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

by Matt Howerter

  The Rohdaekhann opened and closed its mouth several times before returning to an upright position, accepting Rouke’s apology. Bora, however, seemed uneasy. His talons pierced deeply into the long dowel as his grasp alternated from foot to foot.

  Rouke motioned for Sacha to remain still. “He knows somethin’s off.”

  “Were you expecting to fool him?” Sacha said dryly.

  The soldier shook his head. “Not exactly, but I’d hoped he wouldn’t cause a fuss. His reaction outside led me to thinkin’ he wouldn’t, but now that he’s gotten a good look at ya, he might have second thoughts.”

  Sacha’s stomach fluttered. She was painfully aware of just how sharp Bora’s wickedly hooked beak looked. Gritting her teeth, Sacha stilled her heart. She was a daughter of Pelos, and she had faced worse than this, recently in fact. If she faltered, there would be no one left to care for Rylan. Who would even remember that her little girl was in the hands of an abomination? The small, frightened face swam through Sacha’s memory, and suddenly she knew nothing could frighten her more than not taking action to free her daughter. Remembering Rouke’s words to show respect, Sacha stepped forward and bowed. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.”

  Bora screeched and squatted aggressively, spreading his wings wide. The other bird hopped farther down the perch away from Bora, squawking in complaint.

  Fear threatened to unhinge Sacha’s resolve as the giant bird flapped its wings and screamed in anger, but she remained unmoving, eyes cast down, to wait out the storm.

  There was a rustling, and she felt the presence of the bird draw nearer. She became very aware that she was totally exposed and likely the perfect size prey for the Rohdaekhann. Visions of her entrails being torn from her midsection clamored for attention in her mind, and it became difficult to stand still or remember her instructions. She couldn’t remember if she was supposed to make eye contact or stay bent. She risked a glance up and caught her breath in spite of herself. The bird hadn’t just drawn closer. It was close enough that the great hooked beak was just inches from her face. One large, golden eye stared at her with the intensity of a dominant predator.

  Strangely, Sacha’s mind calmed. She felt the familiar pulse of the Shamonrae’s power flowing through her, unaware that she had reached out and taken hold of the mystic force. Straightening slowly from the bow, she spoke. “My name is Sacha Moridin, princess of the kingdom of Pelos, and sister to Princess Sloane.”

  Bora blinked and tilted his head. His yellow-and-black horn-like beak opened and closed as Ritak’s had done, but he did not lunge or threaten to attack.

  Impulsively, Sacha reached out and touched the feathers on the great head. She could feel the warmth of the Rohdaekhann’s body radiating out before she touched the glistening feathers and found it a comfort. The past weeks had been stocked with horror after horror and set against a backdrop of cold and misery. The warmth of the Rohdaekhann was soothing and alive in a way that made her forget, just for a moment, those horrible trials.

  The bird did not jerk away from her touch but instead nuzzled her hand. The feathers were smooth and resilient. This close, a multiplicity of colors could be seen blending along the hair-like barbs that sprouted from the shafts. Starting at the base of each feather, brown flowed into gold, which in turn changed to pure yellow that was almost invisible at the most distal tip of the feather. All the color was alive and vibrant.

  Moments passed in relative calm, and Sacha finally stepped back, grinning confidently.

  Rouke went boneless and looked to the ceiling as he mouthed a silent prayer. “You Moridin girls never cease to amaze me,” he said and then barked a laugh. “Wasn’t sure how I was gonna explain your death to the prince.”

  A genuine smile made its way onto Sacha’s face. She pointed to the ladder and asked, “Is it time for the next step?”

  Rouke nodded enthusiastically. Together they rigged the harnesses and then pushed the ladder over to the perch where the birds waited.

  Getting the birds ready went quickly with Rouke’s clear instruction and the Rohdaekhann’s newly calm demeanor. Within minutes, they were mounted, and Sacha experienced her first flight. In the face of the great swooping dives she had endured the past three days, that first dive from the bower of Terrandal was almost prosaic.

