Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1)

by Matt Howerter

  Sacha had heard this as well. They all had, in fact. The mood of the castle was shifting between offense at the lack of decorum and a desire to forgive this slight in the face of the more important royal wedding. Either way, she knew how her father would feel. Stating that the king would not be pleased was only a practice in conveying the obvious. She was beginning to think it might turn out to be an interesting night after all.

  Bella finally relented with an open grin. “Oh yes, My Princess.” She rushed over to kneel before Sloane. “I was able to get a good look at the leader of their party. Although very handsome, he seemed extremely upset and went straight to the king’s audience chamber after dismounting. Which made sense, I guess, since no one was there to greet them,” she finished breathlessly.

  “What of the others?” Sacha asked.

  All eyes turned to Sacha and she felt sheepish for blurting her question so quickly, but she straightened her back and looked intently at Bella.

  “Quite a few followed their leader into the castle. The rest, mainly soldiers or guards, went to the stables,” Bella replied, then cocked her head as if remembering something else. “There were two men-at-arms that followed close behind the leader, one of which was a most striking elf. The other looked almost like a dwarf, but was far too large. Bodyguards, I suppose.”

  “An elf?” Sloane asked. “Father will not be pleased about that,” she said as she stood. “Sacha, your turn.” Her sister moved away from the stool and dresser to stand in front of the wall-length mirror that was framed in golden statues and filigree. Sloane crinkled her lip at her reflection and exhaled slowly, visibly resigning herself to the event at hand. “I do dread these formalities. I wish we could just be on our way.”

  Sacha went to stand beside her sister. “You look beautiful,” she said, “and we will be gone from here soon enough.” She gave Sloane a soft elbow to the ribs before continuing, “And once we have left, I shall have to endure your whining about wanting to return.”

  Sloane’s snorted response was softened by her rueful nod of acceptance.

  Sacha gently touched her sister on the shoulder, knowing the pressure she must be under and the need to just move forward. Turning from the mirror, she slowly made her way back to the stool. After settling, she gave herself over to the whirlwind of activity, and the ministrations of her cousins and old friends. The banter of the girls washed over her without actually engaging her thoughts about the subjects at hand—who they most desired to see and what the events of the evening might hold. Her thoughts drifted as the buzz of conversation faded from her consciousness, pierced occasionally by laughing and the brief mention of her name. A nod and a noncommittal “Hmmm” seemed to be all that was required of her to return the activity to a gentle hum.

  An elf, she mused. She hadn’t seen an elf in over ten years, and even that had been from a distance. The opportunity to speak with one could prove to be a diverting experience. “Wood Devils” is what her father called them. The king’s animosity toward the woodland people had come, at least in part, from the many border disputes along the Winewood. Elves appeared to be just as territorial as her father. Years of disputes over hundreds of miles of poorly defined borders made for unpleasant relations. Sacha found, though, that the reasons behind the mutual animosity were irrelevant. A people that stood in conflict with her father was a group she wanted to know.

  A soft knock at the door disrupted the flowing chatter that surrounded her. Leanne broke away from the group and picked her way across the room through the flotsam.

  Sacha watched the young woman closely as she opened the door only wide enough to hold a quiet conversation. The angle of the door did not allow her to see the person in the hall, but Leanne’s eyes had opened wide enough for Sacha to discern the lovely green shade of the iris under the golden, arching brows. The words of the conversation were lost in the soft susurration that had recommenced, but Sacha watched as Leanne gave a brief sideways nod and a soft shrug of her shoulders. Stepping back and allowing the door to swing wide, Leanne allowed a person Sacha thought she would never see again enter the room.

  Tara Cornath. The handmaiden who had betrayed Sacha and Renee to the king. Her break in loyalty was the lynchpin that set the course of all Sacha’s trials in the past two years. During those nights when she raged against the injustice and cried herself to sleep, it was the faces of her father and this woman that haunted her thoughts. How she had longed for the moment when she could redress her pain.

  “Sacha!” Sloane’s sharply raised voice shattered her thoughts like glass.

