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

by Matt Howerter

  “Well, your continued inability to announce yourself properly is a bit disconcerting,” Yandy added, jumping in quickly before her mother could speak. Belen shot a quelling glance at her daughter, but Yandy ignored it imperiously.

  Lady Barrelon narrowed her eyes at the rotund woman and spoke. “There was good reason for not announcing her arrival upon first entering Waterfall Citadel. You know that as well as anyone.”

  “That’s all well and good, Cora, but based on her current entrance”—Yandy huffed as she waved at Sacha and Kesh, who hovered behind her—“it is her attitude that appears to control how she chooses to present herself more than any situation.”

  Kesh wilted a bit from the accusation. The true blame for their entry today fell to him, not Sacha. He could have sent a formal notice of their intent to arrive, but he had not thought it necessary for this instance, nor indeed after communicating with Lady Barrelon, that they would be attending. Visions of the bungled entry to Pelos danced in his mind. That embarrassment had been Kinsey’s work, of course, but Kesh had been the one who had paid the price for the failure to have the party’s arrival announced properly.

  “A small point of contention, Yandy,” Lady Barrelon said, maintaining her hawkish expression.

  The young, hefty woman must have felt herself well justified. She folded puffy arms across her mountainous chest and snorted. “Must all our customs of propriety be cast aside now that she is here?” Several of the others nodded in agreement.

  Lady Barrelon rolled her eyes. “Really, Yandy. You’re being melodramatic. Life is change, but perhaps you are too young to realize that.”

  The young Lady Tilson’s eyes grew wide, and she huffed, somehow making herself even larger. Her impressive bosom swelled to truly magnificent proportions as she took a breath to respond—at length, Kesh presumed.

  Sacha’s voice cut between the two women like a knife. “Three slights to you and your customs?” Sacha let her gaze linger on Yandy before travelling around the table, touching each woman. “I suppose you want explanations. Surely it isn’t that you wish to establish your own pecking order by challenging an outsider.” Sacha’s expression turned into something that might have passed for sympathy or maybe even pity. “That would be petty. No, surely not.”

  The few who had still made as if they were paying attention to their work finally abandoned the pretense and looked at Sacha but said nothing. The assembly was ready to hear Sacha lash out, to have her justify their persecution, but there was more at stake than just this sad ruse of Yandy’s supposed addressing of indignities or political concern. The game of power had started in earnest.

  Sacha gathered herself, and the mock sympathy melted away, replaced by cold fury much like what she had met him with in the parlor. Sacha was tall, but she seemed to tower over the women. “A pity I don’t feel the need to address your concerns of my heritage, choice of friends, or propriety.” Sacha let the last word drip with contempt. “If ever I decide to grace you with answers to your concerns, it will be at a time of my choosing, not yours. I am not beholden to you.”

  A wide range of emotions played across the faces at the table, but wide eyes were the most common. Yandy and her mother were the sole exceptions. Their plump cheeks had almost closed away their eyes to twin glares of hate. Yandy had been reckless, attacking with such aggression and without consideration of the consequences. Instead of taking advantage of a freshly wed and inexperienced outsider, she had been made to seem rash and ineffectual.

  Kesh rubbed at his chin and mouth, hiding his smile. He hated the fat sow, and any amount of humiliation the woman suffered was worth her weight in gold.

  “Now, as my escort has already stated, I must take my leave,” Sacha continued. “Cora.” She nodded to the elder woman and turned to go, speaking over her shoulder, “Good day, ladies.” Without waiting for the respect that was due her, she stepped away from the table and marched off into the milling crowd.

  Once again Kesh found himself running after the princess.

  Before they had made it to the staircase, Detra Yorkson’s piercing voice floated out in a forced whisper. “I’ll wager that she had her own sister abducted.”

  The dark-headed young woman was speaking behind her hand to the little blonde, Siara Felbrook, who giggled gamely. Neither woman was more than sixteen years old. Detra might have dropped the pretense; she was already known for being a gossip despite her youth, and her shrill voice would need a much more formidable bulwark than a hand to be stifled.

