Kings of Fate A Prequel Novella

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘I am, Father. I saw it. She will come. Jael Furyck will come!’

  THE END

  Epilogue

  ‘That door,’ Jael grumbled, listening to the squeaking hinges as the cottage door rattled in a strong wind.

  They had been lying in the dark for hours as the storm picked up, wondering if their little cottage would be able to withstand it.

  Half hoping it wouldn’t.

  Aleksander smiled, holding Jael close, enjoying the feel of her, the smell of peppermint in her freshly washed hair. ‘I’ll fix it tomorrow. Promise.’

  ‘You and your promises,’ Jael yawned, entwining her legs around his. Her nose was frozen, her cheeks too, but under the fur with Aleksander, everything finally felt warm.

  Right.

  She almost didn’t feel like wriggling away.

  ‘I promised I’d bring Tig back, didn’t I?’

  Jael pushed herself up onto an elbow. She couldn’t see anything more than shadows as she reached out a hand, running it over his hairy cheek. ‘You did.’ And leaning forward, she kissed him slowly, feeling the chill of his lips on hers, the coarse bristles of his beard brushing her skin. ‘You did. And I’m so glad about that.’ And lying back down again, Jael nestled in closer, not wanting to be anywhere else.

  They could both hear Biddy snoring behind them; slightly singed Biddy who had finally managed to fall asleep after fussing around Aleksander for hours. He had stumbled into the cottage just as she was turning down the beds, starving, cold, and ready to fall asleep. Though both Biddy and Jael had managed to keep him awake long enough to hear about what had happened with Gudrum’s men and the river.

  Aleksander closed his eyes, exhausted. The arrow wound in his shoulder had leaked a lot of blood, and the ride home had been a slow and arduous one. He felt ready to sleep till Vesta. ‘And now we can forget about Gudrum Killi.’

  ‘For a while, at least,’ Jael said, certain she would meet Gudrum again. Hopefully, when Lothar and his men weren’t around to intervene. ‘But I think we’ve got more pressing problems than that bastard, don’t you?’ She lowered her voice to just a breath. ‘Like Lothar. And what he’ll do next.’

  ‘Something,’ Aleksander decided, worry tensing his aching shoulder. ‘He’ll do something. He won’t rest till he has you right where he wants you.’

  ‘No, he won’t. And where he wants me is ash, floating in the wind. If only he could figure out how to achieve it without damaging his reputation. Lucky for us, he’s not as clever as he could be.’

  The door banged against its frame, threatening to break apart, and Biddy woke up muttering. Neither Aleksander nor Jael spoke, and she quickly fell back to sleep.

  ‘As long as we’re together,’ Aleksander whispered, leaning over Jael, wanting to feel her lips again. ‘Lothar can never hurt us if we’re together.’

  Jael kissed him back, listening to the painful wail of the wind screeching around the cottage.

  Suddenly unable to stop shivering.

  Find out what happens next in

  Winter’s Fury

  Or get the box-set of the first three volumes

  The Furyck Saga books 1-3

  Bonus Content:

  Winter’s Fury

  Read Chapter One NOW…

  Winter’s Fury: Chapter One

  PROLOGUE

  You tried to take my head, as my sisters went before,

  but in the dark you slept and let the wolf slip out your door.

  You tried to take the book, the one that Taegus stole for me, but I have it with me still, and its magic set me free.

  You tried to take my home, but I will begin again;

  I will make myself an army of one hundred thousand men.

  And when my name has faded from your memories and your lips, I will crawl out of my grave, and I will ready all my ships.

  And when you’re at your strongest, when your happiness is full,

  I will take my sweet revenge and destroy the Furyck’s rule.

  And when the night is blackest, and your lands are burned by war...

  Your eyes will blind.

  Your blood will flow.

  Your hearts will beat no more.