  Almost, she thought with a grin while her heart rate picked up from the memory. Since that first flight, she had taken any and every opportunity to fly. In the wind’s embrace, she could, for a short time at least, forget the reasons lurking behind the secret lessons, but reality would always return to sour the most breathtaking of adventures. Even now, as she remembered that wonderful first day, her happiness began to wane.

  Rouke urged Ritak into a short flight to land on a branch closer to Sacha. The giant bird’s wings stirred up dust and leaves from the surrounding branches, but all settled after a few moments.

  The sudden melancholy Sacha felt from remembering how dire their situation had become must have shown on her face, because Rouke suddenly called out to her, “You should tell him, Highness.”

  Sacha had no doubt who Rouke meant. They had had this conversation before, and more than once. “Yes? And what is it I should tell him, Rouke?” Irritation painted her words with an edge. She knew it was selfish to hide in the joy of flight, but didn’t she have a right to just a little bit of joy? She continued to speak in mock conversation, not waiting for Rouke’s reply. “Forgive me, Alexander, but your true wife is dead. I am but the mere replacement of the woman you love. Oh, and did I forget to mention that I love another—perhaps that is why I cannot perform my wifely duties. I know this must come as a shock to you, but please, I beg discretion on your part. If you should tell anyone about these small problems, a little girl that you couldn’t possibly care about or help will die horribly at the hands of a monster—the same creature, in fact, that took your bride’s life!” She ended in a huff, breathless.

  Rouke frowned. “Forgive me, Princess. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He gritted his teeth in frustration. “I just know that letting that thing have its way can’t be a good thing. The prince ain’t stupid, and he has a lot of influence. Maybe he has somethin’ or knows someone that can break that thing’s hold on ya!”

  Just as she did every time they had this conversation, Sacha found herself considering and even hoping that maybe there was a way for Alexander to help her. Unlike those other conversations, she took hold of the hope and strangled it, beating it down savagely. She had seen Vinnicus lay Teacher low with no more apparent effort than she might have used to tear free a stubborn button. What could a prince do? What could even a king do? To ponder salvation from anyone other than herself was folly.

  “At least give ’im a chance,” Rouke continued.

  “Let it go, Rouke,” she said. When he opened his mouth to continue, she raised her voice. “Please! Let it go.” Sacha shook her head. “Maybe, once I am more firm in my role, an opportunity to act will reveal itself, but my daughter will die if we defy that monster now. I cannot take that risk, and I’m begging you not to.” She shivered and looked out over the trees. “You can never tell where he might be, even now. Maybe even here.”

  Rouke quickly scanned the area as if Vinnicus might actually be here, clinging to one of the limbs of the trees that surrounded them. He finally heaved a sigh and nodded grudgingly. “Aye, you’re probably right.” He picked up a control loop, toying with the steel that had been polished to a bright blue sheen from hours of being gripped by well-oiled leather gloves. “I just can’t bring myself to like it.” He shook off the scowl and caught her gaze. “You ready to head back, Princess? Probably about time for folks to begin lookin’ for us.”

  Sacha nodded and clucked to Bora as she settled into the saddle. The Rohdaekhann’s powerful wings spread out and thrust downward as he leapt from the branch into the air. In spite of the conversation, a grin found its way back onto her face as the ground dropped away. Even though she had been vehement in her refusal
to talk to Alexander about Vinnicus, she did harbor a hope that one day, she would be as liberated as she felt when flying. One day, she would be free.

  KESH gently slid shut another drawer in the heavy desk after making certain every scrap of paper was placed exactly where it had been when he first opened it. More boring details, he sighed to himself, thinking with derision about the reverence he had once held for Banlor.

  His former master had been habitually late to any meeting that demanded Kesh’s presence, and today seemed to be no exception to the rule. In the past, the casual disregard had always annoyed Kesh. Today, it provided him just the opportunity he needed to search for clues that would help sate Vinnicus’s need to know more about the old lord’s activities.

