Only the Destined Read online

  Royce wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Lori had obviously directed him to this creature for a reason, but what reason? He looked in the house, trying to work it out, but the house seemed bare of everything, its contents clearly forming a part of the fire in front of it. Why would raiders like the two dead men do something like that?

  Unsure of an answer, Royce moved back to his horse. He found the bhargir watching him, sitting behind the fire, close enough that its eyes glowed in the heat of it.

  “I don’t know what to do with you,” he said. “But I guess you might be clever enough to decide that for yourself. Do you want to come with us?”

  In answer to that, the wolf-like beast padded forward to sit beside Royce’s horse. Somehow, Royce suspected that it would have no problem in keeping up.

  “We’re taking monsters with us now?” Sir Bolis asked.

  “It’s no stranger than the rest of us,” Matilde said.

  “It’s a lot more dangerous,” Neave said, her expression serious. “This is not a good idea.”

  Good idea or not, Royce was sure that it was the thing he was meant to do. He pushed his horse forward, heading in the direction of Ablaver, with Ember above, leading the way. If the bird held any clue as to why he’d been brought to find the bhargir that followed now, it didn’t offer any answers.

  ***

  The town of Ablaver hit Royce with its smell before he saw it, the scent of fish mixed in with the sea in a way that proclaimed what happened there. It was a smell that made him want to turn away and head back, but he kept going.

  The sight of it wasn’t much of an improvement, made ugly by the whaling stations to one side, where something about the sight of such large, beautiful creatures being gutted made Royce want to retch. He didn’t, but it was an effort.

  “We can’t tell people who we are,” he warned the others.

  “Because a group with both Picti and knights could be anyone,” Mark pointed out.

  “If people ask, we’re mercenaries leaving the war, looking for our next engagement,” Royce said. “People will probably assume that we’re deserters, or bandits, or something like that.”

  “I don’t want people thinking that I’m a bandit,” Bolis said. “I’m a loyal warrior of Earl Undine!”

  “And right now the best way you can be loyal is to pretend to be something else,” Royce said. The knight seemed to get the message. He even smeared mud on his shield, muttering all the while, so that no one would see the heraldry there. “Everyone keep your hoods up. Especially you, Neave.”

  Royce wasn’t sure how the inhabitants of the town would react to one of the Picti among them. He didn’t want to have to fight his way through a whole town. It was bad enough that Gwylim was still pacing beside them, looking far too large and frightening for a wolf.

  They walked into the place, looking around the ramshackle buildings while heading down toward the docks and the waiting ships. Most of them were little more than fishing boats, but some of the whaling ships were larger, and in among them were cogs and long ships that looked as though they might have been there to trade.

  There were taverns where Royce could hear the sounds of drunken celebration and occasional violence, and market stalls where it seemed that rancid meat and fine foreign goods were set side by side.

  “We should spread out,” Matilde said. She seemed to be eyeing a tavern.

  Royce shook his head. “We need to stay together. We’ll head to the docks, find a ship, and then we can explore.”

  Matilde didn’t look happy with that, but even so, they headed down to the docks. There, things appeared to be proceeding lazily, with sailors up on the decks of ships standing around or sitting in the sun.

  “How do we do this?” Mark asked, looking around. “I guess finding a captain who will head to the Seven Isles won’t be easy.”

  Royce wasn’t sure there was a good answer to that. As far as he could see, there was only one option, and it was anything but subtle.

  “Listen to me!” he called out over the vague hubbub of the docks. “I need a ship. Is there a captain here who is willing to sail to the Seven Isles?”

  “Is this entirely wise?” Bolis asked.

  “How else are we going to find someone?” Royce asked. Even if they walked into the taverns and asked quietly, the news would quickly get around. Maybe this way was even better. He raised his voice. “I’ll ask again: who will take us to the Seven Isles?”

  “Why do you want to go there?” a man’s voice called. The man who strode forward wore the bright silks of a merchant, and was barrel bellied with too much good living.

  “I’ve business there,” Royce said, not wanting to give away more than that. “There are people who would hire my and my companions’ skills.”

  The man came further forward. Royce watched his face, searching for any sign that the man had recognized them. There was nothing, though.

  “As what?” the man asked. “Are you jesters, jugglers?”

  Royce thought quickly. Maybe they couldn’t pass for mercenaries so easily, but this…

  “Of course,” he said. He very carefully didn’t look Bolis in the eye. “We have an engagement in the Seven Isles.”

  “The money must be good for you to go there,” the captain said. “Which means you can pay, yes?”

  Royce took out a small pouch. “Up to a point.”

  If it got them to where his father was, he would pay every crown in the purse and more. He threw the purse in the captain’s direction. The other man caught it.

  “Is that enough?” Royce asked.

  That was the other danger. The captain could turn around and take the money, running back to his ship, and if Royce did anything to try to stop him, it would only make it clear who he was. For a moment, everything seemed to stop.

