Chains of Fate (The Fate Circle Saga Book 1) Page 21

  “Do not worry. Go with my Keeper.”

  “Where is he? What have you done with him?”

  That strange welling feeling, the coiling of a whip under her skin was there, sudden, striking out with alarming force. The lightning flashed blue across the room only to collide with the wings of the shadow defending the throne. The Queen regarded her steadily and gestured toward the door where the Keeper waited.

  “No. What have you done with him? Tell me now!”

  “When it pleases me. Go or you will find yourself bearing the same fate until your Vadian appears to collect you.”

  Jalcina held her head high, her back straight, as she walked from the throne room all too aware of how her hands trembled in clenched fists over her anger. Yet lashing out had done nothing. She would go, but it wasn’t over.

  “Where is he?”

  The question was out again as soon as they were away from the door.

  “He is in her gallery. You need not worry about him. No harm comes to those she keeps. I will take you to your room and have food and clothes brought. There will be someone to attend to you. Speak to them if you wish, but understand they will not be able to speak back.”

  “Why?”

  “It is forbidden. There are three voices within the palace: myself, the Queen, and Backaran. All others are silent.”

  “I am not.”

  “You are a guest. Pray you remain one.”

  After a few minutes, Jalcina gave up on trying to remember where they were going. The corridors all appeared the same with their constantly shifting colors and they took corners so abruptly she was certain there had been nothing there a moment before. It was as if the place were being made as they moved through it.

  The room he gave her was done in blue and white, soft shades easy on the eyes. Her body relaxed into the familiar colors and the Keeper left her standing in the center of the room admiring the way wide silk ribbons of bright blue hung from the ceiling and swayed gently like the ocean.

  30

  Alone in the throne room a dozen voices argued. They muttered and hissed at one another of the danger this girl possessed and the power she had thrown. The Queen sat, quiet, listening to the mist until she cared no more for it.

  Again she soothed the mist with long hands.

  “Our Beloved has made his wishes known. She will stay. The other will come and He will speak with them. Then they will be gone.”

  She smiled her teeth points of white in her mouth. Then she laughed.

  “They will be gone.”

  31

  The days blurred together for Jalcina as she waited. The coiled spring of power inside of her notched tighter with each day. Her dreams, those of flight and togetherness, a certainty of purpose grew stronger.

  Perhaps because he drew closer.

  Her pleas to see Lecern, locked away in the Queen’s gallery, went unheard either by the Keeper who stopped by periodically to check on her or by those servants with downcast eyes who came to wait upon her when she bathed or ate.

  Now the Keeper stood in the doorway and motioned for her to follow him.

  “Your King has come to collect you.”

  The throne room was the same as they entered: the Queen on her throne, the fog along the floor, the shadow covering the throne with its wings. Yet the mood was different and he was there.

  Vad’Alvarn wore no armor, but only travel clothes and he knelt, one knee to the floor, before the throne.

  “You have done me a service, Queen of Backaran, to house my love as your guest.”

  “She claims no such connection to you.”

  The cinnamon smell circled the room as the Queen lit her smoke. With a gesture, Lecern appeared stumbling his breath loud as though he’d been running. His clothes were unchanged. Even his hair lay as it had when he disappeared.

  “Jalcina.” He saw her across the room and called her name. His eyes were on her, only her, as he crossed the room.

  “Stop. Within these walls, no one draws a weapon without my permission.”

  Vad’Alvarn had brought out a dagger as long as his forearm, though he had not moved against Lecern. He slipped the weapon away.

  Lecern noticed nothing. Jalcina let him put his arms around her and hold her close.

  “I thought you were gone,” he murmured into her hair. “That you had left me.”

  Gazing up into his eyes, Jalcina found herself shying away. They were glassy. Empty. Yet he continued to hold her with a frantic devotion. Stroking her hair and murmuring;

  “We’re safe now.”

  Jalcina pulled away, pushing his hands back against his chest.

  “What have you done to him?”

  “Nothing. The fantasy is his own. He sees nothing but what he wants to see.” The constellation of stars from the Queen’s ash held the air for a moment before descending into the bowl. The cinnamon smell clung to Jalcina’s nose and she sneezed.

  “Leave him.”

  Now Jalcina turned to stare into Vad’Alvarn’s eyes.

  “Leave him now and come with me.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I will return to Sartol. Return to my life. I want none of this. Not you. Not this city. Not this other woman you claim I am. I want my life back.”

  “We’ll go home, Jalcina, we will. As soon as the passes clear, we’ll go home. There we can marry and raise a family.”

  “I don’t want to marry you anymore.” Now she pushed Lecern away, stepping back as she did until she saw both Vad’Alvarn and Lecern clearly.

  “I want nothing from either of you.”

  “You will never escape.” The Queen descended from her throne, one stair at a time, the cinnamon smoke curled around her body and caressed her hair. It merged with the fog, giving it stripes of brown-red. As she drew closer, Jalcina could suddenly hear a tinkling sound. Her hair as it swept across the floor. “You are bound. The magic which sustains you binds you.” Close enough to Jalcina to touch, she brought her hand across the other woman’s face, nails only.

