Page 14 of Randall
“The Royal Magician,” the older one said, bowing slightly. “I am Soric, the seneschal here. You are welcome in our home.”
“And this is Sylvan,” Darvon said, moving to stand beside him, and then bumping him shoulder to shoulder. Sylvan grimaced with Darvon’s unorthodox manner, but when he peered at my mate, and the frown turned into a small indulgent smile, I could see the fondness of their friendship.
But there wasn’t time for pleasantries. “Darvon, you must hurry and pack. I still need to gather my bags and supplies from my rooms at the castle.”
“Pack?” Sylvan stared after Darvon when he dashed off. He followed after Darvon, and I followed after him. “Where are we going?”
“To Riverside.” Darvon glanced at Sylvan before turning to look at me. “To save our mate.”
“Mate? But… I don’t understand.”
Darvon stopped shoving clothes into a bag and approached Sylvan. He reached for the Fae, gripped his arms, opened his mouth, and froze, his eyes clouding. I threw my arms around my mate, diving into his vision.
A pitch black night punctuated by bonfires. Wild wind whipped across the open field, fanning the flames higher. Swirls of gray smoke twisted into the air, coalescing into monstrous shapes that grew legs and heads and gaping mouths full of sharp teeth. To the right, a dragon fought dark forms while fleet-footed vampires, wolves, and feline shifters melded in and out of the raging battle. To the left, Jarrah stood with Sylvan beside him, their hands forming balls of light that smashed into the smoky beasts. Arrayed behind them were Marius and Baron’s three sons…
“Darvon!”
His name pulled us from the vision. Darvon leaned heavily against me, but it was both Sylvan and Soric’s arms that held us up.
“My prince, what happened? What did you see?” Sylvan asked, nearly begging for answers, as together we lowered him to the floor. He knelt in front of Darvon, holding his arms.
Darvon drew in heaving breaths, gazing into Sylvan’s eyes before twisting to look at me, then returning to hold his friend’s inquisitive gaze. “You’re not coming.”
“What?” Sylvan fell on his ass. “Of course I’m going with you.”
Darvon shook his head and opened his mouth, but it was another who spoke. “I need you to stay here—for three days—and then meet us at the foot of the Wintervale Mountains.”
“Why there?” I asked, peering up at Jarrah, who had entered while we were distracted. “I didn’t see mountains in Darvon’s vision, only the plains to the north of the city.”
“The dragon,” Darvon answered, staring at his brother, who nodded.
I brought to mind the map of Obrusa. Slightly northeast of Riverside, then turning true northeast toward Shadefor Pass and the Wintervale Mountains, home of the Wintervale Dragon Clan. It felt… right, and so I agreed.
“Help me up,” Darvon said. “I have to finish packing.”
Sylvan stood and offered a hand to Darvon while Soric did the same for me. As I watched Darvon pack, Sylvan paced. “If we are ultimately traveling in the same direction, why can’t I travel with you?”
“It’s not yet your time,” Jarrah answered, stepping into the room. “Wait three days, then begin your journey. Tolliver will accompany you.” He unrolled a map and pointed to a spot where the river met the foot of the mountain. “Here the river splits.Follow this tributary for half a day until you reach the ruined city of Norton. That is where we will meet you.”
As Jarrah traced the line that led into the plains, I recalled the vision of our mate. The mountain waterfall where the river split and he’d taken to the water, floating now to Riverside, not back towards his home along the northern sea.
“Randall, Darvon, I came to tell you to leave as soon as possible. Do not wait for us.”
I yanked my wandering thoughts and pulled my gaze away from the map to stare at Jarrah. “You’ve seen him.”
Darvon came to stand beside me as Jarrah nodded. “Brother… How do you…? No, that’s the wrong question.”
“Indeed.” Jarrah rolled up the map. “Seventeen years ago, a goddess was cursed. She showed me how to break it, step by step. Ten steps… five sets of mates. You are the third.”
“Fate,” I said, but even as the name slipped through my lips, I knew my answer was wrong. “No, it can’t be Her.”
“Not Fate,” Jarrah confirmed. “Since we are all fated mates…”
“Then who?” Darvon asked, taking my hand.
Jarrah pressed his mouth into a thin line. “You must hurry,” he said instead of replying, then turned to Sylvan. “Three days, then head north.”
Sylvan stepped closer to Jarrah. “Am I part of the steps?”
