Winter's Crossing: A Golden Fates Novel

by Katie Macey

  Niamh's vision swam. She grabbed the trolley for support.

  "But I am saying too much,” said Caeednce. “Maybe, some other time, when you are feeling better, when Jomen is safe..." Caeednce broke off, looking back in the windows to the room where their friend slept restlessly.

  "They say he'll get better,” said Niamh.

  Caeednce moved as if to say something but then clamped her mouth shut.

  "As they should. Your love is so new..."

  "Our love?" said Niamh, coughing. She kept her head hanging low. Why was she so dizzy?

  "We can all see it, Niamh. Nothing to be ashamed of."

  "I should go back inside..."

  "Yes, yes, of course,” said Caeednce. “I'll return the book for you."

  CHAPTER 14

  Aarin and Iilen stood toe to toe in the hallway. Avoiding them, Niamh touched her forehead lightly and moved to the large communal area in the centre of the glasshouse. Iilen sighed loudly and rubbed the back of his neck.

  "You two don't let up,” said Veayre, “do you?" She looked up from a small book she had laid out, at the continuing argument between Iilen and Aarin.

  "Where were you earlier, Veayre?” said Iilen. “If you want to get involved?" He turned away from Aarin, to Veayre.

  "Taking a bath,” said Veayre coolly, “as nobody else was smart enough to do. Dinner is certain, aid has been given, so washing was the next most important thing."

  Niamh noticed Veayre's dewy skin and how her hair was soft and woven with blue ribbons.

  "I wouldn't want to misrepresent myself to the good priestesses here. Anyway, you all look disgusting."

  Niamh’s own dishevelled appearance mattered little to her.

  "Have you looked in on Jomen?" said Aarin, pointing his question at Veayre.

  "Not yet."

  Niamh didn't have the energy to deal with Veayre’s cattiness.

  "What were you guys talking about just now?" said Niamh, directing her question to Aarin and Iilen.

  "I want to go home,” said Aarin. “We left Muspary still burning. We need to go back, as soon as possible."

  "But Jomen cannot be moved," Iilen countered. "We can't risk his life just because we are worried."

  "I'm not merely worried, Iilen, we have a responsibility."

  "No. You would’ve had a responsibility. But officially, you have none."

  Niamh saw this wasn't going well. But she had a more sombre thought to add, and she hoped it would extinguish any further arguments.

  "You're forgetting the responsibility we have here."

  All eyes turned to her. And she noticed that the taller priestess had entered the room.

  "Many have died here. Weapons were used to kill.”

  Niamh met the apprentice’s tear-filled eyes.

  "I never asked your name.”

  "Omney."

  "Omney, whatever we decide,” said Niamh, “before we go, we will help you."

  "I'm not digging any trenches,” said Veayre.

  But for once, Niamh knew things that the others didn't. Priestesses didn't bury their dead like the royals or other coastal communities.

  "Priestesses aren't returned to the earth, Veayre. They're released into the starry sky."

  "I have heard of this,” said Aarin. “It’s a long process and one, I'm not trying to be harsh Niamh, we don’t have time for. Things have changed since we left home. I’ve been wondering if that fire was deliberately lit."

  "Whatever happens,” said Niamh. “We have to help them. They've helped us and they’re helping Jomen, who can’t be moved."

  Aarin paced along the mural decorated wall. Leaning one hand on his hip, he sighed.

  "I don't see any good options,” he said. “Jomen can't be moved, and this place has already been attacked. They block the north road…"

  "But we can do good Aarin, even if everything looks hopeless.”

  A quiet scoff from Veayre earned her a glare from Iilen. But Aarin continued to stare at the floor. His hair fell over his face.

  "Let's not decide right now,” said Niamh. “We've been running and escaping and fleeing for days.”

  Aarin smirked and said, "You’re not really suggesting that everything will be better in the morning are you?"

  Niamh hesitated. That was exactly her train of thought.

