Page 30 of Bought By the Manticore

Flowers bloomed aggressively over the streets, over the buildings, even over the barges and the canals. But these asphodels didn’t glow, nor did they seem friendly. They were born of Skaros’s anger, fueled by his outrage and loneliness.

Mere hours before, Eryx had dragged Ianthe into the depths of Thanatos’s temple. The moment I heard about it, I knew it was a mistake. My son had been woven a predator, but he would never take what wasn’t offered. Not even as a shade.

But for once no one had asked me for my wisdom. And now, my son was ripping Asphodelia apart for his mate. I couldn’t even blame him for it.

He wouldn’t listen to me. He might have, once, but those days were long over. The only voice he’d hear was that of the woman whose touch he was being denied. And for all that I was the Auctioneer, I could not reach a bride who was in a healer’s care—no matter how misguided that healer was.

But this was Asphodelia, and it was not me whom Eryx needed to obey. It was not my eyes that truly saw everything.

By the time I reached the Weavers’ Hall, the three Moirae were already waiting for me. They sat together in front of the Great Loom, studying it in pensive silence.

I padded up to Clotho and bowed, my claws raking against the basalt. “Revered Moirae, I come with a request.”

“On behalf of your Weaveline,” Clotho replied without looking at me. As always, the Spinner looked untouched by anything happening around her. I envied that about her. About them all.

“We know, Phix,” Lachesis added. “Skaros has been making his fury known. Very loudly.”

The shadows of the Weavers’ Hall seemed to lengthen with every word they spoke. I’d never feared my creators’ powers. Harming the Woven was beneath the Moirae. And yet… For my son, I was afraid.

As if guessing my thoughts, Atropos let out a sharp bark of laughter. “That manticore of yours… He was hungrier than we knew. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was trying to drain the Acheron dry.”

It wasn’t possible. I knew it wasn’t. But the mere mention of it—especially by the Crone—made my wings twitch with an anxiety I’d never felt before.

“Phix,” Atropos continued, her voice suddenly far more somber. “We knew when your son was unwoven that he was not truly prepared to let go. We didn’t touch his energy because we sensed that someday, somehow, a death-touched bride might be able to reach him in a way we could not.”

“We had no way of knowing when that day would be,” Lachesis mused. “Our knowledge of your son’s destiny was severed the day he was unwoven. But even we are not arrogant enough to believe that every outcome is dictated by what we weave.”

The three Moirae finally turned toward me and spoke in a single voice. “You are Skaros’s mother. You knew him best, and you are our first Woven. Tell us, Phix. What do you think we should do?”

It wasn’t unusual for the Moirae to ask for my advice. Sometimes, it was a test. Other times, it was a reminder that on Alia Terra, they weren’t all-powerful deities like they’d once been.

And there were the rare cases when they genuinely wanted to know. I couldn’t tell which it was this time, but it didn’t matter. There was only one reply, something that had been on my mind since hearing what happened to Ianthe in the infirmary.

“Revered Moirae, you and I both know there was nothing wrong with my son’s weave. He was born that way specifically to consume the mortal Ianthe’s flesh.”

The Moirae didn’t deny it. Whether they’d intended it or not, they’d obviously seen the truth much sooner than I had. “And yet, their threads are still entangled,” Clotho replied. “They cannot reach for each other. That bodes ill.”

No, it did not. And there was no way to fix it, not really. No way… Except by having faith.

“I realize you can’t weave my son back the way he was,” I said. “I’d never ask for such a thing. All I wish for is a chance. Allow me to reach for him, one last time.”

Behind the Moirae, the Great Loom started to vibrate. Was it also responding to my son’s rampage, or did it know something I didn’t?

“And what do you think you can change, Phix?” Clotho asked. “What would you do if we were to give you a chance?”

I thought about the way the flowers had constantly hounded my steps since Skaros’s fall. I thought about his silent loneliness, the burden he’d carried every single day of his life.

Perhaps my plan was cruel. Perhaps by doing this, I would only be sealing my son’s fate.

But when all the wisdom of Asphodelia failed, I had to trust a stronger power. I had to trust my son’s heart.

“Revered Moirae, the mortal Ianthe does not belong in Asphodelia. For my son’s sake, we must send her away.”

12

The Bride’s Choice

Ianthe & Eryx