When Fate is Cruel: A Short Story Collection

Prologue

THE SERPENT

My fingers trailed across the smooth, bare skin of her arm, eyes closed in a strange sort of contentment I’d never understand. The way her voice soothed the instinct to lash out at anyone who came too near was muted by the cadence of her tone, the soft lull of her breaths.

Livia’s cheek rested against my chest, her naked body curled next to mine, but her hands waved animatedly as she spoke. She’d snicker and laugh, recounting her tale of tricking one of the alver princes during a fishing trip as young ones.

The corner of my mouth curled in a grin when she explained Sander Eriksson was terrified to approach the water’s edge for the whole of two nights after my songbird had crafted a creature out of sea vines and leaves and made it shift and twitch until they believed a monster lived in the depths.

One that could smell the rank scent of alver blood.

“Everyone always thinks Jonas and Sander are the frightening ones because of their nightmares, but we Night Folk can scare well enough.” She lifted her gaze and offered a smug grin.

I used one knuckle to tilt her chin until her lips brushed mine. “You’ve always been a little terrifying, love.”

“Don’t forget it, Bloodsinger.”

She settled against me, one arm over my middle, her fingertips tracing one of the many scars on my ribs. What bothered me once before no longer mattered. Scars to Livia Ferus were the tales of a life, a mark of moments in the past that shaped every man, woman, and child, be it a villain or hero.

“Serpent.”

“Songbird.”

“I’ve spent the better half of this night sharing all my dull tales with you.”

“I’d hardly call them dull, love.” And I meant it. Turns had been spent divided and I wanted to know everything about her.

Truth be told, it was rather pathetic how fiercely I reveled in learning more of her childhood tales, like it was a chance to walk beside her in those moments when our kingdoms were barred from each other.

Livia had a tradition with her mother every turn where they went to the shores and sat with other women for nearly two sunrises, making fishing nets and stitching woolen quilts and shawls for the approaching frosts.

No men were allowed.

Livia insisted it was their time to gossip about their lovers, sons, and brothers while they ate and drank and laughed.

She told me how she’d yearned for her younger brother to be a sister and spent the first two turns of his life adding flowers to his hair and little dresses to his body until she gave up, convinced the gods were determined to ignore her request.

I knew it was the earth bender who took conquering Livia’s nightmares as a child as his personal responsibility. She explained how her father would stride into her room each night, axes in hand, and search top to bottom for any mare demons.

“It all grew rather theatrical. Daj started to act out battles he said were being had with the invisible mares. Once it almost defeated him.” She smiled and shook her head.

“His cries for help led to me leaping off my bed to defeat the mare I couldn’t see.

I know what he was doing now, of course.

He wanted to show me I could face what frightened me.

Nightmares got better for a time after that. ”

Strange to learn of such loving tales from the man I’d been raised to hate. At times, the reconciliation did not settle right in my head, and I had to battle the urge to snarl at the mention of her father. Like an instinct I’d always keep.

Livia sat up, placing one thigh on either side of my hips. Gods, I’d never get enough of her body over mine.

She peered down at me, palms flat on my chest. “Tell me all the little tales, Bloodsinger.”

“What tales?”

“Yours.”

I frowned. “They are not so pleasant, love. Hardly worth remembering.”

Livia hesitated. “I know we lived different lives, Erik. But those tales are yours, they’re part of you, and you are part of me. I want to know it all, Serpent. Every dreary detail.” She leaned close, her mouth hovering over mine. “You do not have to hate them alone.”

My palm splayed on the small of her back. “There are more tales than mine that make up the past. Moments when I wasn’t there to know what they were doing.”

“Ah, but you know what happened. We’ve spoken with enough people who’ve been part of your past, so it won’t be too hard to guess what everyone was thinking.”

“There are many who brought us here.” I traced the divots of her spine. “To this moment. A dead king, an earth fae warrior.” I tilted my head. “A princess who read to the enemy.”

She kissed me sweetly. “Tell me all their tales, Bloodsinger. Show me what made you the vicious, brutal, sensual Ever King.”

I let out a low groan when Livia’s mouth found my throat.

I’d not forgotten anything. I never would.

“You’re certain?”

“I want every cruel and ugly truth, Serpent.”

I let my head fall back against the pillow. Livia curled against me again, listening as I started from the beginning. A time when a boy, much too young, earned a father’s hatred.

Slowly, tales unfolded. Some not my own. But I knew enough from Sewell’s accounts, from Narza’s, and Tait’s, that I could manage to paint a vicious scene.

Many of the early days were memories recounted by Alistair and crewmen on the Ever Ship.

They saw how my father despised his heir, told me of the day he destroyed the first woman who loved me.

Thorvald’s actions were part of the scars written on my flesh—each was a mark that brought me here, loving a songbird from across the seas.