Book of Sacha: Dark Fate (The Dark Fate Chronicles 3)

by Matt Howerter

  There were many times in that southern hellhole that he thought his life would end, but fortune intervened. Sacha’s sister, Sloane Moridin, had been engaged to be married to Prince Alexander. The twins’ brother Prince Galen, who also served in exile at the same military post, was required to be present at the wedding. The prince knew of Sacha’s affair with Renee and thought it a good idea to drag the singer along.

  There had been no safe way to leave the southern fortifications at Haden’s Rock, but once their party had arrived at the gates of Waterfall Citadel, Renee’s escape had only been a matter of time. Galen had wanted to surprise Sacha as if Renee were some sort of puppy or bauble, but upon arriving at the citadel, they learned that she had been kidnapped and was, as yet, lost. With Sacha missing, the reasons for Galen to keep track of Renee had largely evaporated, and it had been an easy matter to slip away into the night.

  Renee had exploited situations often enough to know when a job was no longer worth pursuing. Though the potential of a return to the palatial lifestyle could have been an opportunity should Sacha be recovered, the potential was too slim to be attractive. It was time to start over.

  Braes Hollow was a cozy town nestled in a bowl of green fields along a southern bank of the ever ranging Tanglevine River. The rushing waters created a defined border between nations. Basinia controlled the lands and banks of the southern shore, while the north belonged to the elven kingdom of Asynia. The mighty, towering trees of the Winewood pressed closely to the banks on both sides of the river and stretched away in unbroken green swells. The main thoroughfare of the town led directly to the riverbank. From there, a well-maintained landing extended from dry land sixty feet into the river’s flow. On the far bank, across almost a quarter mile of open water, a twin landing jutted from an arching hollow in the tree line.

  Deeply driven pylons of wood supported a hefty woven rope that spanned the river. A team of four men operated a hand crank that moved a ferry back and forth, shuttling goods between the elven and human nations. Braes Hollow was the last stop for any human who had nothing to trade. Casual visitors were not tolerated in the elven lands and were sometimes hunted for sport if they were so bold as to cross the border. It was the general animosity of the sylvan nation toward all who were not elves that kept Braes Hollow small. Not many men wanted to make a home close to a nation that might consider the hunting of sentient next-door neighbors a reasonable way to spend an afternoon.

  Renee allowed his lips to twitch up in a smile as he left his stool by the fire and began to make his way toward Liz when the tavern door opened and another girl with whom he was well acquainted made her way into the tavern. Well, not a girl exactly, but a woman. She was hardly as enticing as the red-haired nymph, but she did have other qualities that were essential in their own right.

  Corrin Mayhinfeld was rather scrawny, but her attire was immaculate and well above the norm for this country tavern. Her frail neck was graced by deeply hued gems, and an ivory comb accented with gold and more jewels held back her dishwater-blond hair. The townsfolk seated or standing closest to the door offered warm smiles and words of greeting to the woman as she entered. Corrin returned their smiles in earnest then glided through the dancers to quickly find a table with some of her welcomers.

  Renee’s confident smile slipped, but he smoothed it back into place. It appeared that no one had noticed his temporary falter. Liz, however, had taken note of Corrin’s entrance and quirked a knowing brow at him. Even though it had been Liz who gave Renee his initial reason to stay, he had yet to sample her wares. He had met Corrin the same night and learned that her father was the most influential and wealthy merchant in Braes Hollow. Enticing as Liz had been, the woeful state of his purse rather than his starved libido had dictated his actions. It had been to Corrin’s attentions that he had applied himself.

  Renee had presented himself as a liaison for a Pelosian noble. This fictitious nobleman was in search of a bride so that he might father many sons to help him manage his vast wealth and property. Word spread quickly to Corrin’s father, Harren Mayhinfeld, and Renee was invited to their manor. The merchant leaped at the opportunity to see his daughter matched to a wealthy family, and the last weeks had passed in relative calm. Renee had begun the process of “evaluating” the Mayhinfeld family and their suitability for a match. Harren, in turn, paid for Renee’s room and board at this tavern and even provided for the fine clothes he wore this evening.

