A Fate of Wrath & Flame

by K. A. Tucker

  I study the wrought iron fixtures anchored on each pillar as we pass. There’s obviously no electricity down here, and each torch burns with an authentic flame. “How did they light?”

  “With fire.”

  For a woman who insists on not lying to me, Sofie is the master of avoiding the truth.

  The floor is hard, packed earth, and it dulls our footfalls as she leads me forward. Every so often, I catch scurrying movement out of the corner of my eye that makes me shudder. I’ve seen plenty of rats haunting alleyways and city streets, and I’ve never grown used to them.

  “What happened there?” I nod toward a pile of stone rubble.

  “These walls are hundreds of years old. They require constant repair. It is one of the downfalls of maintaining such a home.” She sighs. “If Elijah didn’t love it so, I would have abandoned it long ago.”

  Every time Sofie talks about her husband, it sounds like she hasn’t seen him in an eternity.

  “And that?” I point to a patched, uneven wall. “That crumbled too?”

  “No. That was a private entry in the first castle, left in ruins after a great battle. Infiltrators scaled the hill and entered through that very spot. When the marquis began to rebuild, he closed off this entry, fearing too many knew of its existence. But he eventually deserted the project in favor of a life elsewhere. This castle as it stands today would not be finished for another six decades.”

  “And who finished it?”

  “The Count of Montegarde, as he was known at that time.” She smiles, as if the name brings her fond memories. “It was far grander than the original or even what the marquis’s revised designs had in mind.”

  Awe stretches across my face as Sofie casually dishes out details about the rebuilt castle—the two-level library in the west wing that hosts Elijah’s rare-book collection, the grand ballroom where several famous composers once played, the walled garden on the south side that is overtaken by a two-hundred-year-old wisteria vine in the summer.

  Despite the dire situation I’ve found myself trapped in, I can’t help but be mesmerized. I feel as though I’ve stepped into a story of royalty and old-world glamour. In those years between running from my mother and building a life for myself, I spent most days in the public library, where it was safe, and warm, and quiet, escaping my world by getting lost in fictional ones that painted lives like the one these crumbling walls must have entertained.

  A gray tabby cat scampers across my path, causing me to stumble a step. It darts through an opening in a small iron gate. “Where does that lead?”

  “Out to the garden on one end, but if you climb the narrow passage all the way up, you will find yourself in the lord’s bedchamber.”

  “A secret passageway.” There’s no missing the thrill in my tone.

  “But of course, a thief would be most fascinated by those.” She grins. “These castles were always built with plans to flee in mind. The royal chambers often have an escape route. It was usually hidden behind a bookcase or a tapestry, or a statue. Sometimes it is a trapdoor beneath a rug. And occasionally it is quite elaborate. In my chamber, there is a mechanism to open a panel in the wall beside the fireplace.”

  “That is so cool,” I blurt, all semblance of calm vanishing. “Can you take me through them all later?”

  Her smile wavers. “This way.” She marches forward, and I can’t help but notice that her enthusiasm for playing tour guide has dulled. “Malachi gave me precious little time to explain, Romeria, so please listen carefully. Are you listening?”

  “Yes. And it’s Romy.” Her question makes me feel more like a petulant child than the talented thief she insists everything hinges on.

  “You have been tasked with retrieving something of great value. A stone. It is located in a sacred garden where outsiders are not permitted.”

  So, I need to steal something after all. “What does it look like?”

  “You will know when you see it. The sacred garden is guarded, and there is only one way in.”

  “Guarded by who?”

  She hesitates. “Soldiers, of a sort.”

  My eyebrows pop. “Soldiers?” I’ve only ever dealt with basic security guards and bouncers.

  “You will have to earn your way in, and that will take time.”

  “And you’re going to distract them, right?” With her deadly sword and daggers.