  Kesh’s new master had proven oddly curious about the Minister of Trade these past few months. Oh, Vinnicus’s inquiries had not been overtly suspicious. If anyone but Kesh had heard the questions about Banlor’s actions, it was unlikely that there would have been any reason to comment at all, but there was something in those dead eyes that hinted at more than just a casual interest. So far as Kesh was aware, Vinnicus paid little heed to the doings of any mortals beyond Sacha and Kesh himself.

  “But why can’t you just kill the old fool and be done with it, Master?” Kesh recalled asking when Vinnicus had commanded him to find out what Banlor’s plans and interests were. “I could easily assume Lord Graves’s role as Minister of Trade with your help, and then I could serve your interests much more directly.”

  “It is not for you to ask, and you already serve where I desire you to,” Vinnicus replied simply.

  A shadow farther down the hall had moved, drawing Kesh’s eye. Nothing but the hauntingly empty passage filled his wary vision, but he had been certain that there was something. Something that tickled at his mind with a sense bordering on familiarity.

  “When will you next see your former master?” Vinnicus asked, tearing Kesh’s attention away from the darkened hallway.

  “I don’t know,” Kesh said, frustrated and distracted. He could hardly demand an audience with Banlor. The summons had to come from the minister himself, not the other way around. “What of the thing he keeps with him?” Kesh meant the creature that looked like Walina Clearglass but was most certainly not the woman he remembered. “If I am discovered prying into Banlor’s affairs, then he will feed me to her. Certainly, I could be of better use to you by continuing to help Sacha establish herself in the courts.” Try as he might, a hint of whining desperation crept into his voice. “That’s going very well, I feel.”

  That was not a lie. Sacha had proven every bit as adept as he had suspected she might. With his help, the nobility were beginning to appreciate her just as much as they had her slattern sister, Sloane. “Soon it will be as if Sloane had never been in the kingdom at all,” he said smugly.

  This time the movement in the hall was not his imagination. A growling hiss rumbled from the darkened hall, and a form detached itself from the wall. Vinnicus reacted like black lightning. One moment his dead eyes were calculating Kesh’s every word, and the next, he was blocking the doorway.

  “Stop!” The word thundered from Vinnicus, bringing all motion to a shuddering halt.

  Kesh had learned that the words spoken with that tone were words infused with power. He felt the backlash of it even though it was not directed at him. The bestial noise from the shadowed figure behind his master ceased instantly.

  Kesh shivered, wondering what kind of creature Vinnicus had brought to his home and why. A sudden thought of Walina’s wicked, inhuman smile flashed through his mind, and his forehead moistened in panic. Oh, Eos. Please, no, he prayed.

  Moments of grave-like silence passed while Kesh sought divine intervention from any god that would listen, and Vinnicus remained blocking the doorway like an obstinate pillar of black granite. When his master finally turned, it was with no readable expression at all.

  Kesh was able to catch the barest glimpse of the hallway past the swirling robes.

  No sign of the shadowy form remained.

  “You will find out what your former master is planning. If you do not, his pet will be amongst the least of your concerns,” Vinnicus stated as if there had been no interruption. One pale hand extended, offering a glass sphere no bigger than a wren’s egg.

  Kesh took it gingerly. Soft warmth radiated from the tiny globe. In its depths, pearly mist swirled, gray and black.

  “When you have news to report,” Vinnicus said, “shatter the sphere, and I will come.”

  Kesh held the globe gently in his cupped hand, nodding his understanding. When he looked up, his master was gone.

  That had been more than a week ago. Now the sphere was locked away in a chest at Kesh’s home, and he found himself in Banlor’s private study. He carefully got up from the desk and made his way past an overstuffed chair to the door of the hallway, marveling at his good fortune. He had never been allowed in this room by himself before. Banlor had made a habit of keeping this sanctum and its raven cotes his most private space, but the servant who had met Kesh at the front door had left him here without comment. Somewhere below, he could just make out the rattle and rustle of servants cleaning a lower floor.

  Satisfied that he was still alone, he left the door slightly ajar so that he might hear any approaching footstep and hurried across the room past bookshelves and pictures he had already searched.