  Of course, Corrin had fallen for him almost at once, and they had dallied, making plans to escape together instead of waiting for the mythical wedding to the nonexistent noble. If Renee were to be caught now, paying attention to another woman, it would surely end the affair and disrupt any future benefit he might see from Harren’s patronage.

  In spite of the success he had seen in his dealings with the Mayhinfelds, Renee found himself wanting. Corrin was an eager lover, if untalented, but it was visions of the ice-blue eyes of Sacha Moridin that plagued his mind. Renee had found that the only way to dispel the visions of a previous lover was to replace them in the bed of a high-spirited wanton lass, as he thought Liz in her daring blouse must be. Unfortunately, that encounter would not happen tonight.

  Corrin had settled herself and was watching Renee intently now. Her great cow-eyed gaze was unabashedly eager, and she rested her chin in the palms of her hands like a foolish girl.

  Inwardly, Renee heaved a sigh as he turned decidedly away from Liz’s smirking glance. No hint of his disappointment showed, though. He let his smile broaden as he began to meander Corrin’s way. This woman is too easy, he thought with a bit of sadness.

  Renee timed his walk so that the last chord played from his mandolin faded away as he reached Corrin’s table. He spun to face the dance floor. “I humbly beg your pardon,” he announced to the crowd. “But I must insist on a short break.” Renee bowed as various patrons showered him with applause. “You are too kind.”

  A few coins found their way into his hand and more into the basin in front of his stool by the fire. He had no worry for the money there. This backwater was too quiet even for thieves to find much interest. The money was safe.

  Renee took a seat on the rough-cut bench opposite Corrin. He gestured to the barmaid for a pair of drinks then settled his eyes on the woman who would be feeding him for the next few months. “What a wonderful surprise. You showing up unexpectedly like this.”

  Her attempt at a demure smile almost made Renee laugh, but thankfully the failed venture was short lived. She leaned close and spoke in a hushed tone. “I have exciting news, my love. We will be receiving visitors from Waterfall Citadel next month.”

  A vision of Galen and his soldiers dragging him away in chains flashed before his eyes, but he let none of his thoughts show on his face. “How exciting!” he said, matching her tone. “What kind of visitors?”

  Corrin glanced about conspiratorially before continuing in a whisper. “A landowner, interested in brokering a deal for some of Father’s land.”

  Renee felt the small knot of anxiety loosen. Her statement was puzzling, though. Harren had impressed him as a man who was interested in acquisition, not sales. “I didn’t think your father would sell any of his land. What’s changed?”

  “The sum, I suppose, but that doesn’t matter.” She reached out eagerly and took hold of Renee’s hands. “We will be hosting a ball to celebrate the occasion.” Her smile was ear to ear, and it brightened her plain face until it was actually quite fetching.

  “Splendid!” Renee chuckled. “Just splendid. You will finally have an opportunity to be the true belle of the ball!”

  Corrin nodded eagerly, her eyes bright. She began to prattle on about the dress she was planning to have made and the garb he must certainly wear, as he would be the primary entertainer.

  He nodded and added suggestions here and there, but his mind churned rapidly as he considered the potential of the event. His initial disappointment in Corrin’s arrival had fluttered away like a butterfly c
aught in a gust of wind. Wealthy merchants and lords from the surrounding area would flock to Braes Hollow for no other purpose than to rub elbows and compare purses. The world was conspiring to bring him ever greater possibilities even here in this most remote outpost of the human lands. He smiled at his smitten companion and squeezed her hands. “With you at my side, this will be an event to remember.”