  “I am able to get you there, but we are unable to go with you. The only aid I can offer is this.” She slides the ring off her finger and, with a long, lingering look at it, she seizes my forearm, her nails digging into my flesh as she slips the ring on me. “Do not remove it under any circumstances.”

  The gaudy piece is lighter than I imagined. It must have some sort of tracking device in it, though I don’t know how that will help me. “And when am I doing this?”

  “Tonight.”

  My mouth gapes with shock. “Are you insane?” Tonight! “I need at least a week to case this place, probably more, so I can figure out entries and exits, numbers, shift changes—”

  “It must be tonight!” she yells, all semblance of composure vanishing.

  That can only mean one thing—that her husband will die otherwise.

  I’m beginning to see why she isn’t retrieving this stone herself—because it’s an idiot’s mission that will surely get me killed.

  She inhales deeply, and when she speaks again, her calm demeanor has returned. “I wish I could better prepare you, but we do not have time, and I’m afraid no amount of planning would help the situation we both find ourselves in.”

  She’s speaking in riddles again. I need concrete answers if I have a hope in hell of pulling this off. “Where exactly am I going?”

  “To Cirilea, in Islor.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.” Not that I’m an expert with European geography.

  “Most have not. It is far from here.”

  “And how are we getting there? Flying, I assume?”

  “I will take you there.” She stops in front of a broad wooden door strapped with iron bands. “Once you have taken the stone, Malachi will ensure your freedom.”

  “How?” I don’t even know what he looks like.

  “You will know when the time comes.” Sofie yanks on the handle and the door swings open with a screeching grind. A single torch ignites ahead, bathing the walls in a dim glow.

  I promise myself I will figure out how Sofie is lighting those. “What’s this room?”

  “My sanctum. Where I hold what is most precious to me.”

  From the threshold, I see only more of the same crumbling walls. Ahead, the dirt floor gives way to cobblestone. An enormous rectangular block plays centerpiece. A much smaller table sits nearby.

  Sofie walks to the block. Her fingers smooth across the surface as she slowly walks the perimeter, seemingly lost in thought. “I have waited an eternity for this day,” she whispers, her voice taking on a pleading tone. “You must not fail.”

  It’s almost guaranteed I’m going to fail, but she warned me to paint myself more valuable than less, so I keep that thought to myself. What will happen if I do? What will a woman like Sofie—who cut down men like they were errant branches on a sculpted bush in some twisted quid pro quo bid to win me over—do if I don’t retrieve this stone for her?

  I probably don’t need to worry about that, though. These soldiers will kill me before she has a chance.

  But even as the weight of my impending doom settles firmly on my shoulders, a familiar excitement thrums in my core. I wish I could say I feel only guilt for my thievery, but there’s also a part of me that thrives on the addictive adrenaline that surges with the challenge. It’s always been the case.

  I could even go as far as convincing myself this is for a noble cause—I’m saving a man’s life. How, exactly, I still don’t understand. There are major pieces missing from Sofie’s plan.

  I edge forward. “So, if I get this stone for Malachi, you’ll get your husband back?”

&n
bsp; “Oui.” She reaches out to gingerly touch something. “He will give him back to me.”

  “He’s the one holding him hostage?”

  “In a manner.”

  I’d expect a woman like Sofie would want to kill the person holding her husband hostage, but the way Sofie talks about Malachi, she seems to adore him.

  Curious to see what has Sofie’s attention so riveted, I close the distance.

  A sinking feeling tugs at my insides. A man lies in the hollowed-out center of what I now realize is an enormous coffin. He looks to be in his thirties, tall, with wavy hair the color of black coffee and a clean-shaven, square jaw. He wears a navy-blue suit that looks new and custom fit. “Who is that?” I ask, though I fear I already know.

  What I hold most precious.

  Sofie skates her knuckles across his lips. “This is my dear Elijah.”

  “I don’t understand,” I stammer, even as cold realization washes over me. “He’s dead.”

