A Fate of Wrath & Flame

by K. A. Tucker

  This is opposite to what Zander insisted, but I know in my gut it’s the smart move. People may not trust known gossips with sensitive information, but when there’s anything interesting or suspicious happening, it’s these same gossips people rush to and compare notes, and sometimes those random notes can add up to important details. Like that tributary from Bellcross murdered by Tyree. On its own, it’s a tragic case. Adding the context of the Ybarisans circulating vials of poison around Islor, it hints of a deeper plan.

  I’m betting on Dagny having more acumen than Corrin believes and connections that I need, but even if I’m wrong, word that Princess Romeria is looking for a woman named Ianca will spread quickly. Hopefully to Ianca herself, if she is in Cirilea.

  If she summoned the fates for me as Tyree said she did, then she might have answers to my questions. And I’d rather ask them without Zander around.

  “If you don’t mind. Discreetly, though.”

  “Yes, of course, Your Highness. Discretion is my specialty.”

  I clench my teeth to stop from laughing.

  With another curtsy and a glance at my bedroom, as if she senses what I’m asking her to do would not get Corrin’s seal of approval, she rushes to the door.

  Zander is standing outside, in conversation with Elisaf.

  “Oh, Your Highness! I wasn’t expectin’ you!” Dagny exclaims with a burst of surprise, stumbling to curtsy. “Hope you’re havin’ a fine day!” She doesn’t wait for him to respond, rushing off down the hall.

  Her flustered reaction draws a lazy chuckle as he watches her go, and I smile at the pleasant sound. Humans are said to be embarrassingly easy to read, so what could he learn in her pulse just now? Nothing of concern, obviously. If there was ill intent or hatred in her, Zander would know. I suppose I can assume that Dagny was not the one conspiring against the royal family.

  But what if no one was conspiring with Princess Romeria? Or at least, not deliberately. Dagny has no idea why I’m looking for Ianca, but she has offered her help because I am to be the queen, and for whatever reason, she trusts that my objectives are good.

  What if all of Princess Romeria’s scheming was like this? Using people who trusted her for her nefarious goals, without them knowing? What if Zander is chasing an imaginary person?

  Zander turns back in time to catch my smile, and his own genial expression holds. With a quick word to Elisaf, he enters my room, strolling purposely toward me. “Wendeline works wonders, does she not?” He’s exchanged his white tunic for a black one, probably because the other had my blood all over it. He stops well within my personal space, his eyes roaming my face. “Much better. Except …” He reaches up to rub the soft pad of his thumb back and forth over my jawline, below my ear. “Missed a spot,” he murmurs, his voice dropping.

  Blood, I assume he means.

  I focus on my breathing, hoping my racing pulse doesn’t give me away.

  The knowing flicker in his eyes tells me that it has.

  “I did no such thing!” Corrin is indignant as she emerges from my bedroom to curtsy for the king. Her eyes dart between the two of us, and she clears her throat. “If there is nothing else, I need to see to the kitchen staff. Between the crown hunt and the tournament day, we have our work cut out for us.” I don’t know how many hats Corrin wears under this roof, but I’m getting the sense that she barks orders and people obey.

  Zander removes his hand and I feel the absence acutely. “Is there anything else you need, Romeria?”

  “I … no.” I swallow against my own fluster. Since when does Zander ask for my opinion on anything?

  “Is Wendeline still here?”

  “Collecting her strength in Her Highness’s bedchamber,” Corrin confirms and then marches off.

  “Your Highness.” Wendeline appears, her hand on the door frame as if to steady herself before moving forward to curtsy.

  “No need, Wendeline. I know you are drained. We have much to discuss, and I feel you might be able to help us with some of it.” He gestures to the seating area. “Both of you. Please.” He says please, but I know it’s not a request.

  She dips her head in acknowledgment and then settles into the wing chair.

  I find a spot on the settee across from her. The tension that always swirls around Zander is ever present. Still, those first few moments that he entered were a nice reprieve. “What was so important that Atticus came down to get you?”

  Zander’s lips twist.

  “Seriously?” He still doesn’t trust me? “I just had my face broken for you.”