  Then the captain nodded. “Aye, it’s enough. I’ll get you to the Seven Isles in one piece. After that though, you’re on your own.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Genevieve stumbled away from the town in a daze, barely able to believe what had happened back at Altfor’s castle. She’d gone there full of hope, yet now she felt as though there was nothing left inside of her. She’d thought that with the duke’s forces defeated, with Royce victorious, she might be able to go to him, might be able to be with him.

  Instead, her mind’s eye took her back to the sight of the ring on Olivia’s finger, proclaiming her engagement to the man she loved.

  Genevieve staggered as her foot caught on a rough patch of ground, pain flaring in her ankle as it twisted. She limped on, because what else was there for her to do? It wasn’t as if there was anyone to help her out there on the heather.

  “I should have listened to the witch,” she said to herself as she kept walking. The woman, Lori, had tried to warn her that there would only be misery if she went to the castle. She had shown Genevieve two paths, and promised her that the one that didn’t lead to Royce was the one that would make her happy. Genevieve hadn’t believed her, but now… now it felt as though her heart was breaking.

  A part of her wondered if it might still be possible to wander in the direction of that second path, but even as she thought it, Genevieve knew that the possibility was gone. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t in the same place now. It was the fact that she’d seen what had happened with Royce, and she could never be happy with anyone else.

  “I need to go to Fallsport,” Genevieve said. Her hope was that the route she was taking would lead her to the coast. Eventually, she would get there, and there would be a boat that would take her where she needed to go.

  Sheila would be in Fallsport by now. Genevieve could go there with her, and they could work out a way to make the best of everything that had happened, assuming that there was a best. Was there any way to bring something good out of a situation where she was pregnant with Altfor’s child, and the man she loved had abandoned her, and the whole dukedom was in chaos?

  Genevieve didn’t know, but maybe with her s
ister’s help, they would be able to think of something.

  She continued across the heathlands, hunger gnawing at her, tiredness starting to build up in her bones. It might have been easier to bear if she had known exactly how far she had to go, or where she might next be able to find food, but instead, the heather just seemed to stretch on forever ahead of her.

  “Maybe I should just lie down and die here,” Genevieve said, and even though she didn’t truly mean that, there was a part of her that… no, she wouldn’t think like that. She wouldn’t.

  Off in the distance, Genevieve thought she saw people, but she walked away from them, because there was no way that meeting them could turn into anything good for her. As a woman alone in the wilds, she was at risk from any group of deserters or soldiers or even rebels. As Altfor’s bride, the people of Royce’s army had no more reason to love her than anyone else.

  She walked instead, heading away from them until she was certain they were out of sight. She would do this alone.

  Except that she wasn’t alone, was she? Genevieve put a hand to her belly, as if she could feel the life growing within. Altfor’s baby, but also hers. She had to find a way to protect her child.

  She kept walking, while the sun started to fade toward the horizon, lighting the heather in motes of fire. It was a fire that didn’t do anything to keep Genevieve warm, though, and she could see her breath starting to mist the air in front of her. It was going to be a cold night. At best, that meant she would have to find some hole or ditch in which to huddle down, burning whatever peat or bracken she could put together to make a real fire.

  At worst, it would mean her dead out here, frozen to death on a moor that had no kindness toward the people who tried to walk it. Maybe that was even better than wandering aimlessly until she starved to death. A part of Genevieve wanted to just sit there and watch the lights dancing off the heather until…

  With a start, Genevieve realized that not all of the orange and red tints on the moorland around her were the reflection of the sunset. There, in the distance, she could see a light that looked as though it was coming from some kind of building. There were people out here.

  Before, the sight of people had been enough to make Genevieve turn and walk away, but that had been in the daylight and the warmth, when people had represented nothing but danger. Now, in the dark and the cold, those dangers were balanced by the hope of shelter.

  Genevieve limped toward the light, even though every step she took felt like a battle. She felt her feet sinking into the peaty soil of the heathlands, the thistles scratching at her legs as she kept going. It felt like some kind of barrier thrown up by the natural world, there to tangle and scratch and ultimately sap the will of anyone moving through it. In spite of that, Genevieve kept walking.

  Slowly, the lights grew closer, and as the moon started to rise and illuminate more of the landscape, she saw that there was a farm down there. Genevieve walked a little faster, hurrying down toward it as quickly as she could with how exhausted and hurt she was. She got closer, and now there were people coming out of the building.

  For a moment, Genevieve shrank back, a part of her wanting to run again. She knew she couldn’t, though, so she kept staggering forward until she reached the farmyard, where a man and a woman stood, both holding farm implements as if expecting an attack at any moment. The man held a pitchfork, while the woman had a sickle. They quickly lowered them as they saw that Genevieve was alone.

  The couple was older and weather-beaten, looking as though they had worked this patch of ground for decades, growing a few vegetables and grazing a small number of animals on the heather. They wore simple peasant clothes and as they looked at her, their expressions turned from suspicion to sympathy.