  “He is not dead!” Her green eyes are bright with rage as she glares at me, looking ready to lunge. “He is trapped, and you are going to help me free him.”

  It all becomes clear then—the urgency, the fragmented plan, this mysterious Malachi.

  Sofie has lost her bloody mind.

  Swallowing my growing panic, I back away slowly.

  Her deep, wicked laughter echoes through the chamber. “You truly deem me mad? You think you see something I cannot?”

  “I honestly don’t understand what I’m seeing.” Besides the aftermath of a dangerous woman who is grieving and in denial. How long ago did Elijah die? It couldn’t have been long. Did she leave his body here while she went to retrieve me?

  “But you do.” Her eyes narrow. “You’ve known the truth for years, Romeria. You’ve simply refused to accept it.”

  She said something similar last night, in the warehouse. “What are you talking about?”

  She rounds the coffin and stalks toward me.

  I instinctively shift backward toward the doorway. I need to get out of this crypt now. She’s unarmed, and I’m fast. If I start running now—

  A thunderous bang sounds behind me, throwing us into darkness save for the single torch.

  Sofie lifts a hand, and a flame ignites from the tip of her index finger.

  “How did you do that?” I search her palm for a hidden lighter or match.

  “You assume it to be some cheap parlor trick, no?”

  I stare, dumbfounded, as the flame hops to her middle fingertip, then her ring finger. It moves back and forth like a tide, from finger to finger, the reflection dancing in Sofie’s emerald eyes.

  “The truth is right in front of you, and yet you still search for reasons to not believe. Malachi warned me about you.” She casts her hand toward a wall. Just as in the main corridor, every torch erupts with fire.

  My eyes widen as I take in the room bathed in light. Where the four pillars surrounding the coffin simply blended into the stone before, now I can see the elaborate carvings on each.

  “You are so sure that Eddie suffers from delusions, are you?” Sofie rests her palm on the pillar next to her.

  The blood rushes in my ears as I gape at the soaring creature etched in stone—a human form, and yet not. It’s just as my father described it, right down to the serpent-like eyes and long, twisty black horns protruding from its forehead, each coiling three times before tapering off into pointed ends.

  But no … this is all part of whatever sick game Sofie’s playing. She knew about my father. There was nothing to stop her from learning about his hallucinations. He’s not discreet about them. I’m sure anyone who has ever walked along Broadway has heard about the demon with the black horns. “He’s ill. He doesn’t know what he saw—”

  “He is not ill. His mind is simply fractured.”

  “I don’t see the difference.”

  She sighs. “No. The human world does not differentiate.”

  There she is again, saying humans as if there’s an option for something else. “What are you trying to convince me of? That this monster is real and my father can see it?”

  “This is no monster.” She gazes up at the horned carving. “This is Malachi, one of four fates who have created all that we have and all that we are. You would call them gods. And I am not trying to convince you of anything, Romeria, because I know it to be a lost cause. The walls you have built around yourself to survive in this world are far too thick. That you don’t even realize what you are is fascinating to me. I shouldn’t be surprised, though, given you’ve been immersed in their world. How could you know any different?” She sneers.

  “Humans are such small-minded creatures. Like little worker ants, breeding and building their little cities and their little lives. They think everything revolves around them, that it should exist only if they can dominate. They kill in the name of their god, believing it the only true god and all others false or evil.” She scoffs. “I could tell you that humans are in fact the lowliest of creation and that far greater beings walk among them. I could tell you that this world they have created is a facade for what truly exists. I could make flames dance from my fingers and a majestic oak sprout from a seed before your eyes, and still, you would doubt.” Something dark flashes in her eyes. “But you will soon see for yourself, and you will have no choice but to believe.”

  She is insane.

  Sofie sounds like my mother. Though, those cultists don’t see themselves as weak little ants, toiling away. They think they’ll be the world’s salvation. Meanwhile, Sofie seems to think she’s something other than human.

  Beware of the demon with the flaming hair. She hunts for you.