  Edela woke with a gasp, her heart hammering loudly in her ears. She tried to hold on to the fading dream; to cling to the warning before it slipped away again; before she fell asleep. But it was too late. She couldn’t stop her eyes closing, closing, closing... and once again, the warning fell back, into the abyss of her forgotten memories.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jael Furyck’s feet were slowly freezing in wet socks that clung unpleasantly to numb toes, sitting in damp boots, which, although new, were already leaking. She tried to focus on the uncomfortable sensation of her cold feet, pressing them harder into the wet wool; into the soft, damp leather of her boots; into the reeds that lined the hard mud floor. She tried to imagine them twisting and strong, like the roots of the oldest tree in Brekka; buried deep in the earth, solid and unwavering. If she could do that, if she could focus on her feet, then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t say anything. Maybe there was a chance she could control the urgent, angry fire coursing up through her body and into her mouth. No! Not her mouth, her feet, her feet! She must stay there, thinking of her feet, so far away from her mouth. She had to ignore the screaming violence throbbing at the base of her throat, demanding to be released. She couldn’t let him, them, all of them, watch as she lost control.

  Lothar Furyck sat impatiently on the edge of his finely carved throne and waited, glowering furiously at his niece. His announcement, moments earlier, had all but guaranteed a hasty reaction from her but where was it? Jael had a fierce temper, and this was to be the ultimate humiliation of her, and, by extension, her whole family, but so far she would not play his carefully constructed game. Her face remained impassive, and although he was certain she was furious, she said nothing, which caused an uncomfortable silence to creep around them both. But Lothar had to say something or the moment would be lost to him. The people in the hushed hall, sitting on their cold benches, looking up at him – soon those people would start to wonder what power he truly had over any of them.

  Lothar bit down on his annoyance, cleared his throat, and spoke as if there had been no awkward silence at all. ‘And so, the wedding feast will take place on Oss in 15 days. Enough time for you to find a dress.’ He waved a dismissive hand in the direction of Jael’s well-worn trousers and cloak. ‘And enough time for the rest of us to be back in Andala before the Freeze.’

  Lothar glared down at her, his bulging eyes demanding a reply, and this time Jael knew that she had to say something. ‘Will I be able to take my horse?’ she asked dully, her lips barely moving.

  Lothar thought for a moment, not really caring. ‘Yes, you may, but you will give up your sword. You won’t need it where you’re going.’

  There was an audible murmur around the hall at that, which surprised Lothar and sent another bolt of fury shuddering through Jael’s rigid body. ‘It was my father’s sword,’ she muttered through gritted teeth, her devastation revealing itself at last.

  ‘It was my father’s sword,’ Lothar growled, leaning forward, running a jewelled hand through his dark beard. ‘It is centuries old, handed down from king to king. How or why you received it when my brother died, I do not know.’

  Jael wanted to launch herself at him then.

  To rip out his vile throat, lying hidden behind the rolls of gelatinous fat gathering around his sagging chin. To watch his life-blood course down his bloated belly until he was white with death.

  Take her sword?

  She was seething now and stood on the edge, ready to abandon all reason, but then, remembering her feet, she dug her toes deep into her boots, clamping her jaw shut and fixing her face with an unnatural smile. Lothar wasn’t going to humiliate her any further. She wouldn’t give him that. ‘As you wish, my lord.’

  Lothar frowned, disappointed. He had watched her desperately trying to gain h
old of her temper, and it appeared that she had succeeded. Oh well, he conceded, he had hit his mark at least. She was badly, if not fatally wounded. He could feel the growl of his dead brother at his back then. Here he was, sitting on Ranuf’s throne, selling his beloved daughter off to his enemy.

  It was a good day.

  Just the thought of his brother’s indignant face imbued Lothar with confidence, and the smile that curled from his wet lips was wide and brimming with satisfaction. ‘Good,’ he said coolly, glancing at his son, Osbert, who was struggling to contain his own annoyance at Jael’s calm reaction. ‘We will speak more of this tomorrow. Alp!’ he barked, turning to his servant, who was hovering anxiously behind him. ‘Have the food brought to the tables!’ Alp bowed his head silently and left. ‘And wine!’ Lothar yelled after him. ‘More wine!’