  He sighs. “There are reports of several tributaries found dead in villages outside Hawkrest and Salt Bay. Their throats were slashed.”

  “Just like the woman in Bellcross.”

  “Yes,” he confirms. “Lord Rengard’s letter said she was an exceptionally shy and devoted creature. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to harm her.” He watches me closely, and I get the sense he’s feeding me a piece of important information, waiting to see if I clue in.

  “They misjudged her.” I echo the reason Tyree gave for killing the tributary. A devoted creature. Devoted to her keeper. “It’s because she wasn’t willing to poison him. These others must have refused as well.”

  “Or they figured out what the Ybarisans have in their possession and threatened to speak.” He frowns. “But I also must assume that many are willing.”

  “They’re tired of having their children taken away.” I grimace with new understanding.

  Wendeline’s curious eyes bounce back and forth between us, but she remains quiet.

  Zander drops into the limited space on the small settee, forcing me to shift to make room. Resting his elbows on his knees, he leans forward and studies the priestess until she begins to squirm.

  I know that unnerving feeling well.

  “Ianca.”

  She waits a moment and then, as if realizing he is waiting for her to speak, says, “I’m sorry, Your Highness? I do not understand.”

  “Do you know anyone by that name?”

  “Here, in Islor? No? I don’t believe so.”

  “What about in Ybaris?”

  She shakes her head.

  “An elemental,” he pushes. “She’s one of Neilina’s.”

  “I left Mordain when I was seventeen, and I never spent time in Argon. And I’ve been here for twenty-eight years. May I ask, what is this about?”

  Zander sighs. “It is as we suspected. Margrethe was not the first to summon the fates for Romeria.”

  My jaw drops. “You already knew!” Or at least suspected. And he didn’t tell me? I don’t know why I’m surprised or angry by this—he’s hidden everything else from me, only revealing information as necessary—but my indignation burns.

  He ignores my reaction. “Ianca summoned Aoife.”

  “Aoife.” Wendeline’s eyes widen. “Against Neilina’s will?”

  “Tyree did not say.”

  “No. She knew,” I interject. “Neilina was disappointed that we failed. Whatever the plan was, she was a part of it, and that must have included what happened with Aoife.” I shoot a glare at Zander.

  Wendeline seems to consider that. “And Neilina would have had to remove Ianca’s collar for her, so yes, I think you are correct.” Her gaze dances with thought as it settles on the table between us. “Did he say what precisely they asked Aoife for?”

  “No, but I believe it is also as we suspected,” he says quietly. “Either way, we will not get any more information from him.”

  Despite what Tyree did to me, I cringe at the gruesome memory. “And what did you two suspect that you haven’t told me?”

  Zander stalls on the answer, but then resignation fills his expression. “That you were already a weapon when you arrived here. One that could not be fed upon and could not be turned.” His jaw tenses. “And one that I would not be able to resist.”

  Tyree’s dark laughter and words skate through my mind. So, the fool is still enchanted, despite
everything. “Bewitched,” I hear myself say out loud. That was the word Annika used. Consumed by your beauty and blind to your treachery. “So it is true?” Whatever else Ianca asked of Aoife, she wanted Zander to fall for me, and fall hard.

  Zander’s intent focus is on the priestess, but I don’t miss the way his cheeks flush. He’s embarrassed by it. “I would like to know all your thoughts on this. Candidly.” It’s a request rather than a demand.

  Wendeline told me Zander seeks her counsel on many things related to the casters, but it’s refreshing to see him burying his arrogance and bowing to others for expertise. Korsakov never asked anyone for advice, and if he asked for their opinion? It was always part of a game to prove them wrong and himself superior.

  “If Neilina broke her own decree to summon Aoife for Romeria,” she says slowly, “then it is safe to assume whatever she asked for would be detrimental not just to you but to all Islorian immortals.”

  He smirks. “You mean, like a princess who would kill any of us with the blood that courses through her veins?”

  Her eyes flicker to me for only a second. “Yes, like that. Which we must assume Malachi would not appreciate, for you are his creation and seeing you weakened by one of Aoife’s creations would anger him.” Wendeline frowns. “It is curious, though, that he would answer a summons from Margrethe to bring that same weapon back to life.”

