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I sigh, grinding my palms into my eye sockets. “Help me with what, exactly?”
Branwen shrugs, far more nonchalant about this than I would be if I were her. “I don’t know specifically, but I have a general idea. And if you’re honest with yourself… so do you.”
Wooden beams exploding into a thousand pieces. Fire flaring to life in the sconces, surging flames ten feet tall and white-hot. Handprints—an exact match to mine—burned into the stone. Each moment flashes through my mind like a movie scene.
No… No. Surely that’s not… exploding earlier tonight—Fates, was that really tonight?—
“Maybe it will help if I explain what brought me here,” she suggests, stretching out her legs to mirror my position.
I nod, dumbly. Because apparently that’s all I’m capable of right now.
“I come from a long line of human Omegas who have the Sight. Which, put plainly—and ignoring a thousand nuances—means we see flashes of the future.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it,” I murmur, and she throws her head back and laughs. It’s so ridiculous, I can’t keep my own lips from twitching at the sound.
“In my defense, there’s really no good way to break that kind of news to someone. Something I think you can relate to… if I’m not mistaken.”
The look she gives me does more to convince me she’s telling the truth than anything she could have said. I dart a worried glance over her shoulder toward the Alphas, but I don’t know why. It’s not like it’s a secret.
And Soren’s going to know soon enough.
“Alright. But what does this… have to do with me?”
“For two decades, the women in my family have been shown visions of you. All of us. Repeatedly. Vision after vision of an Omega with white hair and blue eyes—”
“That could be anybody.”
“It could be,” she agrees, taking my interruption in stride. “Until a few years ago, when things started to change. That’s when we began to receive visions of you, specifically.”
“What does that mean? Like you were watching me?”
Gods… that’s terrifying. If that’s the case, they didn’t see anything good, that’s for sure.
Branwen shakes her head. “No. It's more… abstract than that.”
“Abstract how?”
Her brown eyes lock on mine, and when she answers, her voice softens. “We saw a white bird in a golden cage. The door was unlocked, but she couldn’t escape. We saw the Five threads of Fate appear and wrap tightly around the bird’s delicate neck, binding to her for eternity. One thread burns. Two weep. One is wrapped in shadows. The last searches.”
Her tone changes as she speaks; no longer a traumatized Omega, she speaks now with confidence. With authority I can only dream of possessing.
“Three months ago, the visions increased. New ones came with frequency, like chapters from a book. A music box made of a burgundy wood none of us have ever seen, gilded in gold and sapphires. But when you lift the lid, there is no song. Instead, it tells a story. In a language we’ve never heard, yet it feels so familiar it aches. Then we saw the infant. Lying in a crib on a mattress made of clouds and silk. Glowing orbs float gently overhead; a haunting lullaby dances through the air. The infant sleeps peacefully… even as shadows snake into cracks unseen and reach for her with grasping, angry hands.”
Branwen’s voice.
It’s… changing.
I lean in, almost certain I hear an echo, like something is speaking through her.
“We saw a stone archway, half buried in the Earth. Scattered cracks pulse with glowing violet light, and carved upon the highest point… a name. Idril. Idril. Idril. Voices whisper and hands claw—reaching from the other side. So many hands. So many eyes.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. I’m half aware of the Alphas moving behind me, but Branwen’s not. She doesn’t see them. I don’t think she sees anything. At least… nothing here, in front of her.
“A castle on what was once a cliff, surrounded by rolling hills of Pine. Windows lit. Blood dripping down the walls. The voices whisper your name through the foundation and under the Earth. Idril. Idril.”
Her eyes snap open, sharp and knowing. She takes a deep, steadying breath. Then warily, she moves, inching closer toward the front of the cage. At first I think she’s trying to get out, so I start to move, but she reaches out, placing a hand on top of my leg to stop me.
She flips her hand over, palm up like an offering—a question.