  Sacha was standing, staring fixedly at Tara, though she could not remember rising to her feet. None of the women who had surrounded her before were within arm’s distance now. The only sounds in the room were those of panicked breath and small whimpers of fear.

  “Sacha! Stop!” The peremptory note in Sloane’s voice left no doubt that it was a command.

  Sacha tore her eyes away from Tara’s rigid form to regard her sister, who stood next to the wall-length mirror. Sloane stood tall in the posture she had been taught to assume when using her authority as a daughter of the king, but it was Sacha’s own reflection in the glass that caught her attention. Her entire body was wreathed in flames. The last remnants of the gown that she had been wearing fell away in blackened, twisting curls, and her hair, which had yet to be bound, was writhing like a thing alive. Black stripes chased dull orange-and-red swirls through her hair as though it were made of forge fire coals, and the licking flames crawled over her body, scaling her flesh in overlapping fingers of red and yellow. There was no sensation of burning, but there was a silky caress to the flames stirring against her like a light summer breeze. Her eyes were no longer the royal blue; hot, amber pits were staring back at her through the surface of the silvered glass.

  Sacha staggered back from her reflection, knocking over the charred remnants of the dressing stool as she realized what she had been on the verge of doing. Teacher’s words came crashing into her consciousness like water through a sluice in a dam: “This is a place of peace, not vengeance.”

  Shaken by the memory, Sacha released her power. Without the energy of the Shamonrae to sustain them, the flames dissipated into streams of translucent smoke that curled around her body and drifted to the rafters above. The only sound in the room for a few long moments was the crack and pop of the smoldering stool, lying in a crumpled heap behind her. Everyone stood like marble statues, staring at Sacha with wide eyes.

  Tara gulped. “Th-the preliminary celebration will begin in an hour. The princesses’ presence is required... by word of the king.”

  “Thank you, Tara. You may go,” Sloane said, not moving her eyes from Sacha. Tara all but ran from the room, not bothering to close the door as she went. The sound of her rustling dress and pattering footfalls faded rapidly from the hallway, leaving the chamber in an eerie silence and a lingering, pungent charred smell.

  Sacha looked at her sister, wanting to weep in frustration and humiliation. She had just given up her chance at vengeance. She had been sure this was something she wanted, but now what she wanted no longer felt clear.

  Tara had not been the one to send her away, and the poor girl must have been in a horrible position, being placed between her loyalty to her king and the princess she served. Sacha’s lack of control could be, no, should be, a damning offense. She knew this in her own mind now, and it was so much more than just what was expected of her by the Monastery. For the first time since she started her training as a mage, she thought she truly understood Teacher’s constant words of caution rather than just endured them.

  Sloane broke the tableau and crossed the room to stand in front of Sacha and look deeply into her eyes.

  What Sacha found in her sister’s gaze was not fear, nor disappointment, nor judgement, but pride, love, and the barest hint of concern. Tears of relief welled in Sacha’s eyes and she hugged her sister. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Shhhh... No need for apologies. But,
” Sloane said, stirring the ashes upon the floor with a toe, “we will have to get you a new dress for this evening.”

  “I do believe that’s the largest human I’ve ever seen,” Erik whispered.

  “Agreed,” Kinsey replied softly.

  “How much do you think he has to eat in a day?”

  “More than me.”

  “Impossible. I raised you, remember?” Erik leaned a bit closer. “I’ve seen what you put down that gullet of yours.”

  Kinsey snorted, perhaps a little too loudly, for several guards looked his way. Kesh turned his head enough to give him a meaningful glare. Kinsey smiled and nodded at the chancellor before looking forward once more.

  He, Erik, Kesh, and the other few delegates who had been selected to come for this initial audience were arrayed along a wall to the left of the door. The young man who had escorted them to this audience chamber stood before them. The profile of his face was impassive and patient, but he moved his feet restlessly, shuffling his weight back and forth. His courtly attire rustled softly with his movements.