  “Why would he?”

  “He must have another use for her.”

  I sit and quietly listen to them discuss me as if I’m not here. It’s a snapshot of what they must have done for weeks while I was locked up and they were deciding my fate.

  “There is always a reason. The fates do nothing without a reason.” She turns to me, softness in her eyes. “Though Malachi didn’t give us back the same Ybarisan princess. He gave us this version instead, and I do not believe she means you any harm.”

  “But she is still quite capable of it,” Zander says quietly, studying his hands.

  “Don’t bite me, and you’ll all be fine,” I retort.

  He releases a husky laugh. “I suppose I have the daaknar to thank for that never happening.”

  Wendeline hesitates, her eyes darting between the two of us. “Aoife was obviously planning on using this union for her own gain, but Malachi must have his motives for wanting a union between you as well.”

  My heart pounds in my chest. You’re getting warmer. If I’m right, a literal union of body parts, lying on a stone slab beneath the blood moon, is exactly what Malachi is aiming for.

  Worry fills her face. “But if Aoife and Malachi are scheming against each other in any way, we have reason to worry, and if Neilina keeps summoning Aoife in her campaign against Islor, I fear what might happen.”

  Zander folds his hands. “What do you recommend?”

  “You could inform her of the truth about her daughter, so she is aware of the risk of more summoning.”

  “What else do you recommend besides feeding my zealous enemy sensitive information that she could somehow use against me?” he counters.

  Wendeline’s lips purse as she considers his question. “There are those in Mordain who are not devoted to Ybaris and their queen, who believe Mordain should govern itself. Neilina has controlled them for centuries, her fist firmly around every elemental’s neck with the excuse that she has everyone’s best interests in mind. The people of Mordain and Ybaris have heard a constant drumbeat of the evils of Islor for too long, their kings and queens the ones banging the drum, Neilina worst of all. She has put great effort into convincing Ybarisans that all blame rests at Islor’s feet and they must take back their lands. I think it is time they are made aware of their queen’s folly.”

  “Maybe they should stop sending Neilina elementals after they’ve trained them,” I counter.

  Wendeline’s smile is patient. “They tried breaking free of her rule once. She froze the ports between Ybaris and Mordain and imprisoned any caster found in Ybaris, killing those who resisted her. We lost many during that time. She used those loyal to her to search for gifted babies and train them, believing she wouldn’t need Mordain, that she’d find her own elementals that way. This went on for thirty years without Neilina finding herself a single elemental.

  “She was so frustrated, she decided to send a message. She started filling skiffs with gifted newborns. Her casters used the winds to help guide them across the Gulf of Nyos, to their capital city.” Her face falls. “None survived. After the third skiff of dead infants, they relented and bowed to Neilina once again. She had won. They would rather bend to her rule than risk extinction.”

  I grimace against the sour taste in my mouth that comes with this ugly history lesson.

  Zander leans back. “According to Tyree, Ianca escaped Argon.”

  She pauses. “That’s not an easy feat, from what I’ve heard of the castle.”

  “He said she had help. It sounds like she’s not alone.” He waits for her to speak.

  I open my mouth—to add that casters helped her—when Zander rests his hand on my knee, stalling my tongue and my ability to breathe for a few beats.

  Wendeline’s eyes flash with the display, but she refocuses herself quickly. “Fellow casters likely, though they would need outside aid from servants or the guards. Why they would risk angering Neilina like that … There would need to be a good reason. And she wouldn’t be able to stay in Ybaris. They would hunt her down. I doubt going to Mordain would be any safer.”

  “Where do you think she’d go?”

  “Seacadore. Or here.”

  I catch the nearly inaudible sigh slip from Zander’s lips as he removes his hand from my knee. He was testing her, I realize. “They think Ianca is on her way to Cirilea, and that she might contact Romeria. He insisted Romeria kill her.”

