Yylene bit her lip, sagging a little over the table. She was only seventeen. Loss still hit her deep. But then, I supposed it hit us all deep. We just learned how to cover the wounds with other things. Stitch it up with the threads of our next task.

Atrius’s warriors were well-trained and battle-hardened. They were calm and professional. And yet, that feeling was the same. The same fear. Why did that surprise me, that these near-immortal creatures felt so close to death in these moments, too?

I let him pull me up to the cart. When he dusted his hands off, he gave me a lopsided grin. “But hey, maybe you’ll be different. You’re just his type, actually.” “His type?” Erekkus leaned forward and gave me a conspiratorial smirk. He held out a finger with each word. “Beautiful. Mysterious. Dangerous. And an obvious, clear-as-the-fucking-moon

I sat up straighter. “What an ominous silence,” I said. “Mm,” Atrius replied, unhelpfully.

Yes, it was difficult to get the attention of a god. But this? This was enough. In fact, it was enough to get the attention of two.

“Sylina,” Atrius was saying to me. “Stay right here. Stay right here.” And then, closer to my ear, “Vivi. Stay right here.”

“So that’s your incentive to keep me alive,” I said, returning to his side. “We’ll both be equally fucked if I die.” My language must’ve been surprising, because Erekkus arched his brows and shook his head. “What?” I said. “I’m religious, so I can’t curse?” He froze for a moment before resuming his work.

The Arachessen were not supposed to feel extreme emotions—infatuation, elation, terror, hatred. These things clouded our minds. They made it impossible to be impartial. Arachessen were encouraged to be passionate, of course—passionate for our Weaver, our Sisters, and our pursuit of Rightness. But our passion was a steady love, deep and calm like

It was not a sacrifice. It was an exchange: Close your eyes, child, and you will see an entire world.