Chapter 9 The Fates’ Desire
THE FATES’ DESIRE
Ella had dreamt of her parents, which was a mercy after the last vision of the man with green eyes and the scent of jasmine clinging to him.
Her father’s gaze had met hers, creased not with worry but with laughter.
Her mother’s hand had wrapped around her own, and for a fleeting moment, she’d felt safe and whole, until waking cut it short and left the memory unfinished.
Her pain had dulled to a tolerable ache, but her mind burned bright and restless, circling thoughts too treacherous to ever be spoken aloud.
Bryn drifted into those thoughts, and she realized why she’d warmed to him so quickly—because he reminded her of her father, not the king cloaked in duty, but the man behind closed doors who was playful and irreverent, forever pulling her and her mother into laughter.
The memory struck and left her steeped in guilt.
They had to understand why she’d left. Surely the fates had made them understand. The rest of Orchid, though, probably thought she’d been captured or was already dead. Either way, they’d likely mourned and moved on.
She’d been gone for years, wandering Dravaryn’s wilds without her flame, without her family, without even the comfort of hearing her own kingdom’s name spoken aloud.
When she’d first crossed Orchid’s border, the pull north had been strong.
She’d followed it blindly, and it had taken her less than a week to cross the continent.
She’d been certain the prophecy would reveal the relic the moment she arrived in Dravaryn.
It hadn’t.
Instead, this kingdom swallowed her whole.
She moved from village to village, surviving off stolen food and luck, learning their customs, imitating their harsh vowels, keeping her head down so no one noticed the foreigner among them.
She chased whispers, bartered for rumors, escaped more than one tight corner without the fire she had been born to wield.
And still, nothing. No sign of the relic.
No hint of what she was meant to find next.
It wasn’t until a dream, vivid and violent, that she finally saw the castle.
She hadn’t recognized it at first—no one did.
Dravaryn kept its heart hidden from the world.
But she pieced the clues together one by one until she knew exactly where she had to go.
Breaking into the fortress had taken months of planning.
And it still hadn’t gone as planned. She’d nearly died for nothing.
No relic. No answers. Just failure and a bed she didn’t belong in.
Gods, she missed home. She missed her parents. She missed Nira most of all. Her best friend would have been the first to know how tangled her feelings were about Jakobav—how she didn’t trust him, and yet he occupied far too many of her thoughts. Nira would’ve given the best advice.
She pressed her palms hard against her eyes, knowing wallowing wouldn’t bring her answers. The prophecy hadn’t dragged her into this cursed fortress simply for her to bleed out on a stranger’s bed.
Forcing herself upright, she pushed to her feet. Each step was a dull ache, yet the pain only intensified her resolve. She hadn’t survived this long to falter; she had to find the thing the fates had whispered of, whatever it was: relic, omen, or beast.
The words came back to her then, the ones she’d first read beneath the orchids on the night she fled. A bloom had risen from soil where no flower should have grown, pale and trembling as though alive, and when she plucked it, the petals had dissolved into parchment in her hands.
When realms entwined are sealed away,
The path grows dark, the skies turn gray.
A child shall rise through smoke and fire,
She’ll find the relic that the fates desire.
She’ll breach the wards that none may cross,
And restore what kingdoms thought was lost.
The spot between her collarbone and chest where her sigil usually marked her felt strangely awake, burning as the words pulsed through her skull. Each word seemed elusive, impossible to hold, and yet the prophecy lived in her marrow all the same.
She stepped into the corridor, the door to Jakobav’s chamber clicking shut behind her.
The stone beneath her bare feet was cold and uneven, the air damp with iron and wet rock, and her skin prickled with the uncanny sense that this castle remembered every secret ever whispered within its walls.
She had once imagined the prophecy would point her toward a single object, something she could steal and be gone within days, but now she was beginning to suspect otherwise.
She steadied herself against the wall, fingers brushing a warped mirror that caught her reflection: hair tangled, shoulders drawn tight, blood still seeping faintly through her bandage. A woman frayed but not broken. So she straightened, smoothing her face into something capable.
