Fated Fortunes

by Angela Colsin

  Hearing how much trouble delivering Morwin's letters could cause, Jada didn't hesitate to agree to a promise of secrecy—it might be her only chance at communicating with him.

  “I won't tell a soul, Madame,” she started. “But … what did you mean when you said Papa's a radical?”

  Doria frowned, but didn't deny her an answer. “When he arrived earlier, he informed me of the trouble he was in, and pleaded to see you in case he lost his chance to return. He even wanted to take you with him, but I couldn't allow that without putting the rest of the convent at risk, particularly with paladins due to arrive at any time.”

  She supposed that made sense—not that Doria's decision didn't chafe. But Jada didn't push the topic, and asked instead, “Did he tell you why he wanted to take me?”

  “No, but I assume it's because of his banishment. He knows he won't be able to visit here any longer, and probably feared never seeing you again.”

  Jada exhaled a deep breath, knowing there was more to it. A lot more. He'd just stated a need for help, he simply hadn't gone into detail—and it was incredibly disappointing.

  She'd always found so much intrigue in his stories and the idea of what his journeys must've been like that she could imagine nothing more wonderful than traveling with him and seeing the world, and perhaps even visiting the human realm of Terra at some point. As it stood, Jada had only traveled to a handful of places in Onoria, and it was always right back to the convent afterward.

  Not that she didn't appreciate having a place to live, but was it a home? She wasn't sure, and in being honest with herself, she had to admit to some growing discomfort with the daily routines.

  So Morwin's desire to take her with him was extremely appealing, making his failure that much more disappointing.

  Doria's hand landed on her shoulder as the thought struck, and she inquired, “Are you well, child?”

  Jada pursed her lips. She had no idea if she was well—but upset, crestfallen, curious, and doubtful? Those were much better words to use, as was confused, glancing up at Doria to ask, “Why are you going to help him send me letters?”

  With a sympathetic, albeit sad smile, the Deaconess gave a simple, but honest reply.

  “Because the truth needs to be discovered, child, regardless of the consequences.”

  CHAPTER 1

  Dawlin Station, Antarctica

  1985

  2 Years Later

  “The oracle told you nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Not even to return later?”

  “No.”

  Dalris scowled. “How much did we pay her again?”

  “For the amount of information she offered, too much,” Liam retorted.

  “No wonder Ferines are going extinct. I think I'll forgo seeking her services and seek a refund instead.”

  “You should.”

  With a shake of his head, Dalris decided to take his brother's advice. As soon as they returned to civilization, he'd retrieve the three million dollars they'd paid an oracle to divine the location of their mates—and also have a word with the Ferine who'd suggested her services in the first place.

  Because Ferines could only live for roughly two centuries without a mate, they consulted oracles on a fairly regular basis to find them, and the most popular was named Tanda Lei. Dalris was told her reputation as a matchmaker was beyond compare, and though she sometimes offered vague answers, her information usually proved to be correct.

  Still, draconians like himself typically didn't utilize such services. Unlike Ferines, their immortality wasn't dependent upon having a mate. Yet Dalris had made an exception in this case—he was over eight hundred years old, and Liam was a mere century behind him, but in all that time, they'd never located their eternal partners.

  Dalris sometimes wondered if it was due to their prolonged residency in Terra. The chances were decent that a draconian awaited them in their home realm of Ithelyon, so he'd decided to pay the oracle and see.

  Now, he was wishing he hadn't, and in fact, the thought of his conversation with the Ferine who'd recommended Tanda reminded him of something specific.

  “Wait, isn't Tanda an elf?”

  Liam nodded, giving his older brother a knowing look.

  Dalris groaned. Elves. He held no personal bias against them, but where it concerned draconians, they usually proved to be untrustworthy, prompting him to suggest, “Then she was likely withholding the information because of what you are.”

  “I normally wouldn't think a mage would do such a thing, even if she's elven. But she came so highly recommended that it's difficult to believe she couldn't divine anything,” Liam remarked. “So I agree. She may have some bias.”

  Dalris nodded, though, after everything he was told, he did wonder. If Tanda's answers were normally vague, could her lack of information mean she was attempting to swindle them, or that his brother would never find a mate?

  Would Liam be killed before the time came?

  It was a distressing thought, one that only strengthened Dalris' determination. I'm definitely visiting her once this job is concluded.

  He parted his lips to say so, but a biting, antarctic wind rushed passed, delivering a cold sting that distracted them both from their idle chatter.

  Neither brothers were fond of the cold, tilting their hooded heads away from the breeze until it passed. That's when Liam mentioned, “I wouldn't normally complain when there's ten million dollars on the line, but I'll be glad to return to a temperate climate.”

  Dalris silently nodded, gazing out across the frozen tundra dotted by small tents and a few large crates waiting to be loaded onto a nearby aircraft. The faint green glow of the aurora australis above helped to illuminate the area, and as the work crews prepared the crates for transport, he considered their current job.

  A week ago, the researchers of Dawlin Station made a significant discovery concerning a recent shipwreck that had taken place just off a nearby ice shelf. The vessel belonged to an elf named Morwin Tavar, a notable historian who'd dedicated his life to studying elven lore and artifacts.

