Book of Sacha: Dark Fate (The Dark Fate Chronicles 3)

by Matt Howerter

  Sacha gave the woman a hard look. The question was forward to say the least, but she swallowed her pride, reminding herself that Cora was providing counsel few would be able to give, and fewer still would be welcome to do so. “Yes,” she answered finally. “I fully intend to take part in the rulership of Basinia.” The fact that Cora would ask such a question, and so openly, sent a chill down Sacha’s spine. “Have I shown otherwise?”

  Cora’s lips tightened into a thin line. Her eyes scanned the bustling room smoothly, like a hawk in search of prey. “There are rumors that you and the prince are not... getting on. Is it true?”

  If the last question had been forward, this one was nothing short of rudely candid. Sacha cleared her throat to disguise her shock. Of course the ladies of the council would know, you fool, she thought bitterly. It’s just as Kesh had said: servants are the key to information. Sacha wondered how many servants had been gossiping about her relationship and whether there were any she could trust. Questions for another time. Suddenly she missed Kesh, almost desperately. Sacha gathered herself in preparation for the half-truths she could tell.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “We have had some issues.” She sighed as if it pained her to go on, though in truth it was no act. “The grahl attack—”

  Cora’s flat-eyed stare cut her off as surely as any knife. “No, that will no longer do. Too much time has passed, and it no longer carries the weight it once did.” She tilted her head toward the gathering of women at the large table below. “I need something more if I am to counter their speculations.”

  Sacha felt as if the pit of her stomach had fallen to the floor. She wet her lips before she spoke. “My sister. We have not found my sister.”

  The disapproval from moments before faded from Cora’s gaze somewhat but lurked in the background, ready to pounce.

  Sacha hurried on. “The prince thinks I blame him, and to a degree I do, but in truth I blame you.” She gestured expansively, taking in the women below and the kingdom all around them. “All of you. The plotting and scheming in this country and in my own has killed my sister.” She issued a tight grimace. “You might say my initial positive outlook for the future has been tainted.”

  Cora listened intently and betrayed not a hint of offense at Sacha’s words. “Then you’ve accepted that Sacha is gone?”

  Sacha stared for a moment, stunned, before she realized what it was that she, herself, had said. She had seen Sloane, throat ripped out and lifeless. Of course her sister was dead. Was this truly the first time she had voiced it aloud? Numbly, she nodded. “I want to hope,” she managed through a suddenly dry mouth. “But…”

  Cora nodded her understanding and gave Sacha a gentle smile. “That will do.”

  Before Sacha could respond, the Prince stepped up beside them. The strength of his undeniable presence interrupted her conversation and even silenced her prattling cousins. His easy smile and lovely features really were fine things. Perhaps it was time to begin letting down her guard in truth. “Shall we browse the room and partake of its many splendors?” Alexander asked in a chipper tone.

  “Oh yes,” Meagan said excitedly. “I saw a caramel apple vendor just over there.” She pointed across the room.

  “Unfortunately, I must take my leave of you fine young people,” Lord Graves said. “Enjoy the day.” He offered his arm to Walina, who took it without hesitation. She then watched him closely as he bowed to Alexander. “My prince.”

  “Minister,” Alexander replied.

  After the oddly matched couple departed, Cora curtsied. “I must take my leave as well.” She glanced at Sacha. “I look forward to seeing you at the next Ladies’ Council, Princess.”

  “And I you, Lady Cora,” Sacha replied.

  Sacha, Alexander, and her small band of cousins milled through the crowd. Alexander joked and laughed easily as they walked, pointing out amazing things and laughing with Bella about her own discoveries. The longer they walked, the more Sacha’s nerves settled, until she found herself laughing along with the rest. When she felt Alexander’s hand slide into her own, she did not pull away. She looked up at him and smiled. “This is nice.”

  Alexander gently squeezed her hand. “Yes.”

