Page 3 of Stolen Fates
Inside, the air hung heavy with heat. A beam of light pierced through the opening at the top, illuminating the motes of dust suspended in its path. On one side, a heap of furs lay beside neatly stacked woollen blankets ready to be distributed to new refugee families. On the opposite side, sturdy chests and wooden crates filled the rest of the space, some left ajar, revealing their contents. Some held an array of ceramics, while others contained pins, needles, combs, cutlery, and fibulae—items that the Rasennan used to fasten their garments—and scrolls.
She counted at least a dozen scrolls in one chest alone. Her breath caught in her throat, and she forgot all about the vaseshe’d been searching. Instead, her mind buzzed at the amount of knowledge the scrolls had to hold. With trembling hands, she started to reach for the nearest one.
Without warning, a deep voice interrupted the silence. “Alena.”
Startled, Alena let out a small squeak. Heart racing, she spun around to find her father’s looming figure blocking the entrance.
Arms folded over his chest, he fixed her with piercing blue eyes. “By the Moon, what are you doing here?”
“I was…” She racked her mind for an excuse, but there was no use denying her actions. “I was looking for artefacts.”
Damocles’ expression shifted, softening a touch. “You know you’re not supposed to be here.” He grasped the tent flap behind him, holding it open. “Come on out.”
Swallowing a rush of embarrassment, Alena glanced over her shoulder at the scrolls once more and then filed outside.
She stood to one side, her cheeks burning, as her father tied the flap strings in a tight knot. “How did you know I was here?” she asked.
“Demetrius saw you sneak off. It’s a good thing he told me and not the elders.” He paused, giving her a pointed look, and letting her imagine the consequences had the elders found her instead. “Let’s go. I need to head back to the pavilion, and Kat still needs your help with her dress.”
Alena wrinkled her nose. Katell didn’t like dresses, preferring the practicality of her rugged riding leathers. But it was tradition that she wear a bridal dress when meeting her future husband.
“Why can’t she stay with us?” Alena cried out before her father could leave. “She’ll be no good as a wife, she can barely cook. And she’s got an awful temper. If her husband ever annoys her, she might even punch him in the face like she did to those boys from Camp Lukim.”
When three older boys, visiting for the Moon festival, had harassed Alena for the strange auburn colour of her hair and smeared her with goat droppings, Katell hadn’t hesitated. She’d hit all three boys and even made one cry.
A smile twitched at the corners of Damocles’ mouth. “Such high praise for your sister.”
Their father hadn’t punished Katell for punching the boys despite the Council’s anger. Instead, he’d taken her out in the steppe and had started teaching her how to fight and handle a sword. Her sister had shown innate talent, effortlessly embracing her training—yet another reason why she was unsuitable to be a wife.
“Father, please. She should stay here with us.” Alena held her father’s gaze, then added in a softer tone, “She could marry Scylas instead.”
Scylas had been friends with Katell and Leywani for years. As the grandson of Elder Ignatius and son of a councilman, he was the future leader of the camp, yet he spent all his time with Katell, sparring and hunting. It was clear in Alena’s eyes that her sister’s heart belonged to him. She’d even spotted the pair kissing under the oak tree by the stream once.
Her father’s brow furrowed. “You know that’s not the Freefolk way.”
Disappointment must have shown on her face because he walked back towards her and put his large hand atop her head. “Alena, do you understand why the elders insist on bringing suitors from other camps?”
She hesitated. “To forge alliances and bring in new goods?”
“Yes, but that’s not all. They are doing it to break up families so that traditions from the Old Lands are more easily forgotten when daughters leave to join a new camp. Those daughters in turn become mothers, start their own family, and when faced with a new environment, people tend to forget their oldtraditions and adopt the customs of their present surroundings—those of the Freefolk.”
Alena contemplated his words for a moment. “But you don’t want us to forget. You tell us stories about Achaea all the time.” She lowered her voice. “You’re even teaching us their language.”
“I am,” he agreed with a small smile. “Because I believe that erasing our past will not help our future. The Freefolk wish to break free of the gods and their magic, to be rid of the wars plaguing the Old Lands. But some things are not easily forgotten, and try as they might, the Freefolk cannot hide from the gods.”
Alena’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean? Do you think they’re watching us?”
“Perhaps,” he answered in his usual cryptic manner, leaving Alena perplexed. It was always difficult to get a straight answer from him.
He pulled away, glancing back at the storage tent. Sunlight illuminated his golden hair and the faint white scar running along his jaw. “I know I can’t stop you, Alena, but you’re not a child anymore. You know the consequences should you be caught. Be more careful next time. I may be able to influence the Council, but the elders are not so forgiving.”
He reached out once more, his warm hand tenderly tousled her hair. “I’ll see you at home.”
Alena watched him leave, the previous thrill of uncovering new scrolls replaced by a sinking feeling inside her stomach. She’d failed to convince him to stop Katell’s wedding. By tomorrow night, her sister would be married and then depart camp soon after. How long would it be before Alena saw her again?
Her fears plagued her all the way back home. By the time she reached the tent adorned by two wolf pelts hanging on either side of the flaps, her nerves were worn raw. She entered,muttered the customary Freefolk greeting and, after a moment, Katell answered from within.
The potent aroma of dried herbs that their father used for his medicinal potions hit her nose as she approached the firepit located at the heart of the tent. She stoked the remaining embers of the morning fire, coaxing them to life.