  Kesh slid into the leather seat behind the desk once more and turned his attention to the last drawer. It glided smoothly and quietly open in a testimony to its craftsmanship. As with all the cabinets and drawers he had searched, Kesh checked for imperfections in the wood that might lead to a hidden compartment. His long, delicate fingers quested down the smooth inner face of the drawer until they found an indentation in which a small latch lay. Kesh’s heart raced, and he eyed the opening to the hall before pushing the small metallic catch. A soft click greeted the pressure of Kesh’s touch, and the false bottom of the drawer lifted slightly on a hidden spring.

  Satisfaction broadened Kesh’s smile as the cover of a slim leather ledger came into view. Kesh glanced at the door and listened until his ears ached for the tread of a foot. Hearing nothing, he slipped one hand inside and brought his prize into the light that streamed in from the open balcony behind him.

  The leather-bound parcel appeared to be an accounting ledger. He’s buying land? Kesh thought, pursing his lips and running one finger down the neat columns that detailed the recent parcels, offers, and counteroffers between the minister of trade and the landowners he was purchasing from. One name had been circled and, from the pen stroke, indicated that Banlor’s mood had been surly at best when he had made the note.

  Linder Harrelfol.

  Kesh knew the man, of course. He was one of the largest landowners in northern Basinia and had been so for many years. He was soft-spoken and measured in most of his actions—utterly boring, in fact. Since the death of Lord Harrelfol’s wife some eight years past, virtually nothing of note had happened in the lord’s holdings. Kesh suspected Harrelfol’s wife had been the primary driver in most of the man’s business dealings despite the visible evidence to the contrary. No one that deliberate could have amassed such an empire; they simply didn’t have the courage to take the risks that led to great reward. From the records in the ledger, it appeared that large sums of money were insufficient to move Linder to action in the matter of surrendering parcels of land to Banlor. Multiple entries of past offers had been crossed out with increasingly emphatic vigor until the last, truly princely sum. The page had actually torn under the nib of the pen as the numbers had been slashed through.

  Kesh drummed his fingers on the desk softly in thought. From what he was able to see in these records, all the acquisitions had been made with the kingdom’s gold. Which was only logical. No individual possessed the wealth to acquire such a massive amount of land—not even the royal family. The deeds of record that showed the legal disposition of the land, however, had not
been filed within the halls of record. They remained here in Banlor’s ledger. The chancellor’s gaze drifted to the crisp stack of parchment that had been stowed in the back of the leather-bound book. Without those documents, the hall—the kingdom, in fact—would not recognize the purchased parcels. It would be as if they didn’t even exist. He’s not buying land, he’s making it disappear, Kesh thought, the revelation finally dawning on him. But why?

  A slight gust of wind stirred the papers on Banlor’s desk.

  Kesh snapped out of his introspection, standing to scan the room warily.

  Nothing appeared to have changed, but there was an oppressive quality to the air he had not noticed before.

  Kesh licked his lips as a chill went down his spine, spurring a sudden sense of urgency within him. He quickly collected the deeds and slipped them back into the ledger. The book itself slid into its proper place easily with a careful touch. A soft, hollow clunk came from the false bottom as it settled back into its place and the catch reset. Once he had assured himself that no one would be able to discern his snooping, Kesh let out a breath of relief and sank back into Lord Banlor’s padded chair, only to leap back up again with an exclamation of surprise.

  Across the room, leaning indolently against the wall, was Walina Clearglass. Kesh had seen her many times in the past as a child growing up in the city of Waterfall Citadel. She had grown swiftly from a nettlesome court bratling into a fine example of womanhood, flaunting soft curves, long dark hair, downcast eyes, and the most fetching mouth. Recently, however, he had seen her, or what he had thought to be her, in the basement of this very home. That horrid night had been one of the longest in his life. If Walina had ever been human, which he felt was once true, she was no longer. Kesh could not say what it was that now lived in the stead of Lord Popin’s daughter, but during that time in Banlor’s wine cellar, he had been amply convinced that the term “human” no longer applied. How and when she had entered the room just now was a mystery. The door stood slightly ajar as he had left it, with far too small a space for someone to pass through.