  Jael was rooted to the spot as the hall burst into life around her. The servants started moving again, ferrying trays of sizzling roast boar and gravy covered pork sausages to the tables, filling cups with wine and ale as conversations sparked around them. It felt as though every pair of eyes were focused on her and Jael was desperate to escape. Glancing quickly around the hall, she spotted her mother, Gisila, lurking uncomfortably near one of the large fire pits, the shock of Lothar’s announcement still on her face.

  Jael made straight for her.

  Gisila was staring at the high table, watching Lothar and his vile son laughing with each other, banging their cups together. She could still see her husband, Ranuf, sitting on the throne that had belonged to him for over 30 years. And she had been there, sitting beside him until his unexpected death.

  Until Lothar had returned to Brekka and destroyed their lives.

  Gisila felt hot tears stinging the corners of her eyes, then the sudden pull from behind, as Jael grabbed her roughly by the arm and hurried her outside.

  Dark clouds rushed across the face of the moon. A storm was brewing, but Jael barely noticed as she stalked across the Main Square, her hood pulled down to avoid the latecomers heading for the hall. Gisila walked quickly beside her, struggling to keep up with both her daughter and the panic that was tightening her shoulders.

  When they reached Gisila’s small cottage in the centre of town, Jael pushed her mother inside and slammed the door behind them. Gisila’s servant jumped in surprise, then, with one look at Jael’s furious face, quickly made herself scarce, merging into the shadows at the back of the sparsely furnished hovel.

  Jael dropped her hood and turned to her mother, narrowing her green eyes until her dark eyebrows almost met in the middle of her face.

  ‘I, I didn’t know,’ Gisila spluttered quickly, sensing the angry fire that was coming. ‘I didn’t know!’

  Jael was too wild to speak. Her eyes roamed over the poverty of the cottage with its hard mud floor and roughly hewn table and chairs. It didn’t have a window and was dark and musty and miserable because of it, which was precisely what Lothar had intended when he’d kicked them all out of the hall and moved his own family in. When Ranuf had ruled, their freedom had been assured. Now everything had changed. Lothar played with them as he wished. He was a self-serving, childish fool. Reckless, greedy and determined to rule as a tyrant.

  ‘You cannot marry that man,’ Gisila muttered crossly behind her. ‘He is nothing. His family is nothing! His father was a slave. Ranuf’s enemy and a slave! It’s an insult. The worst that Lothar has done to us!’

  That was just like her mother, Jael thought. Always making everything about herself.

  ‘Where’s Axl?’ Gisila turned and directed this towards her servant, Gunni, who was turning down the beds.

  ‘I don’t know, my lady.’

  Gisila glanced at her daughter. ‘He’ll have something to say about this, I’m sure.’

  Jael said nothing. Her head was a mess of hot fury and building sorrow. She couldn’t keep up with her thoughts as they tumbled over one another, desperately seeking a way out of the hole that Lothar had so happily trapped her in. Running her hands distractedly through her long, dark hair, mostly tied up in messy braids, Jael frowned. She was far too old for marriage. Far too unsuitable as a wife. Why would Eirik Skalleson want her for his son?

  Why now?

  Pulling up the hood of her black, woollen cloak, Jael turned to the door. ‘I’ll go to Edela. She’ll know what to do.’ And she ducked outside before her mother had even looked up.

  The wind whipped the door shut with such a bang that Gisila jumped. Folding her arms across her chest to ward off the chill wind that blown into the cottage, she returned her gaze to the fire. There was nothing her mother could say that would stop this, she was certain. Lothar had found a way to remove Jael as a threat to his presence upon the throne. And with her gone, they would all be exposed, for Jael was their protector, and Lothar knew it. Without her, they were weak and vulnerable.

  Just as he intended.

  Gisila shivered and stared into the amber flames, tears running freely down her worried face.

  Jael strode up the steps to her grandmother’s cottage which sat on a small rise, hidden inside a windswept grove of trees. A line of bones and stones strung about the porch chimed chaotically to announce her arrival.

