A Fate of Wrath & Flame

by K. A. Tucker

  Or simply mad.

  That is how Malachi intended it. He was explicit in his instruction—Romeria could not know what she was—and Sofie knew better than to question it. She could see now, how all the seemingly random duties he had tasked her with over the years culminated in this gifted mortal before her now. The fate hadn’t been ignoring her. He’d been weaving his scheme all along. What he would gain from all this, Sofie was unsure, but she did not care. All she cared was that Elijah was freed from the Nulling, consequences be damned.

  She had never enjoyed playing the part of court jester with her powers, but had Malachi granted her more time and freedom, she would have made the stone shake and the sky cry and the wind howl and the flames dance until there was no other option but for the girl to believe. To expel such energy when she needed every ounce for this undertaking was a luxury Sofie did not have. Surely, Malachi intended it that way. He had his reasons. The fates always did.

  Perhaps the girl’s ignorance would save her. Or, more than likely, it is what would keep her focused on her mission. The little thief was strong-willed and resilient. She was young, but not sheltered to evils. She’d learned how to navigate her cruel world, adapting to survive.

  Soon, Romeria would see. She would know the world of vengeful gods and monsters, and the lengths one would go for love. And nothing would ever be the same for her again.

  The blood moon was almost upon them. Sofie could not miss this window.

  “It is time for your journey, my little pilgrim.” She shuttered Romeria’s piercing blue eyes and smoothed the tendrils of dark hair to frame her face. She was an adult physically, and yet so young. In some ways, she reminded Sofie of her dear friend, Adele, from long ago. Not so much in looks, but in her feigned swagger, the way she imitated confidence when her little heart thumped like that of a frightened bunny’s. Under different circumstances, Sofie might have even enjoyed her company.

  “May the fates be merciful.”

  Sofie dragged the blade across her palm. Blood trickled out in a steady stream to coat Malachi’s horn and farther, seeping into the girl’s wound, just as the fate had instructed. This was not a ritual she’d ever learned or heard of during her time in the guild.

  With that important step completed, Sofie fell to her knees before Malachi’s likeness—for it was thanks to him that she might hear Elijah’s voice again—and called forth her full power.

  Vermin scampered as the ground shook.

  Chapter Six

  I wake, gasping for air.

  A deep throb pains my lungs.

  The floor beneath me is soft and dewy, the ceiling above a blanket of darkness. It takes me a moment to realize I’m lying in grass, under a night sky.

  And a few more moments to remember Sofie driving that horn into my chest.

  My heart races as I draw my hand to where my body aches, expecting to find the object still protruding. Nothing but tenderness remains. “What did you do to me, you crazy bitch?” I mutter, my voice hoarse.

  Obviously, I didn’t die, but it sure feels like she tried to kill me.

  With a wince, I pull myself into a sitting position. And frown at the billow of material around me, confusion scrambling my thoughts. My jeans and sweater are gone, replaced by this enormous dress, with layers of silk and a plunging neckline. She stabbed me and then changed me into formal wear?

  I hold up my hand. Even in the darkness, I can make out the outline of the ring Sofie slipped onto my finger, the one she believes will somehow protect me.

  I don’t have time to make sense of this. I need to get the hell out of here.

  I heave myself off the wet ground, stumbling a few steps before I regain my balance, my head swimming. Walls of cedar hedge tower over me on either side, forming a long, narrow corridor that gives me only two options—left or right.

  Shouts ring in the distance—I can’t gauge how far away, but they’re definitely coming from my left. They’re male in timbre, interspersed with clangs of metal against metal. In the air, the smell of smoke lingers. Something burns.

  I take off in the opposite direction of the commotion, sprinting as fast as the darkness and the throb in my chest allows, stumbling in the tangle of bulky material swirling around my legs and a pair of wobbly heeled shoes. By the time the hedge opens into a cobblestone pathway lit with lanterns, I’m panting, my lungs heaving from strain, and I’m ready to tear the skirts from my body.

