Chains of Fate (The Fate Circle Saga Book 1)

by Alledria Hurt

  “Do you deny what happened last night under the moon?”

  The question was asked so softly she thought for a moment it was only him breathing, no true words.

  Then she made sense of what he said.

  “I do not know what happened last night.” Her anger made her refuse to acknowledge there could be anything to the strange events of the night before. The press of his body against hers had felt right, but he was not right. He was her captor, nothing more. She was caught by him, but she would not allow him to work whatever dark magic he had started on her. Nothing could make her admit she wanted the feeling back, the surety of his heartbeat defining her world covered in silver sparks. “It’s not important.”

  “Yes, it is.” Now he snapped at her and she recoiled a bit despite having nowhere to go. “You just refuse to understand.”

  “And you refuse to explain,” she shot back, working her way back to standing. Nervous hands smoothed the wrinkles in her shift as she continued to speak. “You say you’ve been waiting for me, but you will not tell me anything else. I do not care if you have waited a dozen lifetimes for me. All I want is to go home to my family.”

  “Then go.” He rose to standing so quickly she stepped back, running into the door in her haste. “With my blessing, Princess.” Even more stunning than his movement were his words.

  Jalcina blinked, unsure of what to make of the things he said. She could go with his blessing for nothing more than saying so?

  “But…” she began the words stopping in her throat with her surprise.

  “Go.” He put his back to her. “Knock on the door and they’ll let you out. Take what you wish and be gone. I will not hold you.” He disappeared back into the bedroom, dismissing her without any further words.

  For a moment, she did not move, staring at the space where he had been as if expecting to have imagined the whole thing. There was no telling for certain exactly what was going through his mind and what reason did she have to try and figure it out? He was willing to let her go. She could return home to her Father and her siblings. She could return to Lecern. Frantically, she knocked on the door and just as he said, it opened, a pair of men standing outside staring at the state of her undress without interest. Jalcina brushed past them as if she did not even see them, bare feet smacking against the floor as she moved quickly down the hall. Then she stopped. She had no idea where she was going, bringing her to a halt. Were any of her things still held in the castle with her Father gone? She was going to have to go back. Backtracking, the door was shut once again and the men had become statues on either side of it. Real statues, not men posing as statues, made of black stone and dressed in armor. Carved so delicately that their every facial feature was clear, yet they were true stone. Jalcina reached under the helmet to run her fingers along the cheek of one of them, breath stilled by the fear he might come to life and bite her. So who had let her out of the room if the men at the door were statues?

  “Vad’Alvarn!” She called his name, hoping he would hear her through the closed door. Still calling for him, she tried the door again. Perhaps it was unlocked if one tried the handle from the outside. No such luck, the heavy door refused to move. “King Vad’Alvarn.”

  “Just knock.” His voice came to her, irritated, from beyond the closed portal. At once, Jalcina did as asked, knocking lightly on the door. The statue to her right moved, reaching for the handle on the door and then the door opened. She had to step back away from the door so it could be opened for her, but it was something forced on her by the motion, she was too stunned by the fact a stone statue was moving to do so on her own.

  “I thought you were determined to be gone from my company?”

  “I…” How did one admit to being foolish before the person they wanted more than anything to flee from. “I do not have anything and I do not know the layout of your palace to get what I need.” Best to come right out with it, he would know in a moment anyway. “I beg your indulgence, highness.” She remembered her manners now, the fearfulness of earlier giving way to the understanding she had no choice but to do whatever was asked of her in order to get what she needed.

  “Now you beg.” An aggravated groan came from his chest. Vad’Alvarn stood in the doorway to his bedroom throughout the entire conversation, watching her with empty eyes. No one who used his name used his full name, which would have given her away even if her voice had not caused a shiver in his frame. It was just the pitch he remembered, the same pitch rising in franticness as she was taken from him by fate and mirrored in his dreams at night when she came to visit him. Those visitations had ceased recently, but perhaps because her life had started again. He could never tell for certain. The last time, she visited him in dreams up until the day he had seen her again. Now it was as if the spirit in his dreams had fled to leave him with the dissatisfaction of knowing the body she now inhabited knew nothing of what they had been together. “What is it you want?” He wanted her out of his sight now before he could not help himself. As far as he was concerned, she did not have the right to know the whole story. Jalcina was simply too unwilling to accept the truth. Vad’Alvarn was too proud to pour out his soul to be laughed at by some girl who had hardly even breathed truly in her life, so many years left to live before she would know suffering and heartbreak as he had known them. Once again, he left her standing in the doorway of his rooms to say whatever it was she felt she needed to say.

  “Clothes, a horse, and provisions.” She almost stamped her foot for his attention when he turned his back on her. Whatever manners she may have been displaying in his direction, she felt no respect for him. After all, he was just a usurper king from what she had been told; he held no claim at all to the places he conquered other than his conquering them, some they said in unfair combat. Though the question of what was fair combat was an interesting one, the victor often got to answer it and as far as Vad’Alvarn was concerned his army had taken the places they had taken with what force was necessary. “It is a long way for me to return home.”