  The princess slowed, turning her head to regard the snickering pair.

  Sudden cries of alarm came from outside as a gale of warm wind howled through the doors. The great casement windows blew open to slam against the inner walls with a crash. Broken glass leapt from the frames and showered to the floor. Paper, fabric, and small trinkets flew by in a torrent as the wind whipped through and seized the colorful leather streamers dangling from the towering Sharakaran pole.

  The whipping tendrils flailed about wildly in the gusting wind, snapping fiercely. Two ends snaked out and delivered ringing slaps to the faces of the stunned Detra and Siara, flinging both young women to the ground in weeping piles.

  Just as suddenly as it had come, the wind died away. Shouts of confusion and a chaotic babble of voices swelled to fill the gap left by the wind. Kesh watched people bend to help the two gossips and marveled at the speed of karmic forces. Justice served. The young women should have known not to speak unless their words could not be connected to them—directly, anyway. He turned away from the crying young women to follow the princess but stopped.

  Sacha had not continued to climb the stairs. She stood, watching the foolish pair as they were being helped to their feet, clutching at their reddened faces and exclaiming at the mad chance. Her crystalline blue eyes were cold indeed. A faint smile that might have been satisfaction tipped the corners of her mouth, and then it was gone.

  Without further pause, the princess marched up the stairs and out of the ballroom.

  EOS preserve me, Sacha thought as she moved through the halls of the palace. I cannot do this. Swirls of sickness twisted in her gut. She clenched her fists and took a calming breath. She had known there were prejudices between the kingdoms, but that meeting with the noblewomen had been a bucket of ice water. How she had wanted to let lightning fly at that smug blob of a woman and her horrible mother. Sacha had thought herself the master of the situation until the snide comments had floated up and thrown oil on the embers she thought tamped out.

  Will it always be so hard? Her anger hadn’t just wanted to lay those girls low; it had demanded it. She had to find the mastery of her emotions if she was to get through this ordeal without harming someone—someone who might not be her enemy.

  “Princess!” Kesh’s breathless call bounced from the halls as he came running. His booted feet pounded along the stone as he forgot the decorum of his station in his haste to catch up.

  As much as the man irritated her, it was a good thing he had not been left behind. Sacha had no idea how to find Teacher or where she herself had gotten to in her hurry to escape those “noble” women. Even so, she did not slow her stride a whit.

  The palace was a twisting maze of corridors carved within Terrandal itself and accented with stone floor tiles that seemed more a part of the tree than quarried slabs of the earth. How the great tree had survived such a process and continued to thrive was beyond Sacha’s understanding, but the majesty of the naturalist architecture was beyond any question of technique. Sweeping arches sprang from the floor like the living things they were. Sculptures of beasts and men met her at every turn, adding to her sense of wonder.

  More of the glowing crystals, like those found in her dressing room, were sprinkled along the columns and embedded in the varying scenes carved from the living wood. Even if she lived here for years, she doubted she could ever get used to this beauty.

  “Princess,” Chancellor Kesh huffed as he finally came alongside her. “I must
commend you on your performance back there. I—”

  Sacha rounded on the chancellor and slapped him across the face. Her hand stung from the blow, but it was a satisfying kind of pain. “You will never set me up for that kind of ambush again.” She glared at the man as he rubbed his reddening cheek. “You are supposed to be helping me assume my role, not dipping me into the waters to let the hagfish tear me apart. Do we understand each other?”

  Kesh gave her a calculating glance before he spoke. “Yes, Princess, we do.”

  Sacha truly did not and could not trust the man, but he was all she had to work with at the moment. By Eos, she would bring him to heel. “Good. Now, where is Teacher?”

  “This way,” Kesh replied. Moving his hand away from his face, he gestured toward a southern branching hall and moved off with his long stride, setting an easy pace. He glanced at Sacha as she fell in beside him. “I do apologize, Princess. I had not anticipated such blunt behavior from the nobles of our fair city. You may depend on me to exercise more caution from now on and to plan for us to meet with smaller groups in the future—as they are available to coincide with your training, of course.”