  The moon is full and casting white light where I could not see it before, buried within the cedar. Is this the garden Sofie was talking about? The one with the soldiers, where I’ll find the stone? I’m definitely in a garden. There are bushes with roses the size of my palm, their potent fragrance melding with the stench of smoke. The air hints at a warm summer night. Wherever Islor is, it must be far south of Belgium.

  Blocks of jagged broken stone are strewn across the pathway ahead, as if something was demolished. Among the disarray, a shiny object gleams in the moonlight. Curious, I navigate around the debris to collect it. It’s an arrowhead, much like the ones Sofie’s guards had in their crossbow, only a brilliant silver.

  And it’s drenched in someone’s blood.

  I toss it away in horror, only to find my hands coated. I wipe them across the skirts of my dress as I frantically search for a way out of here. More cedar hedges loom, fanning out around me.

  I curse with frustration. Sofie has dressed me like a medieval courtier and left me in a damn labyrinth. The odds of choosing the right path are grim. How long before someone finds me standing next to this bloodied arrow and I have to explain myself?

  A female’s high-pitched scream snaps my head to the right. I hold my breath and listen. She screams again, and my dread stirs. I’ve heard that ring of desperation too many times—in dark alleyways, in urine-stained stairwells, in poorly lit parking lots. I’ve heard it once in my own voice, the night I unwisely took a shortcut through a park to get to the shelter before they locked the doors. If it hadn’t been for the bravery of a man out walking his dog, I would have had another horror story to add to my list.

  I take off running without much thought about what I’m heading into, instead focusing on the opportunity. If there’s any way I can stop what’s about to happen to that woman, maybe she will return the favor by helping me escape this place.

  My blood pounds in my ears as I race along another narrow cedar corridor, taking turn after turn, until I fear I’m simply running in circles in this rat maze. But then suddenly—thankfully—a stone wall looms before me. It’s at least thirty feet high—far too tall to climb—but there’s an opening just large enough for a person.

  I slip through it.

  And stall for a moment upon my first glimpse of the full moon. It’s three times the size of any I’ve ever seen, and it hangs low in the sky, casting a brilliant carpet of light across the land that could almost fool me into believing it to be daytime.

  Except, it’s not the only one. Another moon glows to my right, this one much smaller and higher—more what I’m used to.

  Where the hell has two moons?

  The light is a blessing, though—I would surely have tumbled down this steep hill and broken bones had I blindly stepped out. From my vantage spot, I can see clear across the valley below. A long, narrow river serves as a divide between the fields of tall grass and dense forest beyond. A dirt road runs parallel to the river on this side and a wide, arching bridge allows for crossing.

  Another bloodcurdling shriek cuts through the night. I spot movement approaching the foot of the bridge. A man is dragging the woman along, her arms flailing, legs kicking. She’s putting up a valiant fight, but for how long?

  And what the hell can I do except scare him away?

  That will have to be enough.

  There’s no time for stealth. I arm myself with small chunks of stone tumbled from the wall and slide more than run down the hill. Tall, spiky grass pricks at my skin, but I ignore the tiny bites. Eventually, the ground levels and
the grass relents to the dirt road. I kick off these wobbly shoes and sprint, surprising myself with how quickly I’m running.

  My adrenaline is soaring by the time my feet touch the bridge. A potent energy thrums in my veins, my fear propelling me forward.

  The man has stopped at the middle and is hunched over the woman. She’s no longer fighting. Am I too late? Is she dead?

  “Hey!” With stones gripped in my fist, I muster as much force in my voice as I can. “Leave her alone!”

  His head snaps up. I can’t make out the finer details of his face from here, but I note his white hair, pulled back in a ponytail. “Are you daft?” he growls. “Why are you not already running toward Ybaris?”

  There goes the hope that my presence would scare him off. This degenerate thinks he knows me. But the longer he’s mistaken, the closer I can get, the better chance I have of hitting him when I launch these stones at his head. I approach with a touch more stealth, ready to take aim. “What are you going to do to her?”