  "Well. We're all tired and-"

  "Jomen is injured. And this place… it's been attacked and is still being watched. You’re right. Weapons have returned to Gutheacia. So nothing will be better in the morning, Niamh."

  Iilen stood behind Aarin and directed him to sit back down, which he did reluctantly. His shoulders flexed and his long black hair hung messily over the worn silver linen. Iilen stood between them and glanced around the room.

  "One night won't hurt us,” said Iilen. “We're safe here, right? Even if we are being watched, someone will alert us to any trouble. We can decide in the morning."

  "Well, thank goodness for that,” said Veayre. “I for one, need to get word home, but apparently no messages are getting through."

  "Literally just explained that, Veayre,” said Aarin. “And we have far bigger problems than that.”

  "Are they called strung weapons?" said Caeednce.

  Her question broke the surface of their discussion and pulled Niamh from her thoughts.

  "What a stupid question!" said Veayre, flinging her hands in the air. Climbing the stairs, she quit the room. Maybe it would be better if everyone did the same.

  The stained glass had darkened so Niamh knew the sun had now finally set. The room swam before Niamh's eyes, and she wobbled where she stood.

  "You look funny."

  "Are you alright?"

  Someone guided her to a chair. The smell of food sickened her. Her eyes ached. She heard a rushing wind...

  ✽✽✽

  A wrinkled fist gripped the draped fabric so tight, it tore away from the wall above the gabled window.

  "Damn!" said the High King.

  "But… aren't you delighted?" said a shaking voice, light and high, like a tinkling bell. He couldn't stand listening to her at the best of times, and now? With this news? Was she utterly mad?

  "You promised,” he said.

  "But,” said the Queen, “If the Fates have other plans for us..."

  "The fates? You think the fates are involved? They have long abandoned us, can't you see?"

  He spun to face her but was almost undone by her frail appearance, shaking with fear and hope combined. His gaze slid to her swelling stomach. How had he not noticed?

  "I cannot prevent assassination attempts-"

  "The king should not quake in fear of his own people."

  "Do not lecture me about how to lead, woman!"

  She dropped to the edge of the bed, clutching the wooden bedhead with white-knuckled fingers. A bead of sweat dribbled down her temple. He wished he hadn't noticed.

  Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to be calm. Didn't she know how hard this was for him? A glint of candlelight reflected in bronze caught his eye.

  "You disobeyed me."

  "Not me. Not Me! The fates, they wish this!"

  "How can you say that?” said the High King. “Lord Gleriledd has been reporting almost every day..."

  "But you never tell me what he reports, my love."

  "I don't want to talk about it. I just want my own quiet life."

  Another voice broke into the room.

  "Bit of a silly wish for the High King."

  The Fates.

  They were here.

  The old man strode across the room and lifted the abandoned crown, unpolished and dusty, onto his head.

  "I won't be dictated to!" But he stammered and stepped backward as he spoke.

  Two tall, beautiful women entered the chamber, unannounced.

  "Peace!"

  Open palms, long robes, and skin that illuminated a dim glow, with green piercing eyes and threads of silver woven through their garments, they lit up the
room, just by entering.

  "Let us hide the child away, dear King,” said the two Fates in unison. “Hidden away from hateful eyes."

  "But I wish he would be strong!” said the Queen, whimpering pitifully. “Let him learn to stand against those who oppose us!" The queen, blinded by her belief in the king and her wish to make a family, could not see how outnumbered she was.

  "The stars are in alignment. We will return tomorrow night."

  The old man flinched as they raised their arms in unison, but beyond a warmth and a yellow glow around his wife, nothing changed.

  Then the queen cried out in pain.

  "No! It's too soon!"

  The High King hung his head. But what would he do without an heir? What would happen to Guthaecia? And what could he do about the pressure in his court, about the ever hassling Lord Gleriledd? He had his friends from afar. But he had no one he could trust. Save those in this room. He looked at his wife, pail with tears streaming down her face. He looked to the Fates, the two ancient beings who had guided the throne these past thousand years. They had no sign of the ages marked on their faces, but he found little compassion in them either. What was he to do? If only his father hadn't shut down the study of the old arts, and joined the other kingdoms in destroying their weapons. He had few options left. Turning away from his weeping wife, and the merciless Fates, he gazed out to the stars. They would not abandon him. The stars were unchangeable and certain.