“You keep doing that,” a voice said, smooth and low.
She spun.
Jakobav stood half in shadow, one boot crossed over the other, arms folded as though he had been waiting.
“Doing what?” she snapped.
“Shaking your head. Like you’re swatting at ghosts.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Or maybe you’re clearing your thoughts before someone reads them.” His head tilted.
She stiffened.
“You think I’d allow an Echobinder in these halls?”
The word cut, but not for the reason he accused.
Actually, she hadn’t worried about an Echobinder since the first night she broke in. She couldn’t believe she’d been so careless.
Had anyone been inside her thoughts?
Her chin lifted. “Is that how your father has kept control for so long? Spies crawling through minds, stealing secrets no one ever meant to give?”
The idle ease left his face. He stepped closer, shadows bending with him.
“There are no Echobinders in Dravaryn anymore,” he said. “Powers like that do not survive here. The soil rejects them. Many share your disdain.”
His eyes locked on hers, dark and unyielding. “Although I’m the last person who should ever complain about intrusion.”
Ella stilled as his words clung to her, heavier than he seemed to intend, and she wondered whether the soil itself remembered what it had rejected. Laws that once held the world steady were fraying now, powers buckling as the weave beneath them slipped loose.
In Orchid, whispers had curdled into reports.
Powers flickered at the margins of spells, heat flared where it shouldn’t, and whole fields crisped to ash, while behind closed doors the royal council finally dared name what all four kingdoms had begun to fear: Threadshifting, the slow unraveling of seams and the opening of breaches where none should exist, with rumors that sealed realms were stirring after five centuries of silence.
In other words, Threadshifting meant the Veil was beginning to crumble.
Her pulse quickened as she watched him, unsure whether he was testing her and weighing what she knew or speaking a truth he did not fully grasp.
There are no Echobinders in Dravaryn anymore.
Had they vanished before the realms sealed or because of it? And if Dravaryn denied Threadshifting, were they spared from it or merely hiding it?
She refused the spiral and rebuilt her calm, holding it like a shield. He was only a curious prince and not a predator laying a trap. She steadied her breath and stilled her hands even as she felt his gaze on her, piercing and far too observant.
She turned before he could read the flash in her eyes, unsettled by his quiet certainty that there were no Echobinders left. It hadn’t sounded performative or defensive but simply like the truth.
Honestly, that might’ve been worse.
Her steps slowed at the next turn, and she could feel him behind her now, a shadow that pressed too close.
“Tell me something,” Jakobav said, his voice almost casual though she heard the bite beneath it. “Is anyone coming for you?”
Ella froze, anger sparking as fast as fear. “Why would you ask me that?”
He moved before she could react, closing the distance to catch her wrists to pin them above her head against the cold, unforgiving wall, his gaze burning into hers with unbroken focus.
“Just because you should be a prisoner, and there is no dungeon in sight, does not mean I tolerate outsiders walking free in my halls.”
Her breath caught, fury clawing at her throat. “Then why am I still breathing, Prince? Why make an exception?”
He leaned closer, his mouth a breath from hers. “Would you not give someone the benefit of the doubt?”
“I would never show mercy to a man who has wronged me.”
At first, he didn’t move, but then his lips curved into a smile, dark and intrigued. “Merciless,” he murmured, tasting the word. “Always leaping to violence.” He clicked his tongue softly, mockery and warning woven into the sound, and let her arms fall, his fingers lingering on hers.
“I have to leave the castle for a few hours,” he said at last, still close enough that his heat brushed against her.
Her pulse leapt, and she jerked her wrists free, chin lifting. “Where are you going?”
His mouth twitched, almost a smirk. “Curious little intruder.”
“Answer me.”
Jakobav leaned in until his breath was warm and rough at her ear. “If you think I’ll tell you where I go and why, then you’re more reckless than I thought.”
Her stomach tightened. “Coward,” she whispered.
That earned her a low laugh, dark and amused, before he finally stepped back. His gaze dragged over her. “I’ll see you tonight, Ella the merciless.”
She decided she didn’t mind that title at all.
And she had no intention of proving it wrong.