  No answer, the king had gone back into his bedroom and when he reemerged, he was throwing a different colored shirt over his head and she saw clearly the look of his torso as he moved. A small blush crept into her cheeks and Jalcina glanced away, not wanting him to see.

  “There will be snow in the upper passes soon.” Common knowledge with winter so close even in the low lands. “How will you make it home alone?” So obvious a question that though she had considered it the night before when she had first thought to run away, it had escaped her in the light of day. Now he was asking it, head tilted after the manner of the curious awaiting her answer.

  Blinking, she was at a loss for words. Hands came together before her to wring as if dealing with the wash. “I will fight my way home.” She settled on those words even if they were not an answer.

  “I will not allow it.” Vad’Alvarn moved to pick up a small bottle from a table near the entrance to the bathing room. Opening it, he covered the opening with one finger and turned the bottle upside down. Then he recapped it before dabbing at the edges of his jaw with the scent. “You are too precious for me to allow you to attempt such a folly. The mountains claim trained soldiers every year at this time. I would never send a woman to contend with them alone.”

  “You said I could go, with your blessing.” She casually tossed his words back at him, disbelieving he could simply deny her in one stroke like this. Her stance was defiant, hands at her hips and face thrust forward as if it would somehow change his decision.

  “Yes, I did.” In contrast, he seemed calm, even at ease with the decision. “And you may go from my presence, Princess Jalcina.” He stressed her title as a reminder he was indeed her husband or she would be no princess. “When the passes clear in Spring, you may return to your home. Until then, you will remain here as a wife is meant to.” First he wanted her gone, then he sought to spare her life by denying her right to go into the mountains were so many died every winter. Jalcina knew, better tha
n most, how many people went into the mountains and simply did not return. She had ridden with her Father to many a small holding to bear the news with the families left behind. Every year, frozen bodies were found when spring thaw came. The best ones were the ones who died as if sleeping; they were so peaceful, too few knew such peace as they drifted down into death.

  “Will you chain me to keep me here?” Why she used the word ‘chain’ when bound would have sufficed, she could not have said, but it came to her lips and so it jumped out into the air between them.

  “No, beautiful one.” he gazed at her again, his eyes not as hard as they had been, in fact they seemed almost vulnerable just then. “It is I who is chained to you. So I must look to your safety.” Then he was coming toward her. As she recoiled, he passed her, moving to stand in the hallway outside the door. “Romkita will see to helping you dress, bring you clothing, and keep you company. I have things to attend to.” He left her standing in his doorway, unfolding her body from the fearfulness springing up with his nearness.

  With him gone, the door was shut behind her, locking her once more in his bedroom, a room more of fabric than stone.

  15

  The sound of the horses echoed as they climbed higher into the mountains, Mordaen and those with him hoped to make it through before the winter truly closed its grip on their world. It was different when one was watching the snow from inside next to a warm fire than having to ride through it to make it to what dubious safety there was in the mountains. Even among the settled places, the mountains were harsh; they claimed lives when it suited them, bearing them back to the gods who bestowed life without interest in who they had been. Staring back over the column, single file, winding itself up the side of the cliff, he could not help but wonder if they would win the race to the caves near the top leading back down into Sartol’s true heart underground. Perhaps they would, perhaps not. The question would only matter if they took the time to stop because they had already been riding for a full day non-stop. These were mostly warriors and their squires in his retinue, so they were harder than if he had brought his children along, even Jalcina would have been hard pressed to keep this pace though she would not have complained. Yet even they would need some rest if they were going to continue on. There was a lower cave system close by, a closed section they could use as a rest stop. They would have to make camp there for a few hours and get some sleep. Perhaps he would have a messenger, someone who could ride quickly sent forward to make sure those who guarded the entrance knew to keep things as clear as they could even once the snow truly started to fall in hopes it would make things easier for the group. It served to help keep his mind on the group and away from the pressing need to return to the valleys below to get his little girl back from the monster who undoubtedly kept her at his side.

  All too clear was the memory of the two making eye contact across the room and the awareness the man who would be king of everything wanted his daughter for his own. Mordaen after attempting in vain to protect her, it was no surprise he wanted to muster an army and return to free her from captivity. Yet, he had the group to think about, he was a Lord and others depended on him. Whatever his obligations to his child, his obligations to his people had to come first; quite simply the life he had chosen when he took on becoming the Master of Sartol. The cold stone walls of the mountains seemed to mock him, reminding him of the walls in the dungeon where the worst offenders were kept. Just to touch those walls was to draw back fingers coated in frost, and for now his mountains, once his beloved home, seemed a prison holding him from what was the most dear.