  ✽✽✽

  "Whoa, are you alright?"

  Niamh staggered to her feet, with Iilen holding her steady. Looking up into his face, she noticed him blush at the awkward closeness of it. She brushed his hand away.

  "I think,” said Niamh, “I'm actually not sure..." Her wrist ached. She rubbed it, and something slick slid beneath her fingertips.

  "What?”

  Niamh ignored the curious stares of her companions and lifted her hand closer to her face. Blue…

  "Is it ink?"

  Caeednce leapt up and looked very closely at Niamh’s hand, but remained poised and afraid to touch it.

  "It's from your bracelet,” said Caeednce.

  "My bracelet?"

  "Look, see?"

  Caeednce turned Niamh's arm, rotating it, exposing the cracked bangle with its dripping blue ink for them all to see.

  "I want to wash it off,” said Niamh. Her head still ached and she felt like nothing was going right.

  Caeednce’s eyes searched Niamh's face. But Niamh shook her head.

  "What is it?” said Niamh. “Do you know about this?" She raised the leaking bracelet.

  "No, no, it's just, it reminds me of something,” said Caeednce. “I have to think, I'm not sure, it's been so long..."

  Aarin looked over his shoulder.

  "That reminds you of something, Caeednce?” he said. “I thought you hailed from the Island Palace?"

  "Not originally." Caeednce threw a warning look at Aarin. "But yes, let me think, maybe we will speak more in the morning."

  "You know about my bracelet, and what this blue ink does, and you know about it from your time in the palace?” said Niamh. “Who even are you Caeednce?"

  Sadness crossed Caeednce’s features.

  "Honestly, I don't really remember,” she said quietly, “you've just reminded me, that maybe I've seen something like this before.”

  "What if,” said Aarin, “we wait- hear me out- we wait for Niamh's test and ceremony to be complete. Then tomorrow night, we'll go our separate ways."

  "I'll admit,” said Veayre, “that's a good compromise."

  Niamh knew her face gave away her surprise. Veayre hadn't sounded that reasonable since before they shipwrecked.

  "You can return home, and so shall we. It's perfect.”

  "What about Jomen?" said Niamh, unable to stop her voice from quivering. She was badly shaken by the vision and knew she was failing at hiding her distress.

  "What did you see?" Caeednce whispered to her, leading her to the stairs.

  ✽✽✽

  Niamh explained it as best she could, and returned to Jomen’s side.

  "So, I don't know what it means, or if it is anything at all, maybe I'm just overtired."

  Niamh slumped in her chair.

  "I think it looks pretty," said Jomen, his voice quieter than before.

  "Ha, what?"

  Niamh moved her hand out of sight. She knew he was being kind, but the others had been even more worried by it than she was. The blue ink had well and truly stained her skin.

  "What?” said Jomen. “I do. It's like something out of a history text, like an artwork of old, or something."

  He spoke in a breathy whisper, but Niamh was comforted to hear his attempt at humour. Maybe the priestesses were wrong. Maybe he was getting better. Caeednce entered the room.

  "Stop worrying about me,” said Jomen.

  Niamh smiled, and let her hand fall close to his, on the side of the bed. He lay on his side, a blanket pulled up to his chin. Fear curled its grip around her and she tried to exhale and release its squeeze.

  "I'm fine,” said Jomen. “I'm just tired."

  She didn't have it in her to argue.

  "I guess it is kind of pretty,” said Niamh, “like climbing vines or something." She inspected her wrist.

  "I wonder if it will change,” said Jomen. “Or maybe you're here to save us all, or something."

  "Like from the past? Old arts and all that?"

  "I don't know, but since I saw you in the market that day...”

  He tried to sit up, but only slid his neck to an awkward angle.