  Her touch was frozen.

  “Both of you.”

  The Queen stared at Vad’Alvarn though she was touching Jalcina.

  “So you told me years ago, great Queen. So your lover warned me.”

  “Get away from her.” Lecern put his hands on the Queen and with an explosion of darkness, he was hurled across the room. The shadow around the throne moved, a headless snake, to crowd around him, lifting him once more to his feet like a ragdoll.

  “Do not touch her.” The room murmured. The tone was low but the voice authoritative. The shadow swirled and built itself into a shape, a male body with eyes the color of emeralds. The man held Lecern up with an arm around his waist. “Again.”

  It gently eased the young man to the ground and left him there. Slow steps brought him toward the group. The Queen ducked her head and kept her eyes to the floor as she backed away, leaving a space open for him to address the two left behind.

  “Beloved,” it said to her. “Return to your place.”

  When she returned to the throne, she settled back upon it and her body ceased to move. She became a statue in truth, only the curl of smoke and the arrangement of her hair giving away she had ever moved.

  Now the shadow watched them, eyes moving from one to the other.

  “You have returned again.”

  “Following the path of my curse, the flight of my beloved.”

  “She is not the one you loved. She is someone else.”

  “Tell me how to stop this!” Jalcina screamed and Backaran turned to her, emerald eyes snapping with anger. With a sweep of his hand, Jalcina found herself struggling to stand against a sudden wind. Blue lightning snapped up around her, protecting her, and she could feel the other welling up inside her, seeking freedom from the bounds.

  “You have two choices, pretty one.”

  Backaran’s touch was far warmer than his Queen’s almost hot, and Jalcina could smell something like burning metal as he laid his palm ag
ainst her cheek.

  “Kill yourself or become her. There are no other ways for you to be free. Take your own life or live hers.”

  “As you would have no one touch your Queen, I would rather you did not touch mine.” Vad’Alvarn lifted Backaran’s hand from Jalcina’s face with the point of his dagger. The shadow only appeared amused before taking a step back.

  “I will forgive this, for now. Take that which is yours and leave. The boy also. He is of no interest to me and if you leave him, I will feed him to my Beloved’s dogs.”

  Vad’Alvarn hesitated in answering.

  Jalcina ran across the room and took Lecern by the shoulders.

  “Wake up, Lecern. Wake up.” She shook him hard and he came around, his eyelids fluttering open. He grabbed her wrists to stop the shaking.

  “Jal?”

  “We have to go.”

  When she glanced back, the shadow was gone. Vad’Alvarn was watching her, but he made no move to interfere. The Queen sat upon her throne, a statue still, unmoving and disinterested. Lecern sat up, his gaze befuddled.

  “Jalcina, get back.” He leapt to his feet and pushed her behind him. “I’ll protect you.”

  “Do you intend to watch him die?”

  He had not resheathed his dagger. It sat ready in his hand.

  “I will end his suffering.”

  Jalcina mouthed the word ‘no’ as Vad’Alvarn advanced. First she glanced to the Queen, hoping she would once again keep Vad’Alvarn at bay. The statue did not move or speak. Only a few steps away, she pulled Lecern back. Vad’Alvarn made no attempt to hurry, but simply walked, one deliberate step at a time, until she moved. He paused, watching her.

  Lecern rushed forward, arms out to catch Vad’Alvarn around the waist. The other man planted his feet as he was hit and then brought the hilt of the dagger down on Lecern’s neck, dropping him to the floor. The king stepped over him and stopped again, glowering down at the other man as he worked his way back to his feet. He hit him again, driving Lecern down.

  “I will kill him.”

  He brought the dagger point down and it was nearly in Lecern’s back when Jalcina grabbed his wrist, though the strength of her grip made him gaze into her eyes. The blue of frozen water stared back at him.

  “Leave him alive. We will release him to care for himself once we are beyond here. There is no reason for us to kill him.”

  “He will chase you.”

  “Let him,” she said. “Every man is cursed. Let me be his.”

  “Cruel, my love.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Tarlick and the other elites awaited them when they walked up out of the gorge. Lecern walked a few feet behind the pair, lead by a rope attached to a makeshift harness around his torso.

  “Welcome back, my lord,” they greeted him. Vad’Alvarn mounted Kahn and held one hand out to Leviana.

  “We’ll get you a horse soon.”

  She mounted behind him. With one swift movement she cut the rope holding Lecern. The harness loosed and fell away.

  “Go,” she said as the ropes fell from his arms.

  Lecern rubbed his arms.

  “Jalcina?”

  “Believe her dead. To follow further is to die yourself. Leave him a horse.”

  Vad’Alvarn gestured for one of them to do as she said and her order was obeyed. Tarlick took the extra man on his horse.

  “Return to your home. Return to what safety life has allowed you and tell them war is coming.”

  “Jalcina, wait.”

  “No. Go. Or die here.”

