Page 88 of Foresyth Conservatory
I swallowed hard. “You are,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I truly believed it.
They were more than that, but still less than friends. Friends trusted each other, but I couldn’t trust anyone in this House. Sure, I could trust them with my pathetic childhood stories, but not with anything that mattered. Maybe if things had been different: if I hadn’t been a fraudulent student, if I hadn’t been hired to solve Julian’s murder, if I didn’t have a dead father haunting me. Then maybe we could have all been friends. He finally released my arm, and I went upstairs without another word.
*
I had packed my bag, ready to head back down to the tunnels once I had the map, armed with the rest of my necessities: a second functioning compass, my deck of cards, Julian’s journal, and my sharpened dagger. I only hoped that whatever Julian had left for me in those tunnels was worth all the trouble I’d gone through to get this far.
“We are building off of our previous discussion on free will tonight and examining the historical origins of predetermination. Aspen, this should be a favorite topic of yours,” the Meister began.
I was already regretting attending tonight’s Circle.
“And, Ms. Blackburne, you should have some research findings to report on the topic as well. From the Nordic sources, yes?”
Damn. I had been so preoccupied with Julian’s case that I had completely let the Meister’s side project fall to the wayside. I was going to have to rely on my working understanding of the runes and Norse system to get through this discussion.
“Of course. I’m happy to contribute,” I lied.
As if sensing this, Aspen tilted his head to the side, giving me a slow, sideways smile. I furrowed my brows in return. I hated the way he could so easily read me—the way I read others. It was infuriating.
“I’m also fascinated by the topic,” Nina chimed in.Thank God. They could carry the conversation.
Aspen and Nina went back and forth for a while before eventually turning to me.
“The concept of the Fates spinning the tapestry of the future—that symbolism exists in Norse mythos too, right, Dahlia?” Nina asked, looking at me. She didn’t seem to realize she was setting me up to expose my ignorance. Or was she?
“Yes,” I answered slowly, trying to recall the readings I had done weeks ago. “There are three Fates that mirror the Greek ones—they’re called the Norns.”
I let out a breath, relieved that I could remember something useful.
“And how are they tied to predestination? Is it through the runes?” the Meister interjected.
I racked my brain, trying to recall anything substantial about the Norns and the runes, but my mind kept circling back to the image of the runes carved beneath the grand oak’s bark, my fingernails blackened from peeling it. And to the drawing I had seen in the tunnels, in that all-too-familiar office.
“The tree,” I said quietly, something clicking into place.
I had read a text about a tree, but I hadn’t connected it until now.
“There’s a tree in Norse mythology called Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life. At its base lies the Well of Urd, the well of Fate.” I sat up straighter, the memory sharpening. “And as far as the runes go, they were the gateway into the Norns’ tapestry of Fate.”
The Meister eyed me curiously, his gaze urging me to continue. I swallowed hard, recalling the next part of what I had read. I didn’t like where my train of thought was leading.
“There’s a story of Odin and how he acquired his power. It is said he hung himself on Yggdrasil for nine days and nine nights in order to gain knowledge of the Otherworlds and to understand the runes—to know the future and to possibly influence it.”
“So, the Norse mythos did believe in predetermination, but they also believed there was a way around it,” Aspen added. “Otherwise, Odin would have never sacrificed himself for that power.”
“Yes, it seems so,” I replied, but my voice was flat. I was no longer in the Circle, discussing an academic topic of predestination.
My mind drifted to the image of Julian’s limp body.
Like Odin, he had hung himself from the tree, pointing me toward a message. Toward that symbol of the demiurge—the lion with the serpent’s body. But what if the act of hanging itself was another clue?
It was as if he were reaching across time and space to tell me:I died because of a sacrifice—one that I didn’t make. A sacrifice to a false God.
But what if it wasn’t justhissacrifice?
The elements—the Meister’s words echoed back to me:I’ve been waiting for all the right elements.
Of course.