  “Very well, Chancellor. See that you do.” Sacha continued to absorb her surroundings as they walked. Armored sentries stood guard in every hall and at every intersection of the palace, snapping to attention when she drew near.

  Oddly, she found there was a certain comfort being out and about in the presence of others and even being in the company of the chancellor. Though the surroundings were wildly different than those of her home, much of the rhythm of life was the same. Servants still cleaned and polished in the corners as the nobility and lawmakers passed by. Soldiers still stood guard everywhere one might care to look, and there was a steady hum of life that said things might just work out, no matter the bleakness of the current situation. It reminded her of a time when she too had been ignorant of the fact that there were indeed monsters in the world. She shivered. Kesh might be an opportunistic fop, but at least he was human, and humans had limits. Vinnicus, however…

  The thought chilled her. Sacha shivered and quickened her step. “Are we near?”

  “Not too far, Princess,” Kesh answered, matching her pace to remain just in the lead. “We must leave the walls of the Citadel. A villa near the upper falls has been made available. Teacher waits for us there.”

  “That seems far to me,” Sacha said, disappointed. “How is my meeting with the ladies supposed to provide me cover for events outside the walls of the palace?”

  “Ah, it actually only matters that you have something to do that takes you from your chambers, not where you go afterward.”

  Sacha looked at him skeptically.

  He hurried on, speaking softly. “All that is truly necessary is that we behave as if we have the right to move as we will and agree upon what we will tell folk if they ask. Who will gainsay you an hour or two to acquaint yourself with the city and its people? This city is to be your new home, after all.” Kesh smiled confidently.

  She remained doubtful. Her past efforts at duplicity had not served her well.

  The pair came to another grand staircase. This one granted egress from the giant tree and led down into a courtyard cobbled in variegated river stone worked in flowing patterns that echoed the Tanglevine. Waiting at the foot of the stairs were four pure-white stallions that shifted nervously in the traces of a coach. The beasts themselves were healthily muscled and shining from a thorough brushing, but the coach was a masterwork. The body was polished winewood, of course, but the lines were as free flowing and natural as the lines of the palace and Terrandal itself. Golden eagles decorated each corner of the royal carriage, while multitudes of floral filigree wrought from the same precious metal covered the doors and sidewalls.

  The coach would have been quite enough to announce her presence to any who should wonder, but it was not the only thing that awaited her descent of the stairs. A dozen armed soldiers waited on their mounts not far ahead of the carriage and another dozen just behind. Four more soldiers sat on benches atop the roof, holding heavy crossbows. An open-top wagon pulled by two dark-brown horses sat at the end of the little caravan. Its wooden seats were filled with a half dozen servants and various sacks filled with who knew what.

  A short, older gentleman wearing palace green opened the door to the carriage as Sacha and Kesh approached. “Princess. Milord,” he said as he bowed.

  Sacha nodded to the coachman as the chancellor helped her onto the plush emerald seat within. The coachman waited for Kesh to settle across from her before shutting the door and clambering to the driver’s seat. The quick crack of a whip sent them on their way.

  Kesh began to talk to her of what they were to tell people of their activities as the city began to roll by, but Sacha quickly lost herself in the passing scenery. Her home, Stone Mountain, was primarily forest and sheer granite, accented here and there with the precise and controlled architecture of the dwarves who had built it and the men who had continued their work later. The very nature of it was a landscape that existed on the edge of extremes, struggling for survival in a harsh environment. The life that survived was beautiful, but it existed in the shadow of a potential rockslide or at the edges of banks of snow for much of the year.

  The landscapes of Waterfall Citadel, by contrast, were a riot of life. Everywhere she looked, she found the jungle of the Winewood cultivated to display its finest beauty or a sandy beach where children ran while fishing boats dotted the bay. Water was everywhere within the city, flowing through gutters, babbling through artful brooks or trickling waterfalls. Lying over the sound of life in the city was the constant, distant thunder of the water of the Tanglevine as it rushed over the main falls.