  Dalris knew little about him, and hadn't initially come to Antarctica because of the wreck. Instead, Dawlin Station was only a few weeks old, an outpost being set up by The Crucible to monitor the activity of a recently discovered portal nearby which served as a natural doorway into Ithelyon.

  Using the portal was a one way trip as well—anyone who stepped through it wouldn't be able to return to Terra the same way.

  So the Station was being established to make certain unwitting human researchers didn't discover the portal's existence, and a crew had been hired to organize security until everything was running—a crew Dalris was overseeing.

  As for Morwin's ship, it was earlier that day when Station workers recovered a chest from the wreckage containing several artifacts. Most looked rather mundane on the surface, but The Crucible wanted to be sure the objects were protected until they could be delivered to the nearest Spire for further investigation.

  They'd offered to double Dalris's pay if he'd keep a watch on the items until they were transported, and he'd put some of his team to work, knowing it wouldn't take many to accomplish such a simple task. News of this shipment's contents hadn't been leaked to any third parties who might be interested in stealing the artifacts, so the danger was minimal, and the people he'd assigned were capable individuals.

  The first were his brothers, Liam and Ulric. The former was a giant with uncanny speed who was to intercept anyone trying to make off with the artifacts. Ulric, on the other hand, had an eye for detail and was currently making rounds in the camp to ensure the cargo was properly loaded into the aircraft in a timely manner.

  Yet this job was also a milestone in Dalris' estimate. It was the first time in fifty years that Ulric had agreed to work with him directly after an assignment gone wrong in the mid-1930s. As a result, he'd suffered an extent of trauma Dalris couldn't imagine, but ultimately knew was all his fault.

&nbs
p; So though he had no idea why his youngest brother agreed to come, he truly hoped it was a sign that their injured relationship was on the mend.

  The last person chosen to accompany their team was a stealthy gnome named Robi who belonged to his sister's spy network. Being a long time friend of the family, Dalris trusted her explicitly, and had no qualms with the people she'd brought along to help—except one.

  And his doubts couldn't be rationalized.

  As Dalris watched over the encampment, he noticed this individual helping Ulric make certain all items were safely stored on the aircraft for transit, and didn't have any gut instincts warning him that she wasn't to be trusted.

  Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something strange about her.

  Her name was Ana, a fae who'd shown up at the camp dressed in black from head to foot—including a hooded cloak and a mask that concealed her entire face. According to Robi, the concealing garb wasn't meant to insulate Ana from the cold, but instead, was a protective measure to block the effects of a curse that made her skin toxic to touch.

  Apparently, even a single brush of her hair would be enough to contract the toxin, so the fae was completely covered at all times.

  But Dalris wasn't entirely convinced.

  More than once, he'd found himself staring in her direction without thinking, and he wasn't sure why. He had no instincts saying she was there for malicious reasons, but it still felt as if she were hiding something.

  Liam and Ulric also admitted to sensing something peculiar about her, but neither seemed to experience it as strongly as Dalris, who once again found himself staring at the fae for longer than intended.

  Now standing near the belly of the aircraft thirty feet away, Ana was helping Ulric take inventory while a large, silent barbarian named Salt was loading the last of the crates.

  “Are you staring at that fae again?”

  Liam's question snapped Dalris out of his stupor. “What?”

  “I'll take that as a yes.”

  Grumbling at his brother's observation, he mentioned, “I just wish I could put my finger on why she seems so strange.”

  “I know. But at least she's doing her job.”

  Dalris could agree, content with allowing Ana to continue. But as he thought things over, he realized he almost felt some kind of pull to the fae, as if he should've tugged the mask from her face to learn her identity for himself.

  It was the most random urge he'd ever experienced, and he couldn't explain it away—so he didn't try.

  Instead, he forced his gaze from the masked figure standing in the distance and onto Robi when he noticed her approach.

  Wearing a talisman that allowed her to step on the snow as if it were solid, the two foot tall gnome easily made her way, mentioning once she was in hearing range, “Ulric and Ana say they're almost done, and we're an hour ahead of schedule. So should I alert the air base of an early arrival?”

  Dalris nodded, knowing they'd need an update on their schedule, then told Liam, “Alert the station management team. I'm going to check out the aircraft and make certain everything's ready for departure.”

  Liam nodded in silent confirmation, and the brothers moved in different directions to complete their tasks.

  On the way to the ramp leading into the belly of the aircraft, Dalris only hoped things were actually going as smoothly as Robi reported. But no sooner than he'd had the thought did he hear Ulric calling to Salt about an open latch on one of the crates.

  “Why is this unlocked?” Ulric inquired.

  The barbarian looked perplexed, wordlessly shrugging his broad shoulders while Dalris stepped in behind them and removed his hood, asking, “Problems?”

  “Yeah, the latches on this crate aren't locked,” Ulric returned, looking at the numbers marking the side of the unit before calling to Ana for the inventory.

  The masked fae soon entered the aircraft, silently handing over the clipboard his brother requested, and as Ulric scanned the list, Dalris found himself staring again.