  Wendeline stares at the pattern in the rug as she seems to absorb that. “We know that Margrethe was in contact with someone from Mordain. If the scribes can reach us, we must assume they can also reach Argon. For Ianca to escape and travel here, to see you, she must know something vital. Something that might involve you.” She looks to me. “If Ianca is in Cirilea, it is important you speak with her before you kill her. Though I do not recommend the latter. I never would, as you well know.”

  “I would think seeking out her kind would be the practical move for an elemental arriving in a foreign land, especially one such as ours.” Zander watches her closely, and I begin to understand where his suspicions are born from.

  So must Wendeline, because she meets his gaze with a sureness that is rare for her when she is in his presence. “I am the highest ranked caster in the sanctum, and I have not offered sanctuary to any elementals.”

  He seems to weigh her answer. “Do we need to fear her?”

  “Can she summon Aoife—is that your question? Not if she is collared. Beyond that, it depends on her intentions. But if she is escaping Neilina’s grip, then I suspect not.”

  He nods slowly. “If she’s not with you, then she’s in hiding somewhere.”

  “Do not forget, from Argon to Skatrana, to Seacadore and then here, is several weeks of travel. At least.”

  “So perhaps she hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “Perhaps. Or she has, but she is staying hidden for reasons of her own.”

  “Or she doesn’t know if she can trust me,” I say.

  “There are plenty of rumors to stir confusion,” Wendeline agrees.

  But what if Ianca somehow knows what I am? I’ve worked so hard to keep that secret to myself. What if this elemental arrives and unravels it all? What if she sees me as the threat Sofie warned me about and that’s why she’s coming here? I agree that I need to speak to Ianca, but if there’s a way to do it without Zander breathing down my neck, that would be safest.

  An impossible feat, likely.

  “You may go now, Wendeline. This conversation must remain between the three of us.” Zander watches her steadily.

  “As expected, Your Highness.” She eases out of her
chair, curtsying first to Zander, then to me.

  I point to my face. “Thank you. For patching me up. Again.”

  “You are certainly keeping me busy.” She winks and then departs, leaving Zander and me alone in my sitting room, wedged onto my settee.

  Zander’s chest heaves with his exhale.

  “You don’t trust her.”

  “And you do?”

  “Yes.”

  He peers at me. “Completely?”

  I stall on my answer. I trust her to heal me and, I think, to not hurt me. But I also know she repeats everything we discuss, and her duty is to Zander.

  “You are no different than I,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “I know she is honorable, but I do not know if she holds more allegiance for her people than for mine.”

  “She left Ybaris, though. She came here on her own years ago.”

  “I’m talking about Mordain, not Ybaris. And for what reason did she leave everything behind?”

  “For Margrethe. She saved a baby who would have been killed.”

  “That is the tale she gave us, yes.”

  “You don’t believe it?” A pinch of betrayal flares with the suggestion that Wendeline might have fed me a false sob story.

  “Stings, does it not? To be deceived by someone you find yourself caring for unexpectedly.” He pauses. “Do you never sense that she is leading you along a certain path with the information she provides? That she knows far more than she lets on?”

  “I don’t know?” Everything Wendeline has told me is leading me somewhere, but it’s because I’m ignorant.

  “I’m not saying that I do not believe her on that account, but I also know that Margrethe is not the only one who has received letters from Mordain.” He gives me a knowing look.

  “Wendeline too? About what?”

  “I do not know. If I ask, she will lie to me. It is enough that I know, and she knows that I know.”

  “How does she know that you know?”

  “Because I know.” He smirks. “This is a fun conversation.”

  I smile, despite everything. “Can you read her pulse?”

  He snorts. “That woman is a vault. No. Casters are well trained at guarding their emotions. Anyway, the letters she has received are most likely information-seeking and nothing more, but I also do not trust Mordain to have Islor’s interests in mind. You heard what Wendeline said. The guild has its own power struggles. There are those who want to break free of Neilina’s rule. We know they used Margrethe as a pawn in whatever scheme they are spinning, and I can only assume that letter Wendeline revealed was not the first one Margrethe received. It proves that you are also somehow involved in a plot they have whipped up, fed from old prophecies.” He studies his hands. “I fear what role Islor may play in that.”