Fates

20

Miranda lay in stillness after Corinthe left; even the beating of her heart was muffled. She didn’t breathe. She didn’t move.

Then, at last, she inhaled deeply, a gasp that was also a laugh.

She was hurt. It had not all been a deception. But she had known, too, that she could use the injury to convince Corinthe that she was to blame for all the destruction, that she must kill Luc or bear the guilt of Miranda’s death.

Her shelves had been broken and most of her bottles shattered, spilling her precious tinctures and potions. But she was able to salvage some crushed poppy, which would help her pain, and slowly she extricated herself from the rubble. Her powers were weakened; she had to do it the human way: by climbing. She had to stack the rubble, piece by painstaking piece, before using it as a springboard.

Thankfully, not all her powers were gone.

She made it to the lagoon just in time to see Corinthe go under. So. Corinthe was at last going to return to Pyralis.

This was it: the moment she’d been waiting for. The chance to show the Tribunal that the destruction of Pyralis could be orchestrated—that they should have listened to her all along.

They would bow to her now, look to her for leadership and counsel. She would control the Radicals. Together, they might grow even more powerful than the Unseen Ones.

The irony, the part that was poetic, was that she would use one of their own to do this. A Fallen Fate, the first Fallen Fate, would be the key to their demise. Ten years in Humana had changed Corinthe, and Miranda had been the one shaping her. She had trained her, subtly and slowly, for choice—for one choice, at least.

She had waited for ten years for the perfect opportunity, and when she received the marble from the Messenger, she had known: the fate within it had been Corinthe’s. She was destined to die by the boy’s hand. But the marble was cloudy and hard to interpret; and Corinthe had readily believed in a different meaning. She wanted to believe. She wanted to believe that she would at last go home.

Miranda dove into the lagoon. The trail left by Corinthe was faint, but Miranda followed it down into the swirling mass of color at the bottom of the pond. Faint strains of music filtered through the water, a tune familiar enough to cause a moment of pain in her heart.

That was the past.

The future now depended on one girl. Would Corinthe have the strength to do it? She would save herself; but she would also bring about the destruction of Pyralis.

Miranda kicked and propelled herself forward. The farther she swam, the more the pain eased in her head and limbs. Above, a dull purple light glistened, and she swam toward the surface. The pressure on her limbs had eased. She felt strong again.

Surely her plan could not fail. Not after everything she’d done to make it happen.

Miranda broke through the surface just as Corinthe was sloshing—shivering, thin, and pathetic, like a wet dog—to the shore. Hazy purple light filled the sky. Tiny fireflies blinked over the water. Miranda dove back under and swam several yards farther, to be sure Corinthe did not see her.

Once Miranda could stand, she stepped out of the river, kicking off her waterlogged sandals. Even the stones here were soft, as though they were made of velvet. Everything in Pyralis felt pliable, as if waiting to be molded into something else, something better.

Her fingers itched to unleash a storm, winds so strong they could swallow up the beauty of this place, but she knew it wouldn’t work. She’d tried before, when she was younger, stronger.

Only the Fates had power here: Corinthe and her sisters, the forever-children. Only they could act in this twilight world.

So she had waited, and waited, and waited, until patience became like a taste curled under her tongue, bitter and ever familiar.

Miranda glanced at the sky and smiled. The twilight was fading already. Her plan was working, and the time had finally come for her to exact revenge on the Unseen Ones.

There was just one thing left to do to ensure that Pyralis would be destroyed forever.