Fate
SIX MONTHS AGO
Meru was broken. The prophecy rang true:
The gods walked Elyria once more.
Those two thoughts cycled repeatedly, consuming my very existence. The devastation in Meru was a palpable thing—the mountain that reached toward the heavens since the dawn of time was cracked; the magic in the sky alternating between writhing, restrained fury and eerie stillness.
And there was nothing I could do to fix it.
An immortal being as old as time, and I was helplessly bound by the whims of my children—both made and chosen.
The irony was not lost on me.
Not only could I feel the power oozing from Meru like a festering wound, but I was now tethered to this place, unable to walk in Elyria for even short periods of time. In an effort to preserve itself, Meru attached to the only life force available when my children escaped—me. The heart of this plane slowly depleted my power, my life force, hour by hour, until it was impossible for me to do much else other than exist. The sadness here was cloying; a dark, sinister thing that bubbled and oozed, encompassing everything as Meru desperately clawed at life.Even my ability to weave the Strings of Fate was waning; what was once easy to manipulate with a slight touch now took a concentrated effort. Solace and Kaos possessed more power than even they were aware of, and it was a secret I needed to guard as closely as possible.
If they knew I was chained to Meru, unable to intervene in their worldly plans . . . then the fate of Elyria would be all but sealed.
I compulsively checked the strength of the strings of my chosen children—they were there, as sturdy and thick as ever, the quiet hum that characterized their existence never waning. It altered and stuttered at points but never faded completely. Though one in particular was looking rather unhealthy, the song of their life sad and feeble, growing softer by the day.
If that string broke—if one of my chosen children died—then Elyria would fall to Kaos and Solace.
So much hung in the balance, so much was at stake.
The soft taps of worn leather boots echoed in the rocky corridor outside my stone prison. Someone was here—one of my offspring, no doubt—and I quickly banished the Strings of Fate back to the ether before carefully leaning against my throne of bones. It was impossible to hold myself upright under the weight of Meru’s ailment, so the slouch was both out of necessity and a desire to appear unaffected, even if I was anything but.
The taps grew louder, and I anxiously awaited their arrival, annoyed that I couldn’t yet discern my unexpected visitor’s identity. Solace would have swept in here, high and imperious, and Kaos would have stalked, his heavy boots betraying his steps. The Bondsmith was imprisoned somewhere and unable to join me here—that was a problem that needed rectifying, though I needed to gather as much power as possible before I would be able to visit her via our mental connection.
Perhaps it’s time to set aside the Strings and focus on what Icancontrol. The thought was almost preposterous. I was Fate, I should be able to controleverything.
Much to my surprise, a female mortal appeared around the corner. My eyebrows wanted to rise to my hairline, but I kept them intentionally schooled.
How did she get here?
She was young but carried herself with a graceful strength that bespoke of confidence well beyond her years. Her mouse-brown hair was tamed into a bun at the back of her head, tendrils falling loose around her pale, heart-shaped face. Her eyes were the same nondescript color as her hair, but they held a keen intelligence.
She wore the uniform of a maid and, as she approached my throne, she drew her left sleeve up to the crook of her elbow, exposing the Rune of Fate.
A slow smile spread across my face.
Finally, a way to alter this disastrous course.
“Welcome, acolyte,” I purred.
Part One
EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO
Chapter 1
Lex
“If you’re not going to work here, then get out,” my mother’s voice, raspy from smoking, drinking, and the effects of her profession, cut sharply across the quiet space. It was the middle of the afternoon, which meant that the brothel downstairs was nearly empty, apart from a few nightshift workers who had to find their pleasure during the day.
The relative silence always put me on edge; I’d grown up here and was used to the sounds and noises that accompanied men and women in the throes of passion. It was the soundtrack to my existence, and I found a relative peace in the music.
In time with the rising sun, the melody of sin evaporated from Le Petite Mort, and my anxiety grew. It was like there was something stuck just beneath the surface of my skin, itching to emerge. The accompanying buzzing in my head wasn’t pleasant either.