  I’ve always denied space for my father’s maniacal rants, never allowing them room to fester in my mind. But now I find myself saying them out loud. “Are you a demon?” My voice sounds strained, foreign.

  Her lips twitch. “Some have called me that. And others would set fire to me and revel in my screams. As you well know.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut against the memory that stirs. Is Sofie claiming to be a witch? “Why are you doing this to me?” It’s like she’s dragging out every painful piece of my past and laying them on a table to poke and prod with the tip of her blade.

  “You are not asking the right questions.” She shakes her head. “I do not have time to convince you of the truth I speak, Romeria, but know that the rules of the world to which you are accustomed are about to change.” The flames in the torches flicker and grow, reaching toward the ceiling. “The blood moon is nearly upon us. I have but a small window to take you where you need to go, and I will not miss this chance. I have waited too long.” She edges closer, like a leopard stalking its prey. “Please help bring Elijah back to me. I will be forever in your debt.”

  Sofie said she can’t come with me to this Islor. That’s good news, at least. The sooner I’m away from her, the sooner I can clear my mind of these delusions she’s trying to force-feed me—and the sooner I can run.

  She holds up an object that I didn’t see her procure. “We will need this.”

  “What is it?”

  “A gift from Malachi.”

  It’s long and twisted and smooth, like black obsidian. One end is jagged, as if a broken piece of something larger.

  I think it’s part of an animal’s horn.

  I edge away, scanning the room for another exit. My heart stops as I take in the intricate carving on another pillar, a creature with the subtle curves of a female human but with a majestic crown of antlers, its form painted in gold and shimmering under the firelight.

  “That’s … how …” I stammer.

  Find the gilded doe.

  My father shouted that at me. He started saying something else about her but didn’t get to finish because Tony attacked him.

  My thoughts spin in so many directions, I can’t find purchase on any single one.

  “Listen to me carefully, Romeria.” Sofie closes the distance, the object in her grip. “You a
re about to enter a world unlike that which you know. It is imperative that no one in Islor learns of your true identity. They cannot know about Malachi’s quest. You must use your skills to blend in, just as you have done up until now.” She squeezes my hand, holding it up between us. “And you must not remove this ring for any reason. It is the only protection I can give, but between it and your wits, I believe you can survive. But if they figure out what you are, I promise, they will not let you live.”

  She’s said that twice. “What am I?”

  She hesitates. “It does not matter. All that matters is that you retrieve the stone. Tell me you understand?” she pleads, a touch frantic.

  My head bobs numbly, her words anchoring in my mind but not resonating. As soon as Sofie is out of my sight, I will run. I have done it before. It’s the only way to get away from this madness before it consumes me like it has my parents. “When do we leave?”

  “Now.” A gentle smile touches her lips. “And in order to take you there, first, this mortal form must die.”

  I’ve barely processed her words when she drives the twisted black horn deep into my heart.

  Chapter Five

  Sofie laid Romeria’s body next to Elijah, pausing a moment to regard her most precious of possessions, the ring Elijah once slipped on her finger to profess his undying love. Centuries had passed, but the luster of the gold had not dulled in her eyes, for she knew its true value. She felt naked without it, but she would have it back soon enough.

  The bloom of blood around where Malachi’s horn pierced Romeria’s chest remained insignificant. That was a relief. The fate promised this token would keep her mortal form alive long enough for Sofie to complete her task, but while Sofie trusted that Malachi’s orders were sound, she was distrustful of the results. The fate never gave without taking. Elijah was proof of that. That he would force Sofie to rely on the success of one so ignorant to the world beyond her own demonstrated once again how cruel he could be.

  Sofie may not be able to read minds, but she could read pulses. They all carried a signature—the rush of lust, the race of fear, the plummet of heartbreak—and she knew Romeria hadn’t believed a single word. She wouldn’t allow herself to. She thought Sofie mad with grief.