  Focusing again on the giant behind the ornate winewood table, Kinsey continued to marvel at the man’s size. Few humans attained the broadness of shoulder Kinsey himself possessed, and fewer still surpassed him. The man standing before their little group did so by a fair margin. King Hathorn towered over the other men in his audience chamber, much as an adult does small children. Kinsey estimated he would overtop Erik’s six feet-plus by almost a foot, perhaps more. The royal tailors had done a fine job of scaling the king’s clothes to fit him, sizing up the buttons, closures, and ties, but they could not conceal the absolute dimension of the man, particularly in close company to the men who surrounded him.

  The gathering of men, six in all, devoted their attention to a map spread across the massive table that filled a third of the round room. Wooden miniatures, carved to the likenesses of soldiers and war machines, were scattered along the canvas surface in varying formations.

  “What kind of map are they looking at?” Erik stretched up to the tips of his toes and craned his neck to see over a finely dressed shoulder. “Can you tell?”

  “If you can’t see it, how in Eos’ name am I suppose to?” Kinsey gave the elf a sideways glance. “I’ll bet you Kesh’s underclothes it has something to do with all the Wildmen we ran into on the way here.”

  “Not a bet I would like to take, thank you,” Erik said with a smile.

  “Christopher, step forward.” The king had not turned, nor inclined his head, but his voice rumbled up from the group at the table in a deep baritone that left no doubt that he would be obeyed. So beckoned, the skinny, younger man took two steps into the room.

  “My King.”

  “What have you brought me?” the giant human asked, still gazing intently at the sprawling map in front of him.

  “The delegates from Waterfall Citadel, My King. Chancellor Kesh Tomelen, Magister Brier Harriston, and the Lady Cora Barrelon, and their guides, Masters Kinsey and Erik Aveon.”

  King Hathorn looked up from the table at the group for the first time since they entered the room. The six other men standing around the map turned to join their king in his appraisal of Kinsey and his companions.

  “You were not expected until the morrow. What brings you early and unannounced?” The king of Pelos straightened to his full height.

  Chancellor Tomelen stepped forward just as Kinsey was about to speak and bowed deeply before Hathorn. “Forgive us, Your Majesty, there was a... miscommunication amongst our ranks as we approached your great city. Let me assure you there will be no more breaches in procedure or etiquette, and that my prince is most pleased with the coming events that will join our two kingdoms.”

  Kinsey raised his eyebrows. Not a bad recovery... for a glib-tongued bottom-feeder, that is...

  The king’s stony countenance was unmoved. “I see.” His rumbling voice remained dispassionate. “I’ll be sure to tell your prince to send different envoys in the future.” His eyes touched each member of the group with the force of hammers.

  When the sapphire blue spheres settled on Kinsey, he could feel his heart begin to race and his breath quicken, preparing him to fight or run. But the searching gaze moved on, dismissing Kinsey as inconsequential.

  When the king’s frozen stare lighted on Erik, it lingered for a time before returning to the chancellor. Kesh’s shoulders tightened under the king’s gaze, but nothing showed on his face as he bowed in response.

  “Christopher, show the delegates to their quarters and inform them of the formalities to take place tomorrow evening,” the king said to his page. “I assume you are capable of arriving with proper decorum to this event?” King Hathorn looked at Kesh with cold eyes.

  Kesh, to his credit, did not falter, though his voice did pick up the slightest edge of conciliatory wheedle. “Of course, Your Majesty, we are more than prepared for such an engagement and will be prompt.”

  Hathorn bent his head once more to the table in an obvious and curt dismissal.

  “Your Majesty?” Kinsey stepped up beside the chancellor and bowed. “We do bear other, critically important news for you.” The damnable party could go hang. He wasn’t going to let a chance to speak with the king slip by him.

  Kinsey was ready for the penetrating glare this time, and the force of the king’s attention did not sway him. “Speak.”

  “We were attacked by Wildmen deep inside your borders, Your Majesty. Within the Winewood, to be exact. I thought it prudent to inform you of their presence and show you the location where we encountered them.” He gestured to the map for emphasis.

  “There are devils in the Winewood, Master Kinsey... one such creature travels with you now.” The king’s blue eyes cut to Erik. “It is with great luck your entourage survived at all, though had you not, it would have only served to prove the unsuitability of your people as a match for my daughter. Of course, your deaths in the Wood would have spared us from enduring your lack of common courtesy.” He paused and pursed his lips in a thoughtful manner before continuing, “I wouldn’t worry so much about the Wildmen as I would your guide.”