  “Jala.” It was somehow comforting to use his daughter’s nickname even if she was not there. His little Jala, if only her Mother had survived to see how beautiful she would become. So much alike the both of them. He had never been able to deny Silina anything; not from the moment she entered his life. Silina who disappeared one day with only just a bare good-bye, leaving him with a daughter like her image in water, too beautiful for words and painful to behold, and three other children he loved dearly. The first of the caves reached, he called a halt to the column, gathering them there. Several set to the task of helping pull the horses together outside and to set up some kind of fire inside so the heat would be reflected back from the walls. Mordaen watched with satisfaction as his subordinates bustled about seeing to their needs. It would only be a stop of a few hours; they did not have much choice if they were going to beat the closing of the grip of winter over the upper mountains. They had another day if the weather did not become nasty overnight like the clouds at the edge of the horizon seemed to threaten. Gray clouds steadily marching across the mountains, laden with rain or snow as it became colder.

  Someone thrust a bowl of thin soup into his hands, the bowl still hot from the fire. It was then he realized how long he had been standing in contemplation. In the cave, he saw several cooking stations had been set up and men were gathered around them eating what they could during this short stop. Some were already sleeping, those who had eaten first or had managed to eat some while on the trail. Moving back into the cave, Mordaen settled among them, drinking his soup straight from the bowl. It was not much, but it was warm and that was better than nothing. Perhaps if things had happened differently, they might have been making a more leisurely return in the spring instead of a forced march with the jaws of winter steadily closing upon them. No time for that particular thought though, things had turned out as they had and the reality had to be dealt with. Wishful thinking only stole time from other more important things.

  “Pass the word around,” he said to one of them. “We’re not going to be here long.” The man acted as if he had known the plan all along and moved on to do what he was told. They were all going to have to be ready to move, soon.

  16

  Defeated, more by her own feelings than by any words of his, Jalcina retired back to the bedroom to lie down as she waited for Romkita to come with her clothes. Though she had to admit to the truth of his words and the intelligence of his choice to make her wait until Spring came to allow her to go into the mountains, it still cut at her and she laid on the bed, curled in a ball, thinking of what she could possibly do to escape from this place. Her understanding of the lowlands was nothing like her awareness of the mountain passes. If she went anywhere but into the mountains she would be caught long before she reached anywhere she might be able to put up any defense. Escape no longer a viable line of thinking, she moved to what could possibly be going on with this king and his retinue. Stone soldiers standing guard at his door only moved to the sound of someone knocking. A night spent where light and darkness moved as if with their own thoughts, it made so little sense she wanted to dismiss it. Yet to dismiss it would be folly, would not it? He seemed so affected by it.

  “When I said that it was not important,” she mused aloud. “He snapped at me. Why?” The world was so quiet without someone moving in the rooms nearby. As dark as it was inside his bedroom, it was easy to be lulled back into sleep. She saw the light in the chamber beyond her; see it spilling across the floor like gilding on the stones. Unconsciously, she reached for it, seeing not the warm gold of sunlight but the stunning silver of moonlight as it moved across the stones, beckoning her with a sense of its nearness. “Light,” she said in awe as the room changed color. The light spilling across the floor became first a pale gold as if the sunlight waned and shifted to silver, no longer spilling but crawling, filling the space and the sparkles, bits of light made solid, floated in the air around her, driving back the darkness from the bedroom.

  Shocked, she blinked.

  Sunshine went back to filtering in through the windows, nothing at all amiss with the world. Numb now, she let her eyes slide shut, sleep rising to claim her as the small display overpowered her system.

  After leaving Jalcina to fume over his decision not to allow her to leave, Vad’Alvarn had joined his second as they considered how exactly they were going to deal with those slated for execution. While executing
a head of state is quite easy, dealing with the rebellion of the place he controls is a bit more difficult.

  “Well, we could hold off on executing them until we have the army in place to take their territory,” Navar suggested as they sat at the breakfast table together a tray of assorted fruits between them.

  “It would require splitting our forces too much and we still have got Sartol to contend with.” Vad’Alvarn was peeling an apple, knife deftly twirling around it, leaving behind just one long strip of the outside. “Much as I hate it, we might have to force them to sign the damn treaty and give us control without using force.” He peeled rapidly as if the use of this knife could somehow make up for the feeling of violence he wanted so desperately to feel. “Damn councilors.”

  “Force this group to sign the treaties and then send good generals with token forces.” The word token was practically spit on the table between them. “To enforce the decisions?”

  “That seems like the fastest way to handle it, no matter how much it gets my hackles up.” The peel was discarded on the table cloth, someone would wash it later and the peel itself would go to feed someone certainly, and Vad’Alvarn set to cutting his apple in quarters onto his plate. “I do not like it. I would rather execute the bunch of spineless cowards and then mow them under by strength of arms, but some say the army tires of being so far from home for so long.”

  “Has a single one of the real officers said anything about wanting to turn back?” Navar leaned back in his chair, at ease despite the fact this was not the kind of place he would normally breakfast, but where Vad’Alvarn was he needed to be. “Just those spineless cowards you allow to sup from the teat of the true military. They do not know anything about the glory of combat, their butts formed to the shape of their council seats.” The plate, gold rimmed, set at Navar’s place was unspoiled by any kind of food as if he simply was not hungry for anything on the tray before him. “I do not know why you do not just execute the lot of them as well.”