Weaver

by Ingrid Seymour

  If this was the end, at least he was with Sam. He couldn’t really ask for more.

  Their eyes locked. Sam’s resigned expression mirrored the way he felt.

  “I love you,” she mouthed.

  He mouthed it back, just as his hold on the sword grew more tenuous.

  One finger at a time, he lost his grip and then they were airborne, headed straight into doom.

  Chapter 67

  Sam

  Greg came at her as his grip on the sword gave.

  He pulled her into his chest, and she threw her other arm around his neck and squeezed as hard as she could.

  They were headed into death, and she would cling to him all the way there.

  Spinning into the wind like pieces of lint, they flew toward the bottom of the funnel, following Ashby’s path. He had let go. He was gone and, now, they would go with him. They had started this together, and they would finish it together. There was consolation in that, at least.

  The inky blackness that had held all those Morphid souls prisoners roiled, ready to devour them. Sam closed her eyes and buried her face into Greg’s neck.

  Everything went silent.

  The wind stopped.

  Gravity took over.

  They plummeted to the ground, tangled in each other’s arms. Greg let out a muffled humph as Sam fell on top of him. Other things fell around them. She heard them drop, but didn’t dare open her eyes to see.

  They weren’t dead but, if that was the case, where had they gone?

  Still, Sam didn’t dare look.

  Rushing steps. Someone calling their names.

  She knew that voice.

  Sam’s eyes sprang open. She looked around and realized they were still in the garden. They hadn’t gone anywhere. The place was destroyed—torn bushes, branches, and leaves everywhere—but it was still Rothblade Castle.

  Greg blinked at her, wincing from pain. She got off him and pressed a hand to the side of his face. He was drenched in a cold sweat.

  “Sam! Greg!” Someone ran up to them and stopped.

  Sam peered up. It was Perry with Portos at his side.

  “Greg’s hurt,” she said. “Please, help him.”

  The two Sorcerers dropped to their knees.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Portos said, taking hold of his amulet.

  Perry nodded, then raked stiff finger through his hair, a desolate expression on his face. His gaze darted around the garden and kept going back to the spot where the blackness had been.

  Tears pooled in his eyes. “He’s gone. Ashby’s gone,” he said in a sob.

  Ashby had, in the end, given Sam and Greg the chance to live. He had selflessly let go, knowing Greg was losing strength. He had bought them only a few seconds, but it had been enough.

  The last time she’d talked to him, she’d told him terrible things and, now, she would never have a chance to take them back. He had come to her in New York, and she’d refused to weave their vinculums back together. She had caused him so much pain. How could she ever forgive herself?

  Sam held Greg’s hand as Portos mouthed incantations over his prone shape. The thought of Ashby was more than she could bear, so she focused on Greg instead, while a silent prayer for forgiveness played in the back of her mind over and over again.

  She could only hope that in his heart of hearts, Ashby had come to forgive her—even if she would always hate herself for her twisted nature.

  Chapter 68

  Greg

  After Portos healed him, Greg clung to Sam with the firm idea that he would never let her go. She held onto him the same way, sobbing and shaking her head against his chest. At intervals, the urge to make sure she was real seized him, and he would hold her face between his hands, drinking in her every feature. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her mouth, and pulled her in again.

  MORF had come to help and not a second too late. Now, they were running around the garden, shouting orders and trying to keep the ball guests from getting in the way. Chaos went on around them, but his Keeper instincts were quiet. He’d seen Katsu kicking a branch and looking disappointed that he’d missed the fight. He’d have to thank him for his lessons and patience.

  Sam was safe.

  And they were together. That’s all that mattered.

  “Sam,” a tentative voice called behind Greg.

  Reluctantly, they let each other go and turned. It was Brooke, her hair a tangle a top her head.

  “Brooke!”

  The girls embraced each other, crying.

  “I thought you’d get pulled into that thing for sure,” Brooke said. “If Portos hadn’t shown up when he did…”

  So Portos had stopped the siphoning storm. He’d save them. How could he ever thank him?

  “Um…” Brooke scratched her neck, looking hesitant. “There’s someone who wants to meet you.”

  Sam frowned and exchanged a glance with Greg.

  He nodded, letting her know it was safe, then took her hand. “Your mother, probably.”

  Sam’s eyes went wide, and she looked worried all of a sudden.

  “You don’t have to if you’re not ready,” Brooke said. “She said she would wait. She understands.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Sam said.

  Greg could feel her nerves, her concern, but he also felt her strength and curiosity. He didn’t know what had happened to Sam in the time they’d been apart, but he could sense she’d changed. There was something fierce in her that hadn’t been there before.

  They walked past a big tangle of fallen branches. On the other side, a group of people waited, including Roanna, Bernard, and Portos. Worry etched their faces as they seemed lost in intense discussion.

