A Fated Reckoning

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

It’s my city and these fuckers are going to pay.

Another collection day has arrived, but I’d rather be at the tavern having a drink than kicking down doors to collect taxes.

Exhaling, my breath leaves in a puff of white as I make my way down the wide cobblestone road that’s lined with connecting shops. Frost crunches beneath my boots as a light breeze brushes cold air against my skin. I breathe into my hands, trying to warm them.

I hate being cold.

The few citizens still milling about at sundown give me a wide berth once they notice my presence and sour expression. They bow their heads slightly in reverence as I pass by.

I scoff under my breath.

Why do they all think so highly of me?

Sure, they have a safe place to live and can practice what they choose—more than what most cities in Eidrfall can offer. It’s not some noble cause that drives me, considering I’m often drunk and barely holding it together.

The truth is harsher.

I need this city. My city.

It’s my purpose, and my distraction.

Something I built from the rubble of what I did. The only thing keeping me standing after everything else fell apart.

And, if I don’t collect these taxes and keep order, King Thalen will send his enforcers to do it for me. Trust me, I’m a lot nicer than any of them would be.

A raging headache is pressing against my skull, and between my eyes, and I have to walk around in the cold, making my already-dry eyes worse. Making everything worse. I’m just glad no one interrupts me as I walk through the streets to my destination.

Stopping in front of the tailor’s, I pull in a deep breath of the bitterly cold air, letting the sting of it harden me from the inside out.

Time to fulfill my duty. Order and taxes—all King Thalen cares about. The crown comes before all, even family and freedom of will.

But, if I’m being honest, I enjoy enforcing order because it also protects me. Varithen didn’t become the free city without a firm hand and a dash of fear.

I slam my boot into the wooden door, knocking it off the hinges.

At the loud bang, the patrons inside startle and turn, their gazes snapping in my direction at my dramatic entrance. Some of them freeze mid-movement while others grip the arm of whomever they’re with when they see me standing in the doorway.

I chuckle, low and menacing, a wicked smile tugging at my lips. Crossing one foot in front of the other, I lean against the doorframe and twirl a dagger in my left hand.

“Korin…” I purr his name with expectation. Almost as a lover would. And I do expect something—payment. “It’s time.”

The patrons shift their attention to Korin. He’s standing in front of the counter, showing off the blood-red fabric draped over his broad shoulders to a family of satyrs.

The base of his horns protrude just above his temples, ending before the tips touch the crown of his curly hair. Two thin, silver chains of crystals wrap around and hang between his curled horns. The dainty chains suit his large frame, softening his bearded countenance.

If his eyes didn’t betray his trepidation, then his whispered word does, even though it’s clear to my excellent hearing

Shit is right. He’s late.

I’m fairly lenient with the merchants, but they know not to take advantage of me. I’ve been known to take a finger or two in the past.

Again, I’m not only protecting my city, but myself.

Tension rises, wafting about the room. It’s so thick I could slice my blade through it.

No one moves when I take a step into the store. Thick wooden floorboards creak underneath my feet as I make my way to the counter.

The walls are lined with creature molds displaying the newest fashion pieces, showing how each would look on their body type. Glass display cases have all manner of buttons, lace ribbons, and jewels.

A pair of scissors lies on top of the counter just beside Korin. Perfect, if I happen to need another weapon.

The satyrs step aside when I reach them—and Korin. They rush out of the shop when I shoo them away. A few shoppers linger, but when I glance in their direction with a raised brow, they quickly exit.

I sheathe my dagger in the strap tied around my thigh. “Do you have it?”

“Uh… I… Has it been that long already? I swear I was…” Korin stutters through his excuse.

I hold a finger up to his lips and pull the material from his shoulder, passing the deep red velvet between my hands, admiring the gold threads stitched throughout. This fabric would be perfect for a new item, soft and luxurious against my skin.

“I’ll wait here while you make me a chemise from this; straps for the shoulders, thigh length.” I hand the material back to Korin.

“Yes, right away.” He scurries around the counter and gets to work.

Korin has a way with fabrics that I’ve not seen from anyone else. His extra set of arms and learned skill make him a master of his craft. Korin comes from a rare bloodline of satyrs blessed with such extremities.