  THE golden rays of dawn crept over the trees along the banks of the Tanglevine River, pouring through the windows and past the plush green drapes to chase the shadows back into the corners and crannies of the room. The light fell on the finely crafted winewood furnishings and glittered on the polished riverstone, giving life and warmth to both beyond their own inherent beauty. Delicately chiseled statues of marble stood guard at every window and door.

  Alexander sat at the end of their bed. Ruffled blankets covered much of his naked body as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “This is about your sister, isn’t it?” he asked, sadness touching his voice.

  Sacha stared at Alexander’s back with dread as she clutched the silken sheets close to her body in a flimsy shield. Her mind raced as it fumbled through the last memories that led to this moment. Rouke had carried her limp form into the Citadel after their encounter with Vinnicus, and she had been placed in recovery. Two days had passed while she was probed and evaluated in painstaking detail. In the end, it was mainly rest that she had required. Yesterday afternoon, the palace physician had finally released her from his care.

  Quite a fuss had been made over her return to her rooms. Wellwishers lined the halls, and servants in profusion scrambled to make everything as comfortable as possible. Sacha had thankfully and earnestly dropped into sleep almost instantly after Alexander had bid them all leave. Her last awareness was the touch of his hand on her brow as she snuggled into the deep mattress.

  And then the morning had come.

  He had approached her with the same gentleness as the dawn’s light through the windows, caressing her with a light touch and waking her from sleep. Much to his surprise, she had not rolled into his embrace but had recoiled from him, screaming. Part of her mind had screamed as well but with insistence that she not fail—that her daughter and Teacher would suffer if she did—but she could not bring herself to perform. She was not Sloane, after all.

  From what Sacha had experienced, Alexander seemed a decent man. He had stopped in frequently while she recovered, attempting to cheer her up. In the end, though, it was not, could not be enough; she barely knew him. This would have presented a problem even if Sacha hadn’t been in love with another man, never mind all the other tragic events of the past months.

  Sacha curled up into a ball and started to sob.

  The bed shifted as Alexander moved closer. “Forgive me. I should have found her by now.” His hand gently touched her foot as he continued, uncertain. “Is that the reason, Sacha’s absence, I mean?”

  He had provided the perfect excuse for Sacha’s reaction. Sloane’s permanent absence was at least part of the reason she could not embrace him as wife and lover. “Y-yes.” The word came out almost of its own volition, but Sacha didn’t try to stifle it. There was no point. Alexander seemed determined to take the gallant road and accept her inability to warm to him as his own fault. For now, his honor served as the best defense for her charade.

  Alexander rose, his voice firm. “We will find your sister, my love. We will search together on eagles’ wings and find her. This I promise you.” His bare feet thumped softly on the hard stone floor as he left to dress and prepare for his daily duties at court.

  Sacha continued to weep long after the prince had left. The panic of waking up to his strange touch subsided, to be replaced by the full weight of her mission and the probable impossibility of it. And yet, when the tears finally ceased, she found her mind to be more clear, the pain washed away. Joy was a distant thing, but at least she could face the events of recent past without the sting of fresh loss.

  Wiping away the wetness on her cheeks, Sacha turned her thoughts to the focus exercises she had learned at the Monastery. She drew herself into a sitting position and crossed her ankles, with her hands gently placed on her knees. Breathing deeply, she attempted to empty her mind of the clamoring emotions so that she might focus on one problem at a time. As she breathed, she felt the Shamonrae around her: motes of life in the tiny insects that flitted in the air, flashes of being in the birds that dove past the casement windows, and a steady, pulsing thrum like the heartbeat of the earth from Terrandal itself. The stolid permanence of the great tree’s unerring “reality” brushed away the last fragments of her panicked awakening. You can control your emotions, she thought. Do not allow them to control you.

  Her confidence continued to build until she was certain she would no longer break down. Sacha pushed away the covers and stepped from the massive bed to explore her new home.