  When Greg and Sam approached, the conversation stopped, and they turned to face them.

  Roanna pressed both hands to her mouth as if in prayer. Relief, joy, and a wealth of other emotions showed on her features.

  “Celestine,” Roanna said in a choked sob. She approached cautiously and stopped a few paces away from her daughter.

  Greg let go of Sam’s hand. She gave him a weak smile, then focused all her attention on Roanna.

  All the emotions that washed over Sam at that moment hit Greg right at his core. His knees went weak with the weight of her feelings, and he experienced them as if they were his own. And later, when he tried to find words to describe the moment when his Integral reunited with her mother and father, he was unable to.

  Sam simply had felt too much.

  Epilogue

  Sam

  Sam’s mother—it still felt strange to call Roanna that—stood in front of the council. The large hall brimmed with people, hundreds of eyes directed toward the dais and the rightful, reinstated Regent.

  Sitting at the front row with Greg on one side and her father on the other, Sam couldn’t help but admire her mom. The way she had handled the last two weeks with such poise and magnanimity was extraordinary, and definitely more than Sam would have been able to manage.

  Roanna’s understanding and patience with all of those loyal to Danata, her restraint upon learning about the Morphid state of affairs, the forbearance she displayed during Danata’s trial, and the public letter of absolution she’d addressed to her sister were all more than Sam could imagine herself accomplishing. Roanna had even expressed some regret at the life imprisonment the council had swiftly bestowed upon the Ripper. Though she thoroughly understood the depth of Danata’s crimes against so many Morphid souls, Roanna couldn’t help but blame the nature of her caste and whether early intervention—had they known her caste—might have set Danata on a different path.

  Sam smiled up at her beautiful mother as she inclined her head to thank the High Sorcerer, Portos, for the golden crown he’d placed atop a red velvet cushion.

  Next to Sam, her father beamed, an expression of absolute love on his face. He took turns looking at his wife and then at Sam, as if he expected them to dematerialize at any moment.

  “No one can ever tear
you two apart again,” Sam told him often enough. “I wouldn’t let them.”

  “To think you were the one who weaved us together. Our own daughter!” Bernard would respond, always seeming unsure of whether or not that was a good thing.

  At the end of the ceremony, the crowd filed into two massive dining halls set out for a feast. Roanna and Bernard sat at the head of the biggest table to ever exist in the history of tables and began the lavish meal after a few quick words of thanks to the staff and guests.

  Roanna had wanted a simple ceremony, but the council had prevailed, arguing that a proper celebration would leave no doubts as to who was in charge.

  Sam sat to Roanna’s right, her mind popping with thoughts and questions about her future. Greg took her hand under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze, sensing, as he always did, her inner unrest.

  With Ashby gone, the job of Regent hung over her head. The idea of being the leader of the Morphid world had never appealed to her, and that sentiment had not changed. Ashby had been groomed for the life, and he’d had the instinct to serve his people while all Sam wanted to do was pick up a spatula and cook. Roanna said to give it time, that as Sam settled into her caste and new life, things would change. Sam didn’t think so, but she knew better than to totally dismiss the possibility. Her mark did have a crown in it, albeit small. There was no telling what altruistic urge may guide her in the next week, perhaps something which would make her swear off soufflés for the rest of her life.

  It was still incredible to think that she’d found her parents. It would be hard to explain to James and Rose, but it wasn’t something she could keep putting off forever.

  Sam leaned forward to find her friends down the table.

  She spotted Jacob first, seated on a cushion because he didn’t want to look so little among all the tall Morphids. He was smiling, eating a buttered roll and enjoying it thoroughly. He wore a huge smile that made Sam think he would be fine, in spite of it all. Sam’s parents had decided to adopt him, and he had been inordinately happy about it. He’d even taken to calling her “sis” every chance he got.

  Next to Jacob sat Mateo, frowning at his plate. He looked so sad all the time, but seemed to have found some solace in Perry, who never tired of telling him stories about his son. He had helped Sam in New York while she checked on the homeless to make sure they’d been healed after destroying Veridan’s awful creation. Busying himself with the welfare of those needy Morphids had helped cheer him up a little, though not much.

  Perry and Brooke sat next to each other, taking bites off each other’s plates. Sam was glad to see a smile on Perry’s face, since there hadn’t been many of those lately. It had been impossible to sustain a good mood after what had happened, but Perry seemed to find it harder than anyone to move on. Losing his best friend and the only family he’d ever had was proving more than he could handle, even Brooke and his long-lost grandmother didn’t seem enough at times.

