Chapter Three #2
“Hello, Poppy,” she says without looking back at her.
“I’m going to go check in.” Her gaze falls over me.
The hair on my neck rises. “I expect you to do the same in the next five ticks.” Her hand rips from my hold, and as soon as she’s gone, I’m already calculating how I’ll get back into her good graces.
Flowers, for sure. A back massage, maybe.
But, in all reality, once Fate matches us, she’ll be too excited to be angry with me, and I’ll be in the clear for weeks.
As high maintenance as she is, she is also easy and predictable.
“Someone’s in a good mood.” Poppy’s tone is snarky.
Her nails, manicured but short and practical, rip a piece of deep-fried dough from her confection.
Powdered sugar flies when I snatch it away.
I put it in my mouth and smirk down at her before she even registers it’s gone.
“Curse your fae speed,” she grumbles as she rips another bite off with her teeth, leaving no room for me to steal it unless I want to press my lips to hers and tear it from her teeth.
Which she should know is not beneath me.
I’ve done crazier things to get what I want; that’s for certain.
An orcish male steps up beside us and, like a town crier, starts telling the story of the Moirai, a story we’ve all heard dozens of times and still stop and become enthralled by it again.
“They say the Moirai were not born, but chosen.” The crowd ooohs, and he gives a cheeky grin, drinking in their adoration for his dramatics.
“Three witches, bound not by blood but by Fate itself. The Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone—each drawn from the realm when the last grows too old to carry the weight of destiny. The Crone selects her successor before she steps down, and the cycle continues, endless and quiet, like a story that never quite reaches its final page.” He pauses long enough for me to look over and see Poppy completely captivated by his storytelling.
“No one knows how long they serve. Decades. Centuries. Perhaps longer. Time behaves differently around the Moirai, bending in subtle ways, as if even it is reluctant to rush them.” He blows on his hand, and a trail of pixie dust glitters in the air around him.
“Once, long ago, their power was reserved for kings and queens. They stitched alliances with marriages, ended wars with whispered prophecies, and decided the fate of entire bloodlines with the roll of a single enchanted die.” He casts a die of his own out, and children scramble at his feet to retrieve it.
“But the world grew larger. Messier. And so they created the Festival of Fates to open the arms of destiny to common hearts, not just crowned ones. With it came a month of trials. Of bonds. Of love tested under magic and moonlight. A chance, they claimed, for anyone to be chosen.” The column of Poppy’s throat bobs, and I know what she is thinking.
Everyone but me. I reach out for her hand, but she tucks it into her pocket before I can.
I hate how much this torments her, and I hate even more that I contributed to it all those years ago.
But it was for the best, she has to know that now, she deserves someone better than me.
When I entered the Festival back then, I had wanted love, and meeting Poppy, someone so deserving of it, made me realize how unready for it I was.
Thanks to the example my parents set, I probably always will be.
I was built for battle, bad decisions in bar bathrooms, and fleeting pleasures in dimly lit taverns, not for soft mornings in bed and lifelong vows.
“The Moirai insist they do not control love. Only reveal it. But they control other things. They are known to be mercurial. Changeable. Long ago, they were fond of altering the rules mid-game, rewriting traditions, introducing new trials simply because they could. Their reasons were rarely explained. Their motives, even less so. The only certainty is this: when the Moirai intervene, no one leaves unchanged. And in the name of destiny, design, and divine amusement, they always get the final word.” He throws his hands down, releasing a puff of smoke that, when it clears, takes him with it.
The children cry out in amusement while the adults, Poppy and I included, move back into the crowd.
“Having second thoughts yet?” Poppy asks.
“Second thoughts?” I feel my smile tilt. I know how it looks, the weapon it is to have my lips tugged up in this lazy and lethal way. “I don’t regret things until someone’s tangled in my sheets and asking me about feelings.”
“Riven.” Her tone is cautioning, and I know what she’s warning me of without her saying it plainly.
“I’ll be fine, and if this goes badly, at least I’ll enjoy the physical consequences.”
“I wish you would think this through.” She stops and snaps her fingers.
Her magic, glittering and familiar as my own hand, sends her trash into a nearby receptacle, freeing up her hands to press into my shoulders.
She looks up at me from beneath thick lashes, eyes passing gently back and forth between mine, like she might be able to read the coding of my soul if she looks hard enough.
It’s almost intimate. “If you piss off the Moirai and use their stage in a way they find blasphemous, they will curse your love life.”
A snort escapes me despite my best effort to smother it. Like I care about that.
My hands touch hers, pulling them off me so I can walk away without sending her toppling over. The girl has enough trouble staying upright as it is. “I don’t do second thoughts, Pop. I do reckless optimism and emotional denial. It’s a tried-and-true system I’ve honed over the years.”
Her mouth opens, likely to protest. To challenge me as she always does.
But she is stopped by the cacophony of the crowd dimming to a reverent hush as the Moirai step onto the stage.
The air thickens. Lantern flames bow inward, as if they too are respecting the magic of Fate and its earthly acolytes.
The Mother steps forward first, hands folded, voice warm and carrying.
“Welcome, those who seek love.” The crowd roars again for a moment before the demure raising of her hand silences them.
“Before we begin the sacred matching ceremony, we have an unexpected announcement.” The murmurs begin, and even Poppy and I are pulled into the allure of her charm and magic.
“This year’s Festival of Fates will not unfold as it has before. ”
A ripple moves through the crowd.
The Maiden smiles, bright and eager. “There will be no returning home between trials. No slipping back into your comfortable lives. Once you are matched, you will depart for the Isle of Fate and remain there for the full turn of the moon.”
There’s a chorus of hoots through the crowd. A mixture of furrowed brows and excited clapping. What does she mean? For my entire life, the realm-respected Festival of Fates has taken place here, in Fate’s Fortune. Why would they change it now?
“An island?” Poppy’s voice is tight, and I already know what she’s thinking. She’d have to run the bar without me if I left.
The Crone taps her staff once, and the sound echoes like a closing door. “Isolation clarifies the heart. Distance strips away pretense.”
Murmurs continue to rise.
The Mother continues, gentle as a lullaby. “It is quite unusual, but many of our applicants this year are repeat contestants, and we wanted to provide a new way to experience the Festival, face challenges with their match, and choose, again and again, whether to remain.”
The Maiden tilts her head, eyes gleaming. “And because it was unexpected, and such intimacy and spontaneity are not for everyone, any who wish to withdraw may do so now without consequence.”
Silence stretches on, and I exhale a laugh. “A month on a private island?” I mutter, mostly to myself, but I know Poppy can hear me. “I’ll need to reassess the packing situation.” I haven’t had a vacation in years.
The Crone’s gaze snaps to me, as if she heard me from a hundred yards away, her thin smile carving her face. “Do not mistake refuge for escape, warrior.”
I grin wider, all sunshine and swagger, as the eyes of the crowd snap to me. “Wasn’t planning to. Just sounds like a hell of a vacation.”
The Moirai exchange a look.
The Mother’s voice softens, almost fondly. “Then step forward, child of chance. Let’s see if your vacation will be granted to you.”
And so the Festival of Fates begins.