  Curiously, there were no attendants available to help her find her way. Not a bad thing there, Sacha thought. She could envision a conversation in her mind with a servant who could not help but be confused by her inability to find the bathroom in her own home. Sacha padded softly around the room, touching statuary and admiring pieces of art in between opening cabinets and drawers and peering through openings. Alexander had disappeared through a door that was rather plain compared to the others she had seen. On her side of the bed was another door that was just as nondescript. She walked past the rumpled bed and approached the door, wondering what she might find and expecting a private dressing room. Perhaps this was where she would find the servants.

  The door opened easily and silently on well-polished hinges. Another reminder that I am far from home, Sacha thought. The doors within the halls of Stone Mountain were all thick, heavy, and apparently intended to serve as barriers to invading forces or at least provide alarm by the wailing of their steel hinges. The doors of Waterfall Citadel were light and lavishly decorated with carvings of eagles, elves, and men.

  Sacha lifted her fingers from the carved surface, resolutely repeating her mantra to carry on regardless of the obstacles in her path. Sacha stepped firmly forward only to stagger to a halt just past the threshold. The “dressing room” that she had thought to find was no simple room at all. What lay before her was not just a room but a suite of rooms, with entire enclosures dedicated to one type of clothing or another. There were entire long galleries of dresses and arranged legions of hats, boots, slips, and scarves. Coats, wraps, and cloaks peeked from the frames of yet more rooms that marched away down short halls radiating from the central area in which she stood.

  Directly in front of her was a mannequin that supported an emerald gown with golden accents. Sacha tiptoed over to it to touch the intricate designs—the swirling, interlocking patterns had been woven with a golden thread and must have taken a tailor months to finish. Beautiful, she thought as she rubbed the fine silk between two fingers. After a moment of appreciation, she released the fabric with a soft sigh, turning her attention back to the matters at hand.

  In Pelos, there would have been attendants here, waiting to help her make selections and dress for the day, but no one came to meet her. She moved deeper into the entry room that was bigger than many people’s entire homes. A giant mirror had been placed between two of the branching halls, and she caught sight of her reflection as she passed in front of the glass. Her hair was disheveled and asymmetrical in a way only the most daft hairdresser would encourage. The slight shift she had slept in was beautiful, but even its allure was dim in comparison to the treasures that lined the walls around her.

  Sacha considered her reflection almost ruefully. Alexander would probably prefer a woman from the Savage Lands. She approached the polished surface of the mirror, brushing at her hair and attempting to straighten the satiny material of her nightdress. As she brushed the hair away from her cheek, she caught sight of something in the mirror. A face was peering out from the racks of clothes behind her.

  Shouting, Sacha whirled, opening herself
to the Shamonrae. Her heart raced so rampantly that she could hear the beating in her ears.

  There were four women, in fact, all standing nestled in the racks of gowns as if they had been nesting in them. They stood motionless, reacting not at all as Sacha raised her hands, bolts of energy dancing between her fingers.

  “What are you doing here?” she managed to demand.

  Silence was Sacha’s answer until the familiar voice of Vinnicus flowed over her shoulder. “You are as lovely as your sister.”

  Chills washed through her, and goose pimples erupted on her arms and shoulders as dread filled her already-racing heart. She stumbled away from the voice and turned to find the tall figure of Vinnicus looming over her.

  The dark and tattered cloak that shrouded his form fluttered in the fingers of a nonexistent breeze, twisting with its own dark life. The pale features of his gaunt face betrayed no emotion or even a flicker of interest despite his words of admiration. Solid-black eyes stared at—no, through—her and penetrated her resolve. She felt her grip on the mystic energy begin to falter.

  She took several quick steps away from the creature and firmed her hold on the Shamonrae, reaching for more. The flood of arcane power that poured into her almost took her off her feet. Her recent bumbling efforts and blockages seemed to be a thing of the past. All the problems that she had had in recent days, whether self-inflicted or imposed by others, were gone. The arcane power flowed freely, and its brilliant warmth banished the chill more effectively than a blazing hearth. She stood defiantly before Vinnicus, her body vibrating with captive power.