  She felt surprisingly comforted by his touch. He was a caring man in truth and obviously patient, given the time he had unknowingly allowed Sacha to acclimate herself in the role as his wife and princess. I must come to terms with this relationship, she thought for what must have been the hundredth time. And I must do so quickly.

  In the distance, Lord Graves and Walina finished the ascent to the balcony exit. Sacha motioned toward the pair and asked, “Wildmen?”

  The prince nodded. “Something must be done about them, and soon.”

  “I thought something was being done about them.”

  “Nothing that’s been effective,” Alexander said. “Progress has been slow.”

  The day had been echoes of the same conversations. She considered the matter briefly but found no answer immediately apparent. She resigned the topic to future thought. “I know we will think of something.”

  Alexander looked at her curiously, as if he’d not expected her offer of participation. “I should certainly hope so.”

  “That is conversation for another time,” Sacha said, returning a squeeze to his hand. “Let us enjoy today. No more talk of war and strife.”

  He laughed at that. “Agreed.”

  Suiting her own words to action, Sacha allowed herself to be content and follow Lord Graves’s advice to be with her family and enjoy the day.

  BORA swept into the aviary, nimbly dodging the massive wooden header just above the great doors and coming to rest on the great central perch with the ease of long practice.

  Flight will never cease to amaze me, Sacha thought, invigorated and laughing. I should hope to never be denied such a pleasure. She plunged her fingers under the large feathers that protected the soft down and skin beneath and scratched Bora’s neck.

  The Rohdaekhann cocked his head so that one great, amber eye focused on her. His beak was open in a soundless screech as he rolled his head back and forth. Sacha had seen the expression several times before but had not understood what it meant until she had inquired of Rouke, who explained that it was the giant eagle’s way of showing pleasure. She knew more now than she ever had about the great birds, but there was more to learn. A lifetime or more, should she choose it.

  Rouke still flew with her on almost every excursion, but he had long since ceased calling their flights practice. Gone were the days in which the aviary had to be cleared or pretense had to be given to allow “the Princess Sloane” time to recover. Now, though she generally did fly with Rouke, it was not uncommon for her to ascend to the aviary alone. It had been almost a month since her first solo flight, and she remembered well the unmatched sense of freedom she had when soaring alone above the great expanse of the winewood forests. How tempting it would have been to pick a direction and fly away, never to return. In the end, she had turned back with thoughts of her daughter and Teacher foremost in her mind. If she ran away now, what would their fate be? And, surprisingly, she found herself becoming genuinely concerned for the Basinian culture she had been thrust into. What plans Vinnicus had in mind once the kingdoms of Pelos and Basinia were united she couldn’t say, but the longer Sacha remained here, the more she wanted to help these people survive whatever it was the monster had in store for them.

  A deafening shriek interrupted Sacha’s reverie. There were other reasons Sacha wanted to stay in Waterfall Citadel. The latest of those reasons settled nearby in a thunderous flapping of wings.

  “Eos’s blinded third cousin, Sloane!” Alexander exclaimed as his Rohdaekhann flapped and fidgeted on the perch. “Rouke has been holding out on me! He said you had your wings back, but he never said you had gotten even better!”

  The past six weeks had seen the blossoming of something she had never expected when she began this masquerade: an actual relationship with the
prince. Her initial judgments of the man had bled away as she found they were unwarranted. It turned out that Alexander was far from the vain and proud egoist she had expected him to be. In practice, he had turned out to be kind, fair, and more patient than she had had a right to expect. In spite of these kinder qualities, there was an air about him of expectation that each of his commands would indeed be obeyed. He had the poise of a ruler, no doubt, but a much different sort of ruler than her father had ever been or ever could be.

  Sacha grinned at him and held her gloved hand aloft, signaling the attendants that she was ready to be assisted from the saddle. “I told you I would beat you back,” she called. “It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep up!”

  Alexander’s good-natured smile widened. The windburn on his cheeks intensified the green in his hazel eyes, which sparkled in merriment. “But a pinwheel dive? I had no idea you had the stomach for that.”