  Only Portos’s theories of what might have happened seemed to give Perry a spark when he was down, and he would often snap out of his quiet daydreaming to say, “I do think Ashby’s alive. Veridan may have been an arse, but he was a wicked Sorcerer—even Portos admits it and is more certain every day that Veridan created a passage to a different dimension. What if Ashby finds his way back?”

  It was a nice wish but, even if the portal idea was true, how would Ashby get back? Sam doubted Veridan would offer any help in returning or would have the means to make it happen. Giant blobs of vinculum energy weren’t something you found at the mall. It had taken years for Veridan to build what Sam had unraveled—at least that was the general consensus.

  The idea that Ashby was alive should have offered some comfort but, in truth, it didn’t. It only opened Sam’s mind to more incessant questions. Had he gone to a nice place? An awful place? Was he suffering? Hungry?

  In all his gloom and sadness, Perry seemed to be more positive about that possibility, though. He was sure Finley—a girl the boys had met during their time with MORF—was with Ashby. Apparently, one of her castes was Regent, and he seemed to think Fate had a plan for them. He also said she was a dual with a second, unknown caste that was sure to help them wherever they’d gone.

  “You should have seen her,” Perry told anyone who would listen. “She just threw herself at the portal after it swallowed Ashby. I was trying to help her, get her away from the pull of the storm, but she just charged right after him. No fear. No hesitation.”

  At least that thought was comforting. If Ashby was alive, there might be someone with him who cared enough to risk her life for his sake. He deserved that along with all the things Sam could never give him.

  Wherever Ashby was, in spite of it all, he held a place in Sam’s heart.

  ◆◆◆

  Sam and Greg stood in the north garden. Perry had said it’d been Ashby’s favorite place in Rothblade Castle, so it felt like the right place to do it.

  The vinculum that had joined Sam to Ashby was still there, weakly fluttering over her head. She didn’t know why, but its presence was a constant source of unrest for her.

  And it wasn’t just a psychological unrest brought on by guilt.

  It was also physical—like an ache or a deeply-embedded splinter that would allow her no respite.

  Greg squeezed her hand, then set it free, knowing she would need it.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked, yet again.

  All along, he’d been able to sense her turmoil. The first few days after Ashby was taken, the uncomfortable tug had been gentle, not hard to send to the back of her mind. Sam had thought it would go away, so she hadn’t mentioned it to Greg. Still, he’d known something wasn’t right.

  But as the weeks went by, the discomfort grew until it had reached a crescendo that, at times, felt as if it would drive her insane. Worse yet—as in tune as Greg was to her emotions—it had started to affect him, too.

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  Ashby was gone, now. And even when he’d been here, Sam had refused to restore their link. What, then, would be the point of holding on to this vestige of what had once been?

  Sam took a few steps away from Greg and stopped in the center of the garden. Colorful flower beds and neatly trimmed rose bushes surrounded her. Their sweet perfume mingled with the scent of freshly-watered potting soil. Her father kept the garden, and it was lovely.

  The morning was crisp and no clouds marred the deep blue sky. There were many gray days here in England, and this beautiful morning felt like a good moment to let Ashby go.

  With a deep breath, Sam lifted her hands and called the torn vinculum to her. It was slow to obey, but it came to her nonetheless.

  In comparison with the vinculum that linked her to Greg, this one felt insubstantial to her Weaver instincts. Holding it between her fingers sent a shudder into her soul.

  She sensed it would take but a simple few touches to unweave this frail reminder of what could have been. So she held it for a long moment, knowing that once she undid it, there would be no turning back.

  I’m sorry, Ashby, she said inside her mind as if in a prayer. You didn’t deserve any of this. You had a great, uncorrupted heart. I see that now. I wish Fate had found the right Integral for you.

  A tear broke free and slid down her cheek.

  Goodbye.

  Sam strummed her fingers once, the way a guitarist might play a beautiful chord.

  The tug on her soul stopped.

  She exhaled.

  And somewhere, across a thin membrane of time and space, a sigh of relief broke through the lips of a blond boy with onyx-black eyes and a heart of gold.

  Fate had run its course.

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Oh, man! This book took forever to finish.

  Greg, Sam, and Ashby have been with me for many years, and I guess it was hard to let them go. I started writing Keeper in 2007. So you can say, Weaver is overdue.

  There were other pro
jects in between, all important, but maybe not as precious as this one.

  Many of you have been waiting and asking for the conclusion of this series. I’m glad to finally be able to offer Weaver to you. I hope you will love it as much as I do.

  My eternal thanks go to Bret Williams. He gives, gives, gives without expecting anything in return. I hope all the smiles we have together help balance the scales. You are the best.

  Thank you, Isabella. You are my bright little star. I’m so lucky to have you. I know how much you love this series. Maybe I’ll do that novella you’ve been begging for ;)

  Thank you, Greg and Sam and Ashby. It was so great living your adventures. I will miss you.

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