Page 59 of Unraveling Fate

Cadenza sipped her tea. “What’s that?”

Drostan leaned across the table. “With what do they weave? Neither tapestries nor fate are woven out of thin air.”

“Precisely,” Taran said. “The earth sings. Creation makes music. You hear it all the time. People like you and my mother are able to pull this energy, this music, from the world and spin it into the Thread used by the Fates. Much like how people spin fibers into thread on a spinning wheel. But the earth needs energy to make its music, which is where the Crown—that’s the “king” I mentioned the other night—comes in. He or she forms a connection between the sun and the earth, concentrating the sun’s energy and feeding it to what you could call the soul of the earth.”

“Think of it this way, lass,” Drostan said. “The sun grows grass. Sheep eat the grass and grow wool. People take the wool and spin the fibers on a spinning wheel to make thread. Weavers take the thread and make cloth. Other people wear the cloth. So, in our analogy, the Crown grows the ‘grass’ or delivers the energy that feeds the earth. The earth and everything that comes from it grows the ‘wool’ or makes the music. Spinners spin the music into ‘thread’ or organize the energies that affect us all into a usable form—like how you organized the music into a shield to protect Taran. The weavers, or the Fates, weave the thread into ‘cloth,’ or the patterns of destiny for each person on earth. People then ‘wear’ the cloth—or follow the destiny set for them.”

“People choose their own destiny,” Cadenza said stubbornly, her headache returning. Outside of that, Drostan’s explanationmade theoretical sense, but she didn’t see how something that blew up lights or shattered lightning bolts could be worked into something as biddable as this Thread they spoke of. And the information they’d given her so far just brought up more questions.

“But where are you guys in the production line? And I still don’t see why you’re upset that I’m a Spinner, Drostan.”

His face fell. “We’re guards, Caddie. Protectors. You only need guards if there’s something to guard against.”

She turned to Taran. “Your mother…?”

His jaw tightened, and the drums boomed deeper, but Drostan answered first. “Have you ever heard of the God of Silence?”

She shook her head.

“Like the Fates, or the weaver legends, he’s had various names throughout history and across countries. But no matter the name, his cultists have endured. They see the music of the world as inherently noisy and chaotic, the antithesis of their god. They’ve worked for centuries to destroy the music. They’re the buggers who attacked our Crown.” His jaw worked back and forth. “And killed Eithne. Call themselves the Silence.”

Taran snorted. “A bit dramatic for a bunch of murdering thugs, if you ask me.”

She took his hand, a small part of her wondering what it would be like to have the kind of mother that you missed when she was gone.

“As long as there is a Crown, or Spinners,” Drostan continued. “The Silence will come after them. That means you now, Caddie.”

“Except,” Taran put in. “Ruairi and Cyrus haven’t reported any evidence of Silence activity in ages. We haven’t had a Crown in forever?—”

Drostan made a face, and Taran continued before he could speak. “Despite you keeping your ancient head in the proverbial sand, athair, it’s still true. There’s been no Crown in ages. Or any Spinners. Which for us, means the Silence have had no one to hunt for a good long time.” He faced Cadenza. “If you used the music, or reacted to it around one of them, they’d recognize you as a Spinner, but I doubt you’ve been cavorting with the Silence lately.”

Cadenza narrowed her eyes. “Hang on,whyhaven’t you had a Crown in ages? How does that even work, because the earth is still here, photosynthesis is still happening?—”

“For now,” Taran said. Drostan started to object, but Cadenza kept talking over both of them.

“—and I still hear music from the earth, so do we actually need a Crown? For that matter people are still living their lives. Do we need Thread? Or Fates? I don’t buy all this ‘Fate weaves our destiny’ stuff. My father always said we make our own lives.Wedecide our fate. I don’t want to be part of something that takes away people’s choices. Drostan, if you can teach me how to work with the music, great, because I can’t be blowing stuff up my whole life, but past that, I decide what happens in my life. No one, Fates or otherwise, is going to make my choices for me.”

“That’s not exactly—” Drostan started.

“Shh!” Taran cut him off. He tilted his head to listen. “Someone’s here.”

The front door slammed. Taran sniffed the air, and his shoulders relaxed. “Just Canon.”

The salesman strode through the kitchen door, face anxious. “Cadenza, you’re here. Good. I need to talk to you,” he spoke directly to her, ignoring the Norroways.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Canon straightened his jacket. “I took the liberty of speaking with Michael about your car. This might sound crazy, but I wantyou to take it seriously. Your car catching fire wasn’t an accident. Someone planted an explosive in the engine.”

Cadenza’s mouth dropped. Taran’s drums deepened, and he moved closer to her.

Drostan stood, shoving his chair back. “No evidence of activity, eh?” He stared at Taran. “I’m calling your brothers in.”

Canon cocked his head. “Evidence of activity of what?”

Drostan didn’t answer, casting a quick glance at Taran, and Canon addressed Cadenza again. “Listen, I want to have some of my team watch over you.”

They all spoke at once.