Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

Kesh returned Erik’s leveled stare and attempted to arch a brow. The gesture reopened the wound, which promptly began to ooze through the powders that had been so delicately, rigorously, and completely ineffectually, applied. Clapping a hand to the wound, Kesh snarled, “Keep
him
in check.” Sawing at the reins furiously, the chancellor spurred his horse forward. His entourage fell in about him, like a group of nesting hens, gossiping and laughing as they looked back.

“One of these days, he and I are going to have a reckoning.” Kinsey growled.

Erik looked at his stepson. “No matter. He is of no matter to us.”

“Until this mission is over, he is… I’m fine, you don’t have to worry.”

Erik could almost believe him, but Kinsey’s body was completely rigid in the saddle, his knuckles were white on the hand that gripped the pommel, and Erik could tell from the way Dak stomped his front hooves that Kinsey’s thick legs were clamped uncomfortably onto the horse’s ribs.

A devious grin crept across the big man’s face. “Besides, I’ve set up a little surprise for our friend.”

Erik’s eyes darted with alarm back to the flock of courtiers still prancing along toward City Wall. The remaining Basinian armsmen followed behind them, holding brilliant banners of green and gold that flowed in the wind.

“What?” Erik could see nothing amiss, and his mind raced, trying to remember every action he knew Kinsey had taken in the past few hours. “What have you done?”

“Nothing serious. But we have arrived a day early, you know?”

Erik looked back at Kinsey, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Kinsey shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, when we stopped at that inn last night to refresh, I may have
forgotten
to send word of our premature arrival. With all the stress I’ve been under and everything, it was an honest mistake.”

Erik sat in silence as Kinsey’s words sank in. It was customary for arriving dignitaries to announce their advent to another’s estate, and all but mandatory to do so when entering another kingdom. For an
embassy
to arrive without giving the hosts due notice… The implication would be that Kesh didn’t even know the simplest of forms. The lack of decorum and the disrespect it showed would color every conversation Kesh had with any noble for the entire trip, and perhaps well into the future.

Erik raised one hand to his face, closing his eyes and massaging the sudden tension in his brow. “You’re telling me they don’t know we’re here?” Erik asked, leaning forward in his saddle.

“Nope.”

Erik swallowed his involuntary laugh. If there was one thing Chancellor Kesh Tomelen valued over anything else, it was his ego. This little “mistake” would see it dragged through the mud, or possibly through something far worse. Peering between the fingers that still clutched his forehead, he reached for the fatherly voice he had thought he would never use again. “Kinsey, you’re going to get us both flogged!”

Kinsey’s bearded chin thrust out in defiance. “It’ll be worth it.”

Sacha rolled the black rose between her fingers, patiently waiting her turn as she watched the swarm of girls buzz around her sister in preparation for the ball. The girls giggled and hopped about as they primped Sloane.
They might have saved the effort
, she thought. Her sister would have been ravishing without the seemingly endless procession of jewels and silks they draped about her.

The press of this many people in close quarters and their constant thrum of conversation put Sacha on edge. She had not realized it, but she had become accustomed to the solitude and quiet of the monastery.
Ironic
, she thought. During her seclusion she had often dreamed of this exact scene: the press of attention from courtiers, cousins, and friends, the comforts she had so taken for granted. She could still feel the echo of the girl she had once been, looking at her sister in the center of the silk and golden maelstrom, and envying Sloane for her place at the center of attention. Reconciling the girl she had been with the woman she had become would be a true challenge as she tried to find her place amongst the chaos of her return and her imminent departure.

“Have you seen any of the delegates from the Citadel?” Meagan asked as she tugged at the edges of Sloane’s gown.

“Oh, I did,” Bella chirped, picking up a long, delicately carved wooden case and opening it. “I ran down to the square once it was announced they had arrived.” Her voice trailed off as she fingered the contents inside and her lips pursed in thought.

The announcement neatly arrested the twittering horde mid-babble. The women looked expectantly at Bella, and then at each other as she remained smiling silently at the glittering diamond necklace in the box.

Predictably, it was Marcella who first lost patience with an explosive exhalation. “Well?” The look of exasperation painted across her dusky features almost made Sacha laugh.

Bella looked up from the box, her mouth crooked slightly to one side, and the opposite eyebrow arched gracefully. “Well what?”

Marcella grabbed a densely embroidered cushion and hurled it at Bella, nearly knocking the jewelry box out of the now openly laughing girl’s hands. “What do they look like, you ninny!”

Sacha laughed with the others at the exchange.

“Hoping to catch one for yourself, Marcella?” Leanne asked, turning back to the business at hand and placing the royal tiara on Sloane’s head.

“Possibly... It will depend on whether they are handsome, which we would know if Bella would stop holding out on us.” Marcella shot Bella a hawkish look.

“Really, Marcella. There’s no need to be so impatient!” Bella grinned and placed the delicate box back on the dressing stand.

“I, too, am curious about these delegates,” Sloane said. “Not for their looks, of course, but their manner. I was led to believe that courtiers from Waterfall Citadel are the most sophisticated and proper of all the kingdoms, yet they did not announce their arrival until they were upon our gates. Most peculiar behavior, don’t you think?”

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.