  But this time, his gaze was drawn to her face mask. Damn it all, why can't I just—

  “Shit,” Ulric cussed. “I was afraid of that.”

  “What?”

  “This is the same unit containing the items from the shipwreck,” he explained. “So we need to make sure everything's still accounted for.”

  Dalris checked a groan, ignoring his frustration in favor of taking the inventory list while his brother checked the crate's contents.

  Yet, as he flipped the first page to see what was stored inside, he noticed a note written on the back of the paper, and furrowed his brows. Questionably, the words were in gnomish, a language he wasn't fully fluent in, but this one was short enough to make the translation easy.

  And all it said was, Tell Robi I'm so very sorry.

  Immediately, Dalris looked up to see that Ana was no longer standing behind them at the same time Ulric announced, “Damn it, some of the pieces are missing.”

  That was all Dalris needed to hear, and he wasted no time, dropping the clipboard before rushing down the ramp of the aircraft without saying a word.

  Sadly, the snow at the bottom was too mottled by the work crew's tracks coming in and out to find any fresh prints, but he wouldn't need to if he could just catch a glimpse of Ana in that black cloak against the white snow.

  Then again, fae were extremely hard to track. Ana could use a number of tricks to blend in with her environment, and if her skin was actually cursed, all she'd need to do was shed some of her clothing to make it dangerous to grab her and drag in.

  Still, the only thing Dalris truly needed to do was recover the items she'd taken, and as the thought struck, he noticed a shadowy figure ducking by a tent on the edge of the camp.

  Quickly, he made his way in that direction, recalling the fact that Dawlin Station was being set up to monitor the activity of a nearby portal to Ithelyon. She may be intending to use it.

  Keeping the thought in mind, he silently rounded the corner of the tent, but didn't see anyone around. So Dalris opened the entrance of the temporary dwelling to check inside.

  Nothing.

  Growling, he stood straight again and immediately scanned the horizon for movement. Thankfully, the light of the australis above allowed him to quickly spot a figure clad in all black moving swiftly away from the camps.

  Dalris had no idea how Ana made it that far without being spotted before he'd arrived, or even making any tracks. But he didn't try to figure it out, taking off after her without question. He was just grateful the depth of the snow wasn't enough to impede him, but fae were swift, and that portal wasn't too far away.

  So he hastened his movements, gaining on Ana until he was close enough to use all of his strength to jump the moment he was within reach.

  Dalris' aim proved true. Only a second passed before he was tackling her into the snow with an arm against her lower back. As a result, both of them slid a few feet forward, and he heard something tumbling out of the fae's cloak in the process.

  Yet he didn't take the time to see what she'd dropped, and instead, quickly moved to pin her down and make certain she didn't escape with anything else—but he wasn't fast enough.

  The moment he moved, Ana swiftly rolled to the side and stood, nearly taking off once again.

  Reaching out, Dalris snagged her ankle before she could get more than a step away, causing her to pitch forward onto her hands.

  “Give it up, fae,” he growled, “you're not—ungh!”

  The command was immediately cut off when the fae lifted her free leg in retaliation and sent the bottom of her boot into his face.

  Crunch!

  His nose broke on impact, momentarily blurring his vision as he lost his grip on her ankle. But Dalris soon forced himself to look up despite his pain, only to spy Ana getting away.

  And the sight nearly sent him straight into Wrath.

  Growling, he wrestled for his prized control and started moving, ignoring the blood traili
ng from his nostrils to follow the fae across the frozen tundra.

  Over the next incline, the portal came into view, resembling a floating puddle of water standing perpendicular to the ground. Two armed guards were currently standing watch on each side, and they automatically called for Ana to stop upon her quick approach.

  Yet the fae continued, and the guards immediately took aim with a final warning.

  Dalris had no idea why, but seeing them threatening her life in such a way infuriated him—he wanted to be the one to stop her!

  But surprisingly, two magical clones of Ana appeared behind each man and grabbed them, preventing them from firing—or at least altering their aim for long enough to allow her to pass by.

  It was questionable what magic she'd used to achieve this, but it didn't matter. As the guards fired their weapons into the air, the fae got her chance, her clones disappearing as soon as she passed through the mystical doorway.

  And Dalris immediately followed.

  One way trip or not, he wasn't letting this go. Not only was his pay on the line, but he'd be damned if she didn't provide him with some type of healing for his new injury.

  In passing through the portal, the view of his surroundings momentarily blurred. When they came back into focus, he found himself in an area that was vastly different from the snowy antarctic, being a sweltering jungle with colorful fauna and glistening streams of water.

  Dalris knew these jungles were only a few miles outside of Novidos, a city located an entire ocean away from his hometown of Nalona. But it was governed by the draconian House of Navat, meaning he'd have no problems finding transport back to Terra once he was ready.

  So he focused on the task at hand, and looked up after his emergence to see Ana just ahead, deftly hopping across several stones jutting from a stream to reach the other side.

  Quickly, he followed, the water splashing around his boots as he charged through the stream itself, then ducked under an overhang of large leaves in Ana's wake. She was moving so quickly, in fact, that he knew his only hope of catching up was to send a small jolt of electricity out to stun her, his body igniting with blue currents as he moved.