  Heat gathered at Kinsey’s cheeks. With effort, he forced his voice not to rise as he spoke. “I lead us into the Winewood, Your Majesty. And I did so because the safety of your borders is in question, and—”

  “Your Majesty, please forgive my man-at-arms,” Chancellor Tomelen interrupted, taking another half step forward. “He is weary from the journey, as are we all.” He opened his arms wide to include the entire party behind him. “And might I go on to say these are dangerous times we live in, as you well know. The prince wholeheartedly believes the allegiance between our kingdoms will bring an end to such dangers and usher in a time of great peace and prosperity.” His bow this time descended below his waist and included a flourish that almost invited applause.

  If Hathorn was moved, nothing in his features betrayed it. He turned back to the table, gesturing with one massive hand toward the door. “We shall see. Christopher, escort our guests to their chambers before they shame themselves further.”

  Kinsey felt Erik’s restraining hand upon his shoulder as he was about to step past Kesh and give vent to his anger and frustration. Kesh’s intercession had only allowed the insult of the king’s open prejudice to settle more deeply. He took a deep breath that did little to calm the rage that boiled within him.

  As the king and his advisers returned their attention to the cluttered table, Erik’s restraining hand pulled on his shoulder, forcing him to turn slightly. “Easy, Kinsey, there is nothing more to gain here,” he whispered and urged him to the door.

  Kinsey allowed Erik to shepherd him from the room. His burning temper, deprived of the fuel of Hathorn’s presence, calmed to a simmer as the heavy door closed behind them. Christopher moved ahead of the group at a brisk pace, seemingly wanting to distance himself from the visitors of Basinia.

  “Really, Kinsey... Are you trying to get us all killed?” Kesh’s v
oice was a harsh whisper, vibrating with fury. “Because if you’re looking for death, please allow me to fulfill your wish. Oh, and another thing, there are castle walls around us now, which puts me in charge. So from now on, keep your mouth shut!”

  Having his own words fed back to him as if they were stale bread did little to calm Kinsey’s nerves. The fact that Kesh of all people was right only added to his rankled state. Accusing a king of not protecting his people could lead to an abrupt end to this mission.

  Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he surrendered himself to Erik’s tightened grip, allowing the elf to draw him along. He tried to cast his mind back to a happier time, when things were less complicated.

  Fishing from the banks of the Tanglevine river with Erik had always been a comforting escape. The dense jungle surrounding the rivers created a lush garden of isolation, and the sounds of slow, churning eddies and rough, boiling rapids possessed a soothing quality that Kinsey had never found anywhere else in his travels. That calming memory of safety and peace soothed his agitation, and he gently lifted Erik’s hand from his shoulder.

  Safely within his childhood sanctuary, Kinsey opened his eyes to the arching ceiling in relative peace. “I want to go fishing when we get back,” he whispered to Erik.

  Erik’s smile was tight, but it touched his eyes, and his step lightened. “Sounds like a fine idea to me.”

  The group walked in silence as Christopher escorted them through the vaulted hallways that would lead them to their quarters. Kinsey’s thoughts drifted back to the king as they moved past servants and through groups of aristocrats lingering in the causeways.

  Hathorn’s apparent lack of concern regarding the Wildmen put Kinsey on edge. Similar incursions had occurred along the borders of Basinia as well, but to the best of his knowledge, no Wildmen had been spotted so deep within their country. He wondered why the people of the Savage Lands were so much more prevalent in Pelos, and also wondered if King Hathorn knew the answer. It was likely that no explanation of the Wildmen invasion had revealed itself to the forces of Pelos. King Hathorn was himself likely attempting to find that information, as well as trying to limit the damage the Wildmen could do to his people. In such a case, it would make sense for Hathorn to downplay any reports of the Wildmen to prevent panic. Kinsey thought he now understood Hathorn’s acceptance of the alliance with Basinia. The king was not a man to portray anything but strength; even so, a wise man took the advantages that cost him least.