiles, teeth crooked, many of them missing.

“We can at least give them a little help,” the youngest says.

“What do you call this?” The matronly one gestures broadly.

The youngest ignores the woman. She steps closer to Samson and me. “Remember, when weaving, what you need to break is not the warp.”

I nod. The threads strung into the loom itself are difficult to set up, and they’re the foundation of the fabric. The weft threads are the ones woven in and out of the warp threads to complete the cloth.

But she’s not talking about regular weaving.

She’s talking about the Faerie Queen’s loom.

I remember the needle I plunged into the High Blade’s leg, the droplet of blood magically trapped in it. Miraculously, I still have this needle, tucked safely again in my bodice. And we had already figured out what to do with it.

“I need to break a weft thread,” I clarify, nodding solemnly. Use the needle to find the right thread, and sever the High Blade from fate itself. Why are they stopping time to tell us what we already knew to do?

The youngest cocks her head, sorrow flashing across her face. “That’s one way. A violent way.” Her eyes go to Samson, an implied a Red Cap way hanging between us.

Her words reverberate in my mind.

That’s one way.

Cutting the High Blade’s thread and removing her from time the same way she removed the Faerie Queen—that’s how we’ll defeat her. Goddesses speak in darker riddles than even the fecking fae, but I can’t let myself be distracted by twisted words. Of course there are other ways to use a loom that controls fate, but we don’t have time to figure them out. We can’t be like my damned father; we have to act. Now.

These goddesses know though. They know how to weave fate.

I make an inhuman sound of frustration. “Fine. What else can I do? Just tell me already. How else can I use the loom?”

The middle-aged one snorts. “Mortals. Always so quick to go the path of bloodshed.”

“There are always other ways,” the crone says. “You don’t have to throw away your life, child.”