  "Hey, careful, you'll-"

  He reached out and touched the side of her neck. Her skin came alive with prickly electricity and she knew her face and neck had blushed to a full red - again. Her hand stayed where she'd laid it.

  Jomen glanced down at her lips.

  Niamh knew she hadn't taken a breath, but maybe time had come to a complete stop? Jomen's finger traced upwards until he'd travelled up and around the curve of her chin.

  Eye's locked, Niamh knew this was the moment. She'd never felt like this. She forgot that he was injured. She forgot about the blue ink. They didn't talk anymore.

  Niamh dipped her head and returned the weak smile she saw curving Jomen's lips. His eyes sparkled and she knew that this was something she'd never forget. He squeezed her hand. She felt his breath on her face.

  Glass crashed!

  Shards of stained blue glass smashed and scattered across the room. The glass walls exploded in a cutting rain. Niamh threw herself across Jomen.

  Niamh eventually looked at the destruction behind her. A sight so horrible greeted her. Something protruded out of the wooden floor, sticking where it had landed.

  "Is that a..?"

  All fuzzy feelings vanished.

  "I've never seen one up close before," said Niamh.

  She crept off the bed, flecks of broken glass falling to the floor. The smashed wall let icy wind barrel into the room. Niamh peered down at the rocky coastline. A familiar figure stood a ways off, looking up at the window. With a flick of her cape, she turned away and disappeared into the trees of the forest.

  "Oh no,” said Niamh.

  “Niamh…that’s a flaming arrow!” said Jomen, dragging her attention back to the ruined room, and the weapon that had caused it. What a time to almost have your first kiss!

  "I'll be back."

  Niamh squeezed his hand, letting her gaze linger over his lips. Then flying down the stairs, she was away.

  CHAPTER 15

  "A cry?”

  The High King pressed his ear to the varnished door.

  “The babe lives?" he said to himself. With broad shoulders, cloaked and tense he drew back as the doors opened, revealing a jittery servant.

  "Well?" he thundered.

  "Please, she is exhausted..."

  "Let me pass."

  He ignored the pots of steaming water, the white cloths strewn in dropped bundles, the rush of hur
ried tidying by many hands. For all his failings, he did truly love her.

  "Darling, look,” said the Queen.

  He dropped to his knees and clasped his hands on a corner of her quilt, pressing his forehead to the bed before whispering, "I'm here."

  Even wrapped expertly by the midwives, the babe wriggled free. Flapping flailing hands, it screwed up its little face and let out a tiny wail.

  "Haha! Such spirit!" he said as he smiled at the queen. When had they last shared such a moment? Not in long years. She smiled back.

  "We have come."

  Two voices spoke as one, and in an instant, the room's warmth fled. The King clenched his jaw and hugged the babe closer to his chest. The queen shivered.

  "I think, maybe,” said the High King, “we've made a mistake..."

  "Your weaknesses, King, have caused more trouble than you know. You cannot recant now."

  They stepped forward, in unison.

  The queen lay tucked in the giant bed, head resting on plumped pillows. A timid midwife, with dark blue hair, said, "Rest now, your majesty."

  "Yes,” said the Silver Fates. “Rest."

  They waved their right arms in a synchronised s-shape. The queen fell asleep immediately.

  "Give us the child." Again in unison.

  He stared into the eyes of the babe, protesting and wanting his mother.

  "Isn't there another way?" said the High King, blinking back tears.

  "This is why you are a failed king."

  "That’s not entirely true…“

  “Silence!”

  The High King trembled. He was a failed king and a weak one at that. He feared the Fates even more than the bullies in his court. No single mistake could be blamed for the pain he felt now. A long line of errors and excuses had led to this. He hung his head. No one choice, however heroic, could change the fate of the little prince now.

  "Goodbye, little one."

  The two Silver Fates quit the Island Palace immediately. The queen slept on. The High King shook with quiet sobs. They controlled everything. And it was not a King, but the Fates who saved the kingdom all those years ago...