Kendare Blake

Champion of Fate

Izaac Richards

"But you, Reed," Ferreh said, "are to guide those heroes who do not return. You are an Aristene of Glorious Death."

Yet sitting in the grass of the meadow with Hestion she could see a different future: a good, long life, without goddesses or an ancient warrior's magic. A good, long life of peace.

"But you would make me eat eels," she said, and Hestion smiled.

"Women are to be protected. They are to be treasured, not to be obeyed." 

"Women are to be protected yet you would cut out my tongue?" 

"You would survive it," he muttered, and a short bark of laughter escaped Reed's throat. He was an ill-tempered thing, but his wit was sharp.

"You've promised to find me this wife. This beautiful, unattainable woman of legend. But first let us get to Rhonassus. And let me make Alsander of Cerille pay for what he has done." 

"What if l bring him home after the war is over? He may live out his life in our herd at the seat of the Docritae, and I'll surround him with beautiful mares."

She saw the battle clearly and all at once: the sounds of weapons clashing, the movement of wind acros her cheek. She sensed the path of a crossbow bolt as if it was pulled on a string, and she reached out to snatch it from the air, a moment before it would have sunk into Sar's forehead. 

He stared at her in awe as she snapped it in her fist.

If you fight only for glory, I will tell you now: the glory isn't worth it.

While Reed was distracted, someone tried to take Silco's reins. The horse reared up and kicked them in the shoulder. "I only meant to take him on board!" the boy said, cheeks coloring as he scrambled away. Tm sorry!" Reed called after him. "He is.. . a horse of war!" She caught the flying reins and tugged Silco gently down. Horse of war. A spoiled brat is what he was. 

"Aster, what if I don't succeed?" Aster pulled her near and gently folded her in an embrace. 

"Mothers do not love their children only in success," she whis- pered. "But you will succeed, Reed. I know it."

"I was drawn to you, Reed. Asking for the use of your horse was not the only reason I brought you into the stable." 

It took her a moment to understand what he meant. When she did, her surprise came out as laughter. "Most girls don't laugh when I tell them such things," Hestion said. "Or if they do it is laughter of a different kind and more pleasant-sounding." 

"I'm sorry," Reed said, still smiling. "I mean no offense. But I am your Aristene; there can be none of that between us."

"Your goddess," King Arik said with a pious nod of his head, "she sees glory for us, then? Victory?" 

"Glory," Aster replied. "As for victory, you will have to do that on your own." 

"Good," Belden said, and Reed found herself liking him. "I never seek to depend on anyone for too much. Not even a goddess." 

"Nor do I" Reed said, "so I had better go find the prince.

"I think that fate is not worth guessing about. It is only worth making. You'll make your own fate, Reed, and Hestion's along with yours."

"That's only your magic," said Reed. "Borrowed." 

"Her or me" Aster shrugged. There is really no difference.

The city of the Docritae was almost pretty as the sun rose, and to the north tucked into the hills Reed caught sight of the sea and smoke from what must be a port. The soldiers who had come from the Salt Flats, she remembered. Like the one who had "slayed" the sea serpent.

Reed stepped through the door, then ducked back inside. "Aster, what would we have done if Belden and the king had ordered us to leave tonight?" 

"Then," Aster mumbled, curling into the bed of the future queen as if the hint of glory there were warm as a blanket, "we would have had to get very creative."

But that was how it was with all forgetting: one didn't know what was lost until it was far too late to recover.

She'd felt his eyes on her since she threw the blade, and they burned over every part, so hotly that she'd wanted to throw another knife into his bread to give him something else to look at. But his attention had returned to his brother, and no matter how long she stared, Hestion didn't look at her again.

This prophet is known as the Prophet of Scylloi-the Prophet of AIl. During the winter months, the Scylloi Prophet made his pilgrimage to Roshanak, to prophesize for King Oreas.

Reed held her breath. What strange tether had bound them together so long ago? What strings of fate had linked them even as they were children? Whatever string or tether it was, Reed felt it wind through time and tighten. He is mine, she thought. He has been mine since the beginning. 

"Hestion," Reed said. "He is Hestion, of Glaucia."

"We look like initiates, finally," she said. "We look..." In their waxed buns and identical tunics, scrubbed clean and purified, they had never looked more like sisters.

"When you become an Aristene, she can delve into your memories. Your old name can be reclaimed, if that is something that you wish." 

"Thank you," she said, even though having him there only added to the seething flies in her stomach. She wanted to vomit but feared she'd look down and see a pile of wings.

Champion of Fate

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