  He returns to his task, winding a silver rope around her ankles. “I was going to enjoy her later, but bringing her across Islor is risky. Too many will recognize her. May as well get some satisfaction from this catastrophe.”

  A faint sound escapes the woman, confirming she’s still alive.

  I grip the stones in my right hand tighter. I need to get closer for this to hurt.

  “You have failed, Romeria.”

  My feet falter. I may not know this lunatic, but apparently, he does know me. Is he one of Sofie’s men? She said they couldn’t come. Maybe that was a lie. “I … I didn’t have enough time,” I stammer.

  “You had weeks! Weeks to plan, weeks to deceive that fool. You knew it had to be all of them, or our efforts would be for naught.”

  What is he talking about? I only met Sofie last night.

  “Your mother will not be pleased when she hears of this.”

  “What?” The word slides out on a gasp. My mother is in league with her?

  A faint rumble sounds in the distance.

  “Here comes the cavalry,” he mutters.

  I look behind me. The stone wall I escaped through is a looming barrier that stretches across a high ridge. Beyond it, the orange glow of fire disrupts the night sky. Below it, on the dirt road that I took to get here, a dark shadow moves along the path, the distinct whinny of horses carrying in the night.

  Those must be the soldiers.

  “Leave now, and seek shelter in Lyndel while you still can,” the man urges, his gloved hands working furiously. “Before the new king gets hold of you. You cannot defeat him on your own.”

  The path on the other side of the bridge leads into dense forest. The instinct to listen to him—to run far from this insanity—is overwhelming.

  “As for you …” His voice rings with wicked pleasure as he hauls the woman’s limp body up. Springy blond tendrils cascade halfway to the ground. She wears a dress much like mine—flowing layers of silk that belong in another century. “Enjoy your death beneath your beloved brother’s nose.” He hoists her onto the bridge wall to dangle over it.

  It’s then I notice the sizable boulder by his feet and the other end of the silver rope that’s wrapped around it. I watch in horror as he heaves it over the wall, shoving her off to follow. Two loud splashes sound a moment later, one after another.

  “Run now, or be damned.” The man takes off with remarkable speed, charging for the trees.

  It’s a delayed reaction, but I whip the rocks at his head. They miss him by a wide margin.

  Behind me, the thunderous pounding of hooves grows louder, the sleek, powerful forms more clearly visible as they charge. If I run now, I might be able to hide in the trees.

  But dark memories of a forest and an innocent woman set in flames grips my conscience and stalls my legs. If I take off, this woman in the river will drown, and the guilt that I didn’t try to help her is something I’ll never escape.

  I climb onto the bridge wall. I can’t judge the distance, but it doesn’t appear to be too far a fall. I curse Sofie’s name and jump.

  Frigid water envelops me, but I’m too fueled with panic to be bothered by its chill. I take a breath and dive, hoping the brilliant moonlight extends into the murky depths, but there is only a bottomless pit of darkness. I swim, groping blindly, until my lungs are ready to burst, and I’m forced to resurface.

  “Halt, in the name of the king!” booms a deep, commanding voice above. Two men on horses stand on the bridge. Both wear armor. One holds a blazing torch; the other is aiming an arrow at me.

  I swallow against my fear, my heart drumming wildly. “There’s a woman in here. She’s going to drown! Please, help me! I need light!”

  The man pointing the arrow lowers his weapon a fraction.

  I don’t wait for an answer, diving back under, though I dread my efforts will be futile.

  A beam of light blooms within the shadows. It’s coming from the stone in Sofie’s ring, intensifying as it expands, stretching out into the darkness like fast-growing vines in search of daylight.

  I follow it with bewilderment, all the way to the river bottom, to where long, blond curls float maybe twenty feet below me. The woman is there, motionless, her arms drifting at either side of her lifeless body.

  I don’t know how the ring is doing this, but I don’t waste time, propelling myself deeper. I cut through the water with strong strokes to reach the riverbed and inspect the boulder that anchors her. My dismay swells as I take in the thick, silvery cord, shimmering in the ring’s glow. I’ve never seen rope like this, and the knots are intricate. It will take me hours to unravel, hours she doesn’t have, if she isn’t already beyond saving. Could it be cut, if a soldier would give me a blade?