I marvel at how his four hands work the material, finishing the chemise in minutes. He wraps the garment in thin paper and places it in a decorative black box, handing it to me with a deep bow of his head.

“I’ll be back next week, and expect the full sum that’s due. If you don’t have it, you’ll lose two hands and your shop. Don’t forget what happened to Eria. My threats are not idle.”

I made an example of the mercantile a few years ago. Held her family in the city jail until she came up with the past-due coin. They were fed and unharmed, but the message was clear.

Korin shakes his head fervently. “I won’t disappoint you.”

When I step out of Korin’s shop, the drop in temperature is drastic for the short amount of time I spent inside. The leather pants and jacket I’m wearing are barely thick enough to keep me warm.

Across the street, a figure dressed in all black leather with a hood pulled low leans with their arms crossed against the brick wall. The only thing visible beneath the hood, besides their chin, is the end of a long blonde braid.

I’d recognize my second in command, Peylin, anywhere. Damn, I should’ve worn my fur-lined cloak like she has on over our matching leathers. But I forgot it on the way out and didn’t care to turn back. It doesn’t matter; a drink will warm me up soon enough.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have, I was just thinking I could use a new chemise.” Peylin’s voice is full of sarcastic mirth when she pushes off the wall and walks toward me.

I purse my lips and toss the box at her, then walk down the street without saying anything. Any moment now she’ll have something to say.

“But really, Bryn? You were too easy on him,” she chides as she comes up on my right, keeping pace with me.

Peylin’s right, but they always pay in the end, and that’s what matters. While the money I collect fuels this city—keeping the streets clean, buildings maintained, and citizens protected—a large portion goes to the fae crown.

As founder and leader of Varithen, the responsibility falls on me to pass it along. While I’ll do my duty, I have to admit I find satisfaction in reminding people who’s in charge and that I built this place. But handing over the crown’s cut? That I could do without.

I do it to keep the king’s general—who’s also my father—and King Thalen out of both the city’s and my business.

So long as the crown gets its due, they leave me and this city alone. It’s worked thus far and I want to keep it that way. I pull my hood up and continue down the cobblestone street to the other two merchants on my list.

“How many do we have this time?” Peylin asks when I don’t respond.

“Two more.” I hand her the list, and we make our way through the city. The owner of the apothecary is ready, handing over her sack of gold when we arrive. I nod my thanks and leave without engaging in further conversation.

We round a corner, taking the alley behind the shop to cut through to the next stop. “We need to go over the preparations for the inspection that’s coming up. Do you have it all laid out as I specified?”

“Yes, it’s ready for your approval. It’s on your desk. You didn’t see it?” Peylin asks with a frown and an accusing look.

“No, I haven’t been awake long enough to go to my office—” The last word comes out as a half-scream as I pitch sideways into the alley wall.

A sudden, fiery pain erupts from behind my ribs with such ferocity that it feels as if my rib cage is going to snap open in order to release the pressure. I can hardly breathe, and hundreds of tiny bursts of light fill my vision as it wavers.

Peylin catches me, holding me upright when my knees give out and I almost fall. “How many times is this?”

“I don’t know.” I say through the pain, squeezing my eyes shut and rubbing my chest.

I do know.

It’s been happening more often. It started a few months ago and at first, I thought it was the draw of my magic wanting to be used. Magic that I stopped using after the Battle of Hollow Reckoning.

But when I slowly, and painfully, opened myself up to the sealed-off well of magic within and let it leak out, nothing changed. It only reminded me of how a bargain I struck made me hate my magic.

The episodes have continued, increasing in frequency and intensity. I figure it’s the Fates wanting more magic, another bargain, and are using whatever lingering connection I have to them to force my hand. Well, fuck the Fates. They’ll get tired of this eventually, if I continue to ignore it.

“You need to stop acting like everything is fine,” Peylin says sharply.

“I am fine. Just hungover.” I’m not really fine, even though I nod at her through teary eyes. I’m glad I can’t see her face clearly because I know the kind of look she’s giving me right now. Exasperated at my denial.