  Their carriage crossed a bridge, presenting her with a clear view of the monumental horseshoe falls to the east and the dropoff that fell into the basin on the west side of the city. Once they crossed the bridge, they continued to travel east along a path that climbed toward the upper falls.

  “What are they called?” Sacha asked, watching the cascading streams of water.

  Kesh glanced out the window, following her gaze. “‘First Step’ is the nickname the locals use, but the elves graced them with the name Mu’andorea.”

  “What does it mean?” Sacha tore her gaze away from the awesome spectacle to focus on the chancellor. “The elven version?”

  “I’ve read that the literal interpretation is ‘beginning,’ but the title most likely holds a deeper meaning for our elven neighbors,” Kesh said, his eyes lingering on her. He appeared on the verge of saying something else but turned to look at the falls instead.

  Sacha suspected the chancellor was still searching for a way to insert his justifications for implicating Erik and Kinsey in her kidnapping. He had been surprised earlier when she had prevented him from spinning further lies about the pair. She didn’t know what had led him to present her friends as criminals, but she meant what she had said. There was no need to know. The damage had been done. Both men were branded as outlaws, and warrants had been issued for their recapture. For the moment, there was little she could do. Perhaps, when she had secured her charade, there would be something she could do to remedy the injustice. Even so, there was value to understanding the motivations of those closest to you, especially if they were not entirely trustworthy. She decided to bite. “What is it?”

  Kesh sat for a moment, pondering his thoughts. He began slowly, not meeting her eyes. “I was thinking about your… situation. Specifically, your relationship with the prince. More accurately, your sister’s relationship with the prince.”

  Sacha’s brows rose. Of all the potential topics, this was among the least likely she had expected Kesh to initiate. She shifted in her seat, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “What about it?”

  “Well, from what I understand, they had become quite close. They had found a deeper connection in the past few months than many marriages find in a lifetime—”

  “How could y
ou possibly know that?” Sacha interrupted. Sudden tightness gripped her chest, and the formerly roomy carriage began to feel smaller. The frustration of her failure and the fear of its potential consequences rushed to the surface of her thoughts.

  “The servants, of course. If you want the truth of a person’s life, you must know their servants—own them if you can.” Kesh looked at her, a hint of desire in his eyes. “Yes, your sister and the prince had become very close, and very quickly. They shared common interests in and out of the bedchamber.”

  The heat in Sacha’s chest burned its way up to her cheeks. “I suggest you make your point, Chancellor, before I end this conversation by having you thrown into the river.”

  Kesh cleared his throat and pulled on his high-necked collar. “The prince will be the first to discover our little deception if those common interests are not sustained.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “I believe that you know it very well, but you might be having trouble acclimating to your new surroundings,” Kesh said. “I only wish to help you adjust.”

  Sacha didn’t like where this was going, but she didn’t see any way of stopping the conversation short of having the man actually thrown into the river. Horrible suspicions of what “help” Kesh might be offering dawned in her mind. One full day into her role, and she was already becoming desperate. But not that desperate, she thought. She narrowed her eyes at Kesh. “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “Aside from the ‘evening activities,’ which I cannot assist with, your sister and the prince shared similar thoughts on how to rule. A common desire to have more open trade with the elves and dwarves is one example of particular use to us. Those negotiations would also entail some involvement with your father. The elves tend to see humans as one community. King Hathorn will have to be made to make peace.”

  The relief that washed over her when she realized that Kesh was not suggesting that he teach her how to perform in bed with Alexander was replaced by disbelief. “Good luck with that,” Sacha scoffed. Proposing to “make” Hathorn do anything was like asking a laborer to change the course of the Tanglevine with a shovel. Making him consider peace with the elves was akin to making a population think you were actually your dead sister. Maybe she should propose the shovel idea...