  “Oh, look at her, Thom,” the woman said. “The poor thing must be frozen.”

  “Aye, I see, Anne,” the man said. He held out a hand toward Genevieve. “Come on, girl, we’d best get you inside.”

  He led the way inside, into a low ceilinged farmhouse where a cauldron of stew bubbled in the corner. The man led Genevieve to a chair in front of the fire, and she slumped down in it, almost swallowed up by it. Its comfort only made her realize just how tired she was.

  “You just sit there and get some rest,” the woman said.

  “Here,” the man said. “She looks familiar, doesn’t she, Anne?”

  “I’m no one,” Genevieve said quickly. When people had recognized her back in the village, they’d been angry at her just for being Altfor’s wife, even though she hadn’t had any control over what the duke’s son had done.

  “No, I recognize you,” Anne said. “You’re Genevieve, the girl the duke’s son took.”

  “I’m—”

  “You don’t need to hide who you are with us,” Thom said. “We’re not going to judge you for being stolen away. We’ve lived long enough to see all the girls who have been taken by the nobles around here.”

  “You’re safe here,” Anne said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  Genevieve couldn’t begin to say how grateful she was for those words. When the farmer handed her a plate of stew, she ate it hungrily, not realizing until she did just how starving she was. They put a blanket over her, and Genevieve slept almost immediately, falling into the kind of darkness without dreams that she could only have hoped for before.

  When she woke, daylight streamed in through the windows of the farmhouse, bright enough that Genevieve guessed it must be getting close to noon. Anne was there, but there was no sign of her husband.

  “Ah, you’re awake,” she said. “There’s bread and cheese and small beer if you want it.”

  Genevieve went to the kitchen table, eating hungrily.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “What do you have to be sorry for?” Anne asked her.

  “Well, for just turning up like this,” Genevieve said. “And just wandering into your home, probably putting you in danger if anyone finds out I was here. And… well, all the things that happened while Altfor was in charge.”

  “You’re not the one who needs to be sorry for that,” Anne insisted. “Do you think I don’t know how things are with nobles carrying girls away? Do you think I was always old?”

  “You…” Genevieve began.

  Anne nodded. “Things were better under the old king, but they weren’t perfect. There were always those nobles who thought they could take what they wanted. It’s part of what drove a wedge between them and him, from what I hear.”

  “I’m sorry,” Genevieve said, realizing what the old woman was saying.

  “Stop saying that,” Anne replied. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I’m just telling you so you understand that you’re safe here.”

  “Thank you,” Genevieve said, because right then safety seemed like a commodity so precious that almost nobody could offer it to her. She looked around. “Where’s your husband?”

  “Oh, Thom’s out tending the sheep. Not that sheep need much tending. Give them a place to graze and a place to sleep and they’re happy. People are harder, always wanting more.”

  Genevieve could believe that. How much trouble had come because there were always some people in the world who thought they had a right to take everything, and then still wanted more?

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do next?” Anne asked her.

  “I thought… my sister is safe away in Fallsport,” Genevieve said. “I thought I might go to her.”

  “That’s quite a trip,” Anne said. “Out across the sea, and I guess you don’t have much coin to pay for a ship, either.”

  Genevieve shook her head. The more she thought about the idea, the less it seemed to make sense. Going to Sheila was the obvious reaction, but also a foolish one. It just meant both of them trying to live out their days on the run, always wondering when there would be a knife in the dark coming for them.

  “Well, we’ve no money to help with that,” Anne said. “But you could stay here for a while if you wanted
. We could do with the extra help around the farm, and no one would find you out here.”

  The generosity of that was almost too much for Genevieve. She could even feel tears starting to prick at the corners of her eyes at the thought of it. What would it be like, just to stay there, just to let this end?

  Thoughts of Olivia’s ring came to her then. She’d thought there would be some happiness to find with Royce, and look how badly that had turned out. She wasn’t made for some peaceful resolution to all of this.

  And the truth was that she already had a plan. She’d made a plan with Sheila, except that in the rush of emotion, fleeing from the town, she’d forgotten all about it. Now that she’d had a chance to recover, and sleep, and even start to think, that plan was coming back to her again. It had been the best idea then, and it was the best one now.

  “I can’t stay,” Genevieve said.

  “Where will you go then?” Anne asked her. “What will you do? Are you so set on finding this sister of yours?”

  Genevieve shook her head at that, because she knew it wouldn’t work. No, she couldn’t go looking for her sister. She had to go looking for her husband. She had to find him, and if she could stomach it, she had to play the part that fate had given her, as his wife. If she could bear to do that until her child was born and recognized, then she could be rid of Altfor and rule as mother of the heir to the dukedom, for the good of everyone involved.

  It was a desperate plan, but right then, it was the only one she had. Making it work would be the hard part. She didn’t know where Altfor was. She knew where he would be going, though: he had lost, and so he would be seeking help, heading to the king. Genevieve knew then where she had to go.

  “I need to get to the royal court,” she said.