Page 52 of The Blood Queen

The spiders have done what they can to continue the magic, but they’re not the queen. And maybe that’s why Scotland has been in upheaval, and maybe that’s why the fae realm has been so useless. It’s impossible to know.

“If this is, I don’t know, fate itself woven into a fabric,” Samson says, “can we just weave the High Blade out of the cloth?”

I glance at the Damhan-Allaidh, who does nothing more than watch me.

“This is not my type of magic.” Truly, I know of no one who weaves fate. I have not even heard of Beira doing something like this.

“Weave fate,” the Damhan-Allaidh says in a low voice. “We do not control it. Record. Enhance. Not control.”

I glower at the loom. Right, that sounds more like the fae I know. Meddling. The Faerie Queen did not exactly create fate, and that’s why life’s continued on even without the weaver. But I suppose tugging on one thread, crossing it with another, was just enough influence to keep her in power as a high fae.

I resist the urge to look at the spider-cocooned fae scattered about the room, and I wonder if at least one of them never intended to save the queen and only wanted to take the loom. It’s a powerful tool in the hands of a powerful ruler, influencing the very fabric of existence, like the conqueror writing history to manipulate the future.

And a tool the High Blade figured out how to corrupt.

Did the High Blade think of how bloody dangerous it was to turn something connected to the fate of all Scotland and the fae realm into a weapon? It’s just like Queen Mary’s idiotic plan to kill her own husband with gunpowder in the heart of Edinburgh. No sense of who else may be hurt as long as one enemy was eliminated.

I stand, and Samson moves to help me up. He keeps his hand on my arm, warm and comforting. All these spider-wrapped cocoons around us hold lesser fae, and they’re not dead. To kill the queen…

But it wasn’t death, was it? A thread broke, and that made the queen cease to be.

A fate worse than death.

A total removal of her life from the living world.

Spider silk is strong though. A thread shouldn’t have just snapped like that. I bend back down, looking at the detritus on the floor.

The Damhan-Allaidh told me not to touch the loom, but she said nothing of the tools of the trade.

“Any of these could be the Red Cap weapon,” Samson mutters as I look at the comb and the shuttle. “And there—scissors.”

He points, and I spot a pair of golden scissors, the blades sharp.

I nod, agreeing with him. “It’s probably those. Enchant the scissors so that the Faerie Queen was forced to cut her own thread.”

I reach for the far safer-looking shuttle.

A thousand spiders start clacking at once, rustling in the shadows.

“Yeah, let’s not do that,” Samson says nervously.

The Damhan-Allaidh watches me.

“I’m being careful,” I say, picking up the mahogany tool. I turn it over in my hand, gentle. It’s about the length of my fingertip to my wrist, with two notches on either end for the thread—the spider silk—to wrap around.

The wood is worn, smooth from years of use. I tip it to the side and gasp.

“What is it?” Samson asks at the same time as the hordes of spiders start skittering and clacking on the walls.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” A splinter on one edge of the shuttle had snagged at my skin but didn’t pierce it.

I peer closer.

Even though my palm remains unscratched, there’s a dark stain on the end of the tiny splinter.

Blood.

“This is the weapon,” I say. It feels as heavy as a ton weight now, and I cannot keep the tremble from my hands as I carefully put it back on the ground. I’d been so certain the scissors were the weapon, it hadn’t occurred to me that the shuttle was dangerous. I’m positive now though. This dried blood tells me the Faerie Queen nicked her skin while weaving. It’s a classic Red Cap tool, activated with blood. As soon as the splinter pierced the Faerie Queen’s hand, it must have done…something.