  32

  The city of Arthum was strewn with flowers, quite a spectacle, old buildings of brick, marble, and wood decorated as if for a festival. Perhaps they did truly consider it a festival, the fact the king who was already seven times a husband was taking yet another wife. Then again, none of them had been married in the capital city, always in their home city and then dragged to the capital city to live out their days under the careful watch of their husband’s guards. It had quite some time since the king had even bothered to grace his capital with his presence. So perhaps it was a festival to celebrate his return from adding to the glory of its empire through the conquest. The streets were not lined with his supporters, just as well, as Vad’Alvarn was not interested in them, caught in pointing out buildings to the woman riding in front of him.

  “That’s the old council building.” It had been there when he was born the first time. “Where the council meets when I am in the city. Otherwise, they have to travel with me for fear I will take no care of their opinion when I am gone without them being there to tell me it, over and over again, in person.” His face contorted to a mask of distaste at the thought. The council were perhaps his least favorite people, he saw his true enemies as being even above those false diplomats. Or rather, he would if they were the kind like Jalcina’s father, Mordaen of Sartol, who had the strength to stand up against the supposed tyranny of his attempts to conquer and bring the world under his rule. Unfortunately, it seemed fewer and fewer were of such caliber. The stronger he became, the more they wanted to try and treat for safety and freedom rather than raise their swords and fight for it. Perhaps if they could hold out against him, then he would be willing to allow them to stand free, he did not bother the places he conquered much, leaving them a governor and expecting they tribute on time each year, but otherwise, he did nothing to their way of doing things. It was unnecessary. Few of the places were so barbaric they needed to have more than a few simple things, such as a uniform writing system brought to them. That was generally enough in most places, writing and the understanding they could only advance in the government if they were educated in what the king expected. Nothing too difficult.

  So far, none had wholesale rejected it, but then since it came on the point of a sword, they really had no choice but to do as he told them.

  “The council, do they have any true power?” She asked the question, her lower lip catching between her teeth as she finished speaking, expecting him to become upset by her question. It was as if she were questioning his power over his own government.

  “No more than I allow them to have. You understood these things a long time ago. But I suppose even something so simple will have to be explained to you again.”

  When they had first put together their understanding of the government, all power was in a single person as the best way, knowing the more people who were involved the longer it took to have any single thing done. An army tended to follow only one person, so why give them more than one person who could decide their fates? To that end, Leviana had allowed him to become the one who led, even she had followed him. Followed him directly to the point where she had died, in his arms, gasping his name to the wind stealing her soul away and then returned it later to another body years later.

  “A single leader for the men, let them all look to one person. Let there be no confusion over who leads them.” Nearly a direct quote from the conversation they had together one night over wine, preparing for the battle to turn the tide of the fight for Arthum itself. “That’s the temple to Ancel, the patron god of War.” The place she had spent so many hours during their youth. Every child of the Burning Island, and thus of Arthum, was required to learn at least the basics of swordplay as it was taught by the priests of Ancel. Required to learn what it meant to kill, and driven to protect themselves regardless of what was placed in their path. Lessons both of them had learned so well it was unquestionable they were the greatest fighters. “Where we met.”

  “Not here in Arthum,” he corrected. They had indeed met at a temple to Ancel, but it was not in the capital city. “In our home district of Delar.” Delar was a quiet place, the last place called when war came because it was believed the place did not breed fighters, it only created those who could draw a sword, but never truly use it. Yet it had produced not only him, but his darling Leviana, great fighters, strategists were capable of near miracles, and leaders who had brought the world nearly to its knee
s before she died.

  The giant statue of Ancel stood at the wall of the temple, sword raised as if to strike at the wall before him and bring it down. At his feet, inside the wall where they could not be seen, were smaller statues of great adherents of his, milling about his feet as if waiting for him to strike the blow against the wall allowing them to spread out and forward to take on whatever enemy there was to be had. Vad’Alvarn bowed his head and murmured the invocation of Ancel’s favor as he passed under the shadow of the statue, certain the old god would not withdraw his favor now with his beloved back with him. Arms tightened around her, unconsciously, the vision of her reaching up to run bloody fingers along his cheek before her eyes rolled shut appearing before his vision so quickly it was gone before he could even blink it away.

  “Vad’Alvarn!” Navar rode up beside them and pulled his horse to match pace with them. “It appears word has reached the palace of your return and that you bring a bride with you.”

  “Oh?” His interest was barely there, but he did allow it to show in his raised eyebrow.

  Navar was smiling..

  “Curcula is running through the women’s palace with a dagger ripping apart everything she can reach.”

  Curcula was his wife from Arthum, born a mere 25 years ago, but married to him from the cradle as he was the leader of the Burning Island. She was a beautiful woman, though given to fits of temper making her one to be watched. “What do you want done?” Navar smirked at the thought of what could be ordered, considering she was destroying the king’s property, she could be killed for her impertinence, but it was unlikely.

  “Let us go see what she has to say for herself.”

  Vad’Alvarn kicked his horse into a gallop, hooves ringing against the paved streets of the capital city and forcing Navar to keep up with him. Leviana pressed into his body, balancing as they galloped along. For a moment, she wanted her own horse, but they were nearly there, no point in asking for one now.