“Rostin or one of the other ancestors. It varies, but the knowledge is shared so it matters not.”

“How is something like that possible? I mean, their souls were taken by dark gods,” Darby asked.

“Taken, not consumed. They might be forced to forever serve their dark masters, but they are not owned by them. The connection of the past and the present is so strong in our line that they can break through the veils that conceal the otherworld when necessary.”

And while De Clari had obviously deemed this moment necessary, I just wished she’d been a little clearer as to why. It was all well and good to tell me the Claws must be removed from mortal reach but aside from the dark gates—and there was no way in hell we could ever risk stashing the Claws anywhere near the Annwfyn—there were few other possibilities.

Unless, of course, she meant to returning them to the goddess herself. Was that why I’d been advised to seek she who stands with her head in the clouds? Had both Castell and Beira misunderstood my father’s message? Was it less about me learning to use the power of the storms and more about the confluence itself and the ability to confront the goddess?

If it were the latter, dare I go there until we did have the Claws? I had no fucking idea. Which seemed to be a standard state for me of late.

Alinda looked around for a second and then said, “Where are my clothes? It’s not safe for me to be here any longer than necessary.”

“We can protect—”

“No,” she said, cutting Lugh off. “You cannot. You have a task to complete. I’m well able to protect myself now that I am aware the shadows move my way. They will not find me a second time, I assure you. My clothes?”

“They’re in the dryer—just let me fetch them,” Darby said, and headed out.

“Thank you,” Alinda said, then returned her gaze to me. “There is one more thing I need to impart, and it comes from me—or from my reading of the stones—rather than my ancestors.”

“And that is?”

“Seek the monolith that has no eyes in the forest with no voice; she will help you unite the goddess gifts.”

The image of a standing stone wreathed in old man’s beard, the tufted balls of white ringing the stone’s top making it seem as if it was wearing a crown, rose. It was one of the things I’d seen in the Eye when I’d first done a reading with it, and I doubted it was a coincidence. Not when the threads of fate seemed to be woven through everything at the moment.

“I daresay that statement makes little sense,” Alinda continued, amusement evident, “but as the saying goes, if the path was easy, everyone would be on it.”

I snorted. “A saying that was no doubt coined by the old gods who often got their jollies making paths as difficult as fucking possible for their followers.”