  Sacha gave a nonchalant shrug, though the truth of it was that she hadn’t even known it could be done until she had watched the prince execute it on his own mount, Hector. The prince had moved so smoothly in the gut-wrenching, arcing maneuver that he seemed one with the giant bird.

  Sacha would never reveal that she had only guessed at the correct combination of tugging on the control rings and shifting of her weight to convey the right command to Bora. If Bora had been less seasoned, it was just as likely that she would have found herself dangling from the restraints, fouling the action of the wings and falling toward the lake below as opposed to soaring in to enjoy her victory.

  The attendants rushed forward in a clatter, pushing their platforms. They swarmed up to begin working on the buckles for both riders.

  “The next thing I am going to find out,” Alexander continued over the bustle of workers and birds, “is that you’ve managed to get yourself involved in the Gauntlet.”

  Sacha blushed and shook her head, eyes wide. The Gauntlet was a weeklong competition, held each year in the summer months surrounding the Feast of Corin, and was limited to only the most accomplished Rhadoken. Several tests of skill and daring were held each day, narrowing the field of riders and mounts until only three remained to race on the final day. The race was never less than ten miles long and was always started in the very upper branches of Terrandal. Death was uncommon, but broken wings and heads were not.

  “I think not,” she said, flattered. “I will leave that particular conquest to you men and count myself fortunate indeed to watch from the sidelines.”

  “Nonsense.” Alexander leaned back from the flight saddle and stretched his arms and shoulders expansively as the attendants unbuckled the restraints. The soft leather of his flight suit molded itself nicely to his broad shoulders and chest. “Captain Aria is the finest Rhadoken I’ve ever seen. The Gauntlet is not just a man’s game.”

  Sacha nodded, pleased that Alexander had recognized the captain’s skill, no matter her gender. Assuming he would be like Hathorn and derisive of a woman’s ability was just another of her many initial errors. His equal view of all his people was one more reason to harbor genuine feelings for the man.

  The prince threw one long leg over the saddle to begin working his way down the ladder, and Sacha could not help but watch the entrancing play of the muscles beneath the leather.

  “You are ready, milady,” said a soft voice next to Sacha’s ear. She jumped at the sound and jerked her head to stare at the young woman who was standing on the platform, ready to help her from Bora’s saddle.

  “Oh, of course,” Sacha managed. “Thank you.”

  Had Alexander been the sort of man she’d initially thought him to be, Sacha had no doubt that the bedroom couch would not have become so well used as it had been in the past months. The prince had yet to demand his rights as husband, and in this, he was no less mystifying than he had proved in his defiance of her other misconceptions.

  Sacha shook her head ruefully. She hastened to descend the ladder, hoping the exertion from flight and the windburn would hide the truth of her reddened cheeks. “I’ll change and be out in a moment,” she said unnecessarily as she reached the ground.

  “I will do the same,” Alexander answered. He stretched out a hand in an offer of escort.

  Sacha took it and surprised herself by squeezing it gently.

  Alexander paused, looking at their hands. His reciprocating touch was warm, strong, and gentle all at the same time. When he glanced up, his broad smile was also reflected in his eyes. He nodded without a word and led her up the polished stairs as if they were the ascent to a throne.

  The door shut behind Sacha with a thump, and she leaned back against it in a soft jingle of metal on metal as the buckles rattled and swung. It isn’t real, she thought. Eos preserve me, it isn’t...is it? She closed her eyes and tried to picture Renee, but his face was blurry and indistinct. She could remember his bewitching smile and the sound of his lute floating softly into the yellowing hay as he played for her in the stables, but the smile wasn’t exactly Renee’s anymore. The conjured image of her lost lover leaning on the stable wall was taller in her memory than she knew him to be... Sacha opened her eyes, banishing the confusing image before Renee’s hazy visage warped fully into the prince’s.

