Page 1 of Stolen Fates
CHAPTER ONE
Alena
Alena scowled at the giant cloud of dust lifting in the distance, a sure sign of the approaching suitors from across the steppe lands. Their saddlebags would be loaded with wool, grain, and other goods for payment—as if such offerings could ever compensate for the loss of her sister.
Every summer, the nomadic Freefolk camps came together to forge alliances by marrying off their sons and daughters. Camp Bessi was no exception. The elders had invited suitors from each camp throughout the Freefolk steppe lands to meet potential brides and barter for their hand in marriage with gifts.
Alena had never concerned herself with the summer weddings before, but her older sister, Katell, had turned sixteen in the spring and was of marrying age. Ignoring the events was impossible this time around, given their days together were numbered. Once a match was made, Katell would spend her remaining time entertaining her future husband under a chaperone’s watchful eye.
Alena couldn’t imagine her sister as a wife. Katell was a force of nature. Riding and hunting were her strengths, it was why she thrived in the wilderness of the steppe lands. She did not, however, have nearly as much skill in taking care of a home, let alone a husband.
Though Alena was determined to enjoy what little time she had left with her sister, her thoughts were often pulled towards a more tempting alternative. What if they ran away together? What might happen if they crossed the Deep River and went travelling through the Old Lands? Would they find heroes Gifted with magic and legendary creatures like the ones Damocles—their father—often spoke of in his stories?
As tempting a thought as it was, Katell would never agree to it. Thus, Alena had no other choice than to accept the suitors coming to disrupt her life, much like their galloping horses disturbed the serene expanse of the steppe.
“Cheer up, Alena!” Leywani, Katell’s closest friend, grabbed her around the shoulders from behind and pulled her into a tight hug.
Her sharp ribcage poked Alena through her thin dress. The previous winter had been terrible and many families, including Leywani’s, had gone hungry despite the hunters’ efforts to feed the camp. Katell had tried to spare food from their own stash, but when both Alena and Damocles had fallen ill, they’d had even less left to share.
“I heard Camp Lukim’s sending the most suitors this year, so chances are Kat will end up with one of them.”
Beside them, Katell leaned against the weathered fence surrounding the goat pens, her sharp gaze on the approaching group of riders. Her lips were drawn into a tight line, betraying the tension simmering within her. She’d spent all season arguing with their father about the wedding, to no avail. As a respected councilman within Camp Bessi, Damocles was duty-bound touphold the Freefolk traditions and that included his daughters. Any deviance from the rules risked not only their father’s status but also their share of fresh meat and grain the suitors had brought with them.
Katell had no choice—she had to marry.
“But what if she marries someone who isn’t from a nearby camp?” Alena asked, the fear of being separated from her sister coiling like a noose around her heart. “There are so many travelling from further east, closer to the Parthian Lands. That’s over three days’ travel!”
Tears blurred her vision. If Katell was sent to one of the faraway camps, the chances of seeing her sister again were slim to none.
Leywani exchanged a look with Katell. With a sigh, the tension in her sister’s face melted away, and she drew Alena into a comforting hug.
“I’m not gone yet, little star,” Katell said. “And even if I leave, I’ll make the journey back and visit each Harvest.”
“That’s only once a year!” Alena argued.
Katell tightened her arms around her in a gesture of reassurance and planted a gentle kiss atop her auburn curls. “I know. I don’t like this either. But I will return. That I promise you.”
“And then one day, soon enough,” Leywani chimed in, “it’ll be your turn to find a nice husband to settle down with and have his children.”
Katell’s body stiffened against Alena. “She’s only thirteen. Father won’t want her to marry too soon.”
Leywani tugged a strand of Alena’s hair, a playful smile dancing across her lips. “Perhaps she won’t have to worry about marriage at all if she keeps nabbing scrolls she’s not supposed to!”
Alena spun in Katell’s hold to confront their friend’s smirking face. Despite her delicate body, Leywani was one of the most vibrant and enchanting girls of Camp Bessi. Her smooth bronze skin, paired with deep brown eyes and dark hair, gave her a striking beauty. Only a year younger than Katell, their friend possessed the unique ability to coax genuine laughter from her sister while also teasing Alena incessantly.
“I don’t steal them, I borrow them,” Alena retorted, although they all knew that the Council, the rulers of Camp Bessi, wouldn’t see it that way.
Scrolls and artefacts from the Old Lands were confiscated in the Freefolk camps, especially if they detailed or depicted anything to do with the gods. Many generations ago, the Freefolk had migrated eastward to the vast steppe lands, seeking refuge from both the ravages of war and the wrath of the gods that wrought destruction upon their lands. From then on, the elders had outlawed the practice of worship in any form. In the Freefolk Lands, the gods were dead, and any man or woman who showed signs of magic was promptly exiled or killed.
But Alena was too curious for her own good. Ever since Damocles had told her stories about his homeland, Achaea, their twelve gods, and their Gifted heroes who possessed magic and defeated evil kings and monsters, she’d been desperate to learn everything she could.
Such adventures didn’t exist in Camp Bessi. The Freefolk lived a simple life in the steppe lands, harvesting wild grasses, and tending to their flock of sheep and goats. Amidst her daily routine of cooking, cleaning, and sewing, Alena’s sole excitement and joy came from learning more about the Old Lands.
While most of the scrolls she’d snuck out of the Council’s storage tents were lists of supplies or other boring administrative records, every now and then she stumbled upona map, a prayer to the gods, or even more exciting, drawings of the gods’ symbols. The same symbols that marked the skin of mortals who possessed magic.
In the Old Lands, Damocles had told her that those with magic were named Gifted. But among the Freefolk, they were referred to as Marked—a lesser term that conveyed their perceived difference and none of the marvel. All Freefolk were under strict orders to never approach a Marked one—not that Alena had ever met one.
“Father should have held his tongue instead of putting ideas in your head,” Katell said, spinning Alena around to face her. “Why do you even care about the Old Lands? It’s not like you’ll get to go. They’re not safe.”