  I reach out to test it. My eyes widen with surprise as it disintegrates beneath my fingertips, like spun sugar pulled apart. I don’t have time to dwell on that miracle. My lungs burn with the need for oxygen. I easily brush away the rest of the binding around her legs and, hooking my arm around her waist, I pull her to the river’s surface.

  She begins to cough and sputter the moment we reach air, much to my relief.

  “You’re going to be fine,” I promise between ragged breaths. I’m faintly aware of shouting and flaming torches along the bridge and riverbed as I grip her tightly with one arm and use the other to paddle us to shore, thankful the swimming lessons of my youth didn’t get lost in my past. By the time we reach the nearest bank, I’m on the verge of collapse from exhaustion, my chest throbbing.

  I flop in the mud next to her.

  “Annika!” a low male voice filled with anxiety shouts.

  “I’m down here!” she cries out before another coughing fit takes over.

  Heavy footfalls and the clank of metal approach. A man dressed in black-and-gold armor drops to his knee beside her. His helm covers most of his face, revealing only his mouth and his eyes through a slit.

  “You came for me.” She looks tiny next to his menacing form until he yanks his gauntlet off, freeing his hand to smooth the sodden curls off her forehead.

  “I thought I’d lost you too.”

  She smiles through her jagged breaths. “You nearly did. The sapling anchored me with merth. I doubt you would have discovered me in time. If not for this brave …” Her head lolls toward me and her words fade midsentence. “You.” Her voice drips with horror.

  The relief I felt knowing she was alive, that I’d saved her life, morphs to dread. They all think they know me. But unlike with that man, I already sense it won’t be to my advantage this time.

  The kneeling soldier turns his attention to me now, and while his face is mostly disguised, the shock is unmistakable. His mouth hangs for a few beats before he gives his head a small shake. “Seize her!” he commands with a roar.

  Rough, metal hands grab my arms and haul me to my feet.

  The man rises, his gaze never leaving mine. All around us are soldiers gripping swords and waiting quietly. For his next orde
r, I’m guessing. He’s someone important.

  Where the hell am I?

  The soldier draws a long dagger from his side and approaches, the blade gleaming in the moonlight. “How are you alive?” There is genuine awe in his voice. “I saw your body. I saw where the arrow pierced your heart.” Lifting the dagger tip to my chest, he ever so lightly grazes my skin above the gown’s low neckline. “Your blood is there.”

  My body trembles as I look down to where his blade scratched me. Torchlight illuminates the brown stains in the pale gray silk bodice that the river did not wash away.

  How do I even begin to explain this to myself, let alone to these people?

  “I don’t know who you think I am or what I’ve done—”

  “You will address the king as Your Highness,” the man holding me growls in my ear. His painful grip tightens and makes me wince.

  This is the king. Though I can’t see much of his face, he looks young. A quick scan of those nearby proves that his suit of armor is more finely made, with elaborate designs carved into the gold breastplate.

  “Come now, Captain Boaz,” he says with an eerie calm. “We have not yet had time for a coronation, what with Romeria having murdered my father mere hours ago.”

  “What?” I gasp, barely a sound escaping. “I didn’t … I haven’t …” My mind spins. This must be Sofie’s doing. What has that devil woman convinced these people I’ve done? “I didn’t murder anyone, I swear. I’m only here because—”

  “No more lies!” he bellows, his voice bleeding with anguish. He raises his arm and the dagger high above him, the point angled down, his intentions clear.

  “Brother! Stop!” The woman I pulled from the river—he called her Annika—cries out, scrambling to her feet. “She saved me!”

  “She killed Mother and Father! She had plans to kill us too.”

  Dear God. Apparently, I didn’t only kill their father. They think I tried to slaughter their entire family? My knees buckle, but the man holding me is strong and keeps me on my feet.