  This cannot be happening, Sacha thought numbly as she began to unbuckle her suit. The prince was just a piece on Vinnicus’s grand chessboard, an item to be moved and manipulated on a whim. Sacha’s role as Sloane was the mere tool by which the creature would maneuver his playtoy. She couldn’t afford to become attached—her daughter was depending on her. No, Sacha decided firmly, I will not get lost in his smile or the way my fingers tingle from the brush of his hand...

  Her thoughts chased one another as she began to lose herself in the ritual of unbuckling the suit. Before she knew it, she was free of the bindings and brushing the light seasoning oil over the supple hide of her riding gear to keep it soft as it air-dried.

  Shaking the leathers out, Sacha turned to face the flight suits where they were stored on hooks down the long wall of the changing room. They had the appearance of standing on their own despite the fact that they lacked heads, hands and feet. She had long become accustomed to the macabre vision of a headless court, standing silent sentinel.

  The scent of fresh cedar drifted on the air, mingling with and suppressing the smells of sweat and mildew that persistently clung to the suits in spite of the care the riders took in maintaining them after each and every flight. She was grateful for the shavings even though the aroma of the locker room did remind her of her brother Galen somewhat. Unwashed gorilla that he is, she thought fondly.

  Sacha hung her suit on its hook and ran her hands down the well-oiled arms, smoothing away wrinkles and flicking away feathery bits of down she had missed when applying the oil. The worn edges and folded wrappings of leather felt right to her, a part of her. The smile that came was bittersweet, tainted with the knowledge that Sloane had worn this same suit. In many ways, it was the perfect allegory for Sacha’s situation. She had put the riding leathers on just as she had her sister’s life. Like all the things that used to be Sloane’s, her position as princess, her name, and now maybe even her husband had come to fit Sacha so well she was coming to think of it as her own.

  Sudden melancholy threatened to descend, but she shook it away. It wouldn’t help Rylan for her to come out to rejoin Alexander crying and blubbering. She slid her legs into the soft linen leggings she typically wore to the aviary and stood just as something caught her eye: a gap in the continuous line of leather suits.

  It wasn’t uncommon for one or more of the suits to be absent when Sacha and Rouke would return from her lessons, but today had been the first time she and the prince had flown together. Alexander had collared Scaja, the aviary master, telling him to call in all the riders that were within summoning distance and prevent any other Rhadoken from taking flight until they had returned. His mention of “the sky being theirs for at least a few hours” still echoed pleasantly in her thoughts. When they h
ad left, she was certain the suit had been there. Puzzled at the vacancy, she stepped to the open spot for a closer look.

  The missing suit wasn’t just any suit. It was Sacha’s spare. Who would take one of her flight suits and why? The leathers were far too customized to be useful for just anyone. The puzzle grew when she reasoned that it would be near impossible for anyone to have made off with the leathers unseen.

  A sudden chill pebbled her skin, and she hurried to shrug into her blouse. Sacha could swear eyes were upon her, but scan though she might, she could see nothing leering from the shadows waiting to pounce.

  Sacha stomped into her doeskin shoes, still peering about every few seconds. The only thing she could sense was the sound of the wind outside rustling leaves and the slow, ponderous rocking of Terrandal’s massive limbs in time with the creaking of the aviary. Even here you haunt me, Vinnicus, Sacha thought. Uneasy fear gave way to anger. Bastard.

  “You will not break me!” Sacha barked at the empty room. She glared about, daring the monster to show himself.

  Nothing but silence answered her challenge.

  Ridiculous, Sacha chided herself. As of late, it was Sacha’s own thoughts that had been responsible for her fears. Certainly more so than any apparition or monster. She was convinced that Vinnicus would appear suddenly and in the most unlikely of places. Though he had not invaded her private quarters since that first time, she still approached her dressing rooms as if there were vipers in amongst the shoes and stoles.

  Enough, Sacha thought, squashing the growing apprehension and fear. So what if he watches? It changes nothing. She took a few deep breaths to gather her thoughts.