  Axl opened the small door, smiling in surprise to see his sister, although the look on her face quickly soured his. ‘Jael? Are you alright?’ he frowned. She didn’t reply, staring past his tall, gangly frame into the dull glow of Edela’s cottage. Axl knew well enough not to prod any further. ‘I was just leaving,’ he mumbled, squeezing past his tall sister and out into the night. Wrapping his cloak around his broad shoulders, he hurried down the path, wondering if his mother knew what was wrong with Jael.

  Edela Saeveld sat in her fur-thick chair, just to the right of a low-burning fire. She studied her granddaughter with one raised eyebrow, patting the stool in front of her. ‘Well, come on then, you may as well tell me what your storm is all about tonight,’ she smiled, her weathered face creasing with an easy humour, which, she noticed, did little to change the fierceness of the face that was considering her.

  Jael didn’t sit down.

  Edela frowned, her smile disappearing. ‘What has happened, Jael? Tell me.’

  ‘Well, you’re the dreamer, Grandmother,’ Jael spat crossly. ‘Why don’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me? You see everything that is going to happen. Why didn’t you see this?’ She was almost screaming and quickly clenched her jaw, trying to calm herself down. She loved Edela above all people and didn’t want to release her fury now, not when it was Lothar who truly deserved the lash of her tongue.

  Edela blinked her tiny blue eyes and her face suddenly cleared. ‘Ahhh, so he is marrying you off then?’

  ‘You knew?’ Jael’s eyes bulged. ‘Of course you knew!’

  Edela stood, grimacing at the familiar ache in her right hip as she hobbled towards her granddaughter. ‘I will make you some tea, and you will sit down, and we will talk. If you wish to yell, go and yell at the moon. It is full enough out there to hear you, I’m sure, even over that screeching wind.’ And with that, she bustled away to her kitchen corner, rummaging around the overfilled shelves, heaving with pots and cups, fresh and dried herbs, and all sorts of strange items that no one dared ask about. Edela was more than a dreamer, gifted with visions of the future, she was Andala’s healer, called upon to cure all manner of ailments. And after 27 years of looking after Jael, she had grown used to easing red, hot tempers.

  Jael sighed heavily. Experience told her that there was no shifting her grandmother. She moved the stool closer to the fire and sat down, her entire body humming with an urgency to run out into the night and stab her sword through one of Lothar’s bulbous eyes.

  If he wanted the Furyck sword so much, he could have it.

  Marry her to an Islander? Send her away from Brekka?

  And what about Aleksander?

  Edela came back with a cup and handed it to Jael before lifting her cauldron from its hook, carefully pouring hot water ov
er the fragrant herbs she had chosen. ‘Here, let this sit a while, then drink it. It will help with all that fire in there.’ She waved at Jael’s creased forehead as she replaced the cauldron and came to sit in her chair.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jael mumbled. ‘Now, tell me everything.’

  Edela leaned back, feeling the comforting warmth of fur beneath her bones. ‘Everything?’ she smiled, rubbing her cold hands together. ‘Well, I knew you would be married one day. Yes, I did see that.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’ Jael was incredulous, almost spilling the hot tea. ‘Grandmother! Why didn’t you tell me? I could have done something! Aleksander and I could have made plans to leave! Anything but this!’

  Edela inhaled the sweet scents of skullcap and chamomile as they steeped in Jael’s cup. ‘Yes, I could have told you,’ she said calmly. ‘But being a dreamer is not about revealing everything you see. It’s not as simple as that,’ she sighed. ‘And yes, of course, you could have run away. But I saw you in my dreams with this man. I saw that it was meant to be. There is something about you and him together that is important somehow. I know that it’s not what you wanted, but it was clear to me that this marriage must be. I had no choice but to stay quiet.’

  ‘What?’ Jael shook her head. ‘No. No! You should have told me! You should have given me a choice. If you knew, you should have left it up to me to decide!’

  Edela sat, untroubled by Jael’s bellowing. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps you would have found your way to him anyway? But who am I to take that risk? To interfere with the plans the gods have made for you? And not your gods either, Jael, but mine. The Tuuran gods are the ones who show me my dreams, and I am bound to do their work. They showed me that you belonged with this man, so who am I to argue?’