A Touch Of Destiny

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

A stranger stepped out in the night.

The clouds released the moonlight they had hidden, highlighting his features in almost divine paleness. His face was gaunt, worn. Years of penance judging from the small yet distinct rose shaped burn on his left cheek and the hollowed look in his eyes.

In the shadows of winter, the town’s square was veiled in a silver haze - ice forming on the edges of the fountain, snowflake shaped frost spreading across the white stone as water spurted rhythmically. A muddied fog emanated from the statue rising above - Saint Lukas’ arm extended in a blessing, pointing towards the looming Clock Tower.

Lyanna averted her eyes, tonight was no evening for religion. Adjusting the scarf around her nose, she sank deeper in her vantage point - the stone alcove shielding her from view.

And there will never be any in the Capital either.

Her head tilted as the words ached, haunting and taunting in her mind. A fistful of thunder pounding against her temples. In the past hour it had become increasingly hard to think. Beads of sweat curled against her hairline, damp hair sticking to her forehead as her vision got blurry and eyelids heavy. The Queen’s voice had been so soft and inviting…

A pest, a minor problem.

Lyanna winced in the darkness, her mind swirling in a whirlpool of possibilities. Her fingers skimmed over the phantom rose shaped burn between her thumb and forefinger.

Go to Irisej.

Blood pulsed back, her skin cold and clammy against her fingertips. Crimson danced in her vision at the command. The tireless throbbing in her head eased slightly at the pressure - like a snake slithering closer to its own tail, it could feel the fated end of a bargain.

By blood or pain.

She focused her attention on the stranger, watching as he stumbled over to the fountain, feet slipping on the ice spreading across the cobblestones - crouched down on a misshapen brick on the ground.

“- Under a brick, really?”

The creature came out of the shadows like a death sprite, glowing against the darkness, its golden muzzle breathing out red tinged smoke.

Stories of old claimed Dragons were the birthers of all death sprites. That in the chaos of the Making, their children were transformed into half human creatures bound to drag unholy souls to their death.

Lyanna didn’t usually fear folk tales but now, in the smoke-filled town square, she wasn’t particularly looking forward to her own doomsday. She looked up at Saint Lukas statue, wondering if a last minute prayer was in order.

Bring me the golden head of a dragon.

The command was so strong she almost moved against her will, the voice a tight leash on her mind. The man had fallen back on his rear, crying out in fear.

“- Pl- Please, I’m only doing what she asked me to.”

“- She didn’t ask.”

The golden head figure stepped closer, red mist clinging to its cloak. Its built wasn’t tall but instead lean and strong. It sported a pair of brown linen slacks tucked in a pair of brown leather boots.

“ - She demanded.”

Lyanna knew those boots.

“- And so we take.”

She pinched at the bridge of her nose.

And so your debt shall be paid.

“- Either you give us the gold or we take it from you.” Something flickered in the dark until suddenly the death sprite’s hand was coated in swirling blue flames, Lyanna felt the heat licking at her exposed skin from where she stood. “That option unfortunately leaves you with fewer prized parts than ideal.”

“- Toss it,” The man grumbled. “Nothing is worth this.” Handing over his pouch of gold in one quick move.

The death sprite remained still against the night as the man ran for the dimly lit streets of the city, the sound of his boots clicking against the ground carrying into the dark. Once he was out of sight, the dragon headed sprite turned to the sinister mist.

“- Gregor, out!”

A man stepped forward.

Stepped was too generous of a word, Lyanna decided. He swayed - stumbling to steady himself. Even in the obscured night Lyanna knew his cheeks must be blotched red from too much wine.

Lyanna’s fingers hitched closer to the dagger strapped at her thigh, the cool leather of the handle burning her through her gloves. She was so feverish her vision doubled, the pounding in her ears growing incessant.

The man gestured to the death sprite and removed its golden helmet tossing it to the floor. The dragon head rolled almost all the way to Lyanna’s feet, but her eyes were fixed on the newly exposed and outrageously handsome human face.

Nyk extinguished the blue flames licking his palm with a wince.

“- Lawrence’s fireproof glove is wearing thin.” His companion hiccuped, handing him a wet cloth.

“- Who cares about the glove when it's my damned face boiling in that gold casket! What did you put in the chemicals for the red mist? I was almost choking in there!” Nyk hissed back, scrubbing his face a new shade of pink.

Gregor mumbled something Lyanna couldn’t hear.

There weren’t always Dragons in the valley, the voice started again.

Lyanna’s dark brown eyes closed as she cradled her own head between her hands. She watched, incapacitated by the white-hot searing pain at the crown of her head, as the two men collected their prize for the night and swaggered on back to the shadowed streets of Irisej.

She forced herself onto wobbly legs and unsheathed the dagger tucked against her forearm. Her fingers were scarred and brown with dirt against the silver shine of the blade. She tried to picture slashing at Nyk with it, he wouldn’t even notice the quick work of her knife across his throat before it was too late.

She looked up at the Clock Tower in a silent plea.

Only six hours left before the bargain holding her life together shattered. She felt it slither closer now, talons scratching against the four walls of her mind, invisible glowing eyes blinking hungrily her way.

There weren’t always Dragons in the valley.

Nyk’s forgotten golden dragon helmet glinted ominously in the night.

Lyanna’s parched and blanched lips crooked into an empty smile.

—

Irisej rose like a sea monster in the night. The sleepless port situated at the heart of the Valley glittered feebly against the salted obscurity. The sound of waves crashing against boats in the docks kept Lyanna alert as she jumped from a roof onto a window ledge, passing through night markets and whittled shrines.

The rotten wood wailed under her feet but she kept moving up until she reached the pinnacle of the apartment building, swinging herself through the overhanging windowsill.

The erratic thrashing of her heart echoed against her eardrums but the balmy scent of the air caressed her face like a gentle lover. That high she could map out the entire port, the shimmering blanket of the sea glinting against the oily dark, the torch lit docks emptied except for seagulls tearing through piles of garbage. Under her on the pavement, Gregor walked the city with insolence, his leaden gold helmet swinging at his hip.

Nyk’s twin helmet was now tied to Lyanna’s knife belt in a similar fashion. She climbed down the length of a window, her slippers sliding across the plumbing with ease - the sole of her feet landing with rehearsed expertise. Her outfit clouded her from view almost entirely, the fur-lined leather brown trousers she had gotten as a birthday present from Raven a few winters ago. The darker brown jacket wasn’t fur-lined - she’d had to cut some of her expenses in the past year, her paltry allowance suffering with the Capital’s increased prices - but her blouse and scarf shielded her enough from the cold.

She silently observed as Gregor entered the tavern - cleverly named The Cock’s Cock - a few streets down. The main entrance gave on the high street but it had a door on the side of the road for workers and deliveries.

She climbed closer.

Lyanna’s fingers barked in pain, digging into the brick under her so hard it ripped her skin inside her gloves. She swallowed a grunt and pulled, hauling herself up one last time, onto a ledge, through a window and down the outdoor staircases she’d seen connecting the two buildings. She dropped onto the side-street just in time to hurry and slither behind a barkeeper, following him through the staff door.

As Lyanna made her way across the reeking swarm of ale breathers and unwashed bodies, she listened carefully through the sounds of cheers and bawdy singing around her. Subterranean career-criminal warrens might be uncomfortably warm and packed with lowlifes seeking cheap pleasure but they remained minegolds of information.

She couldn’t spot Nyk in the never-ending sway of bodies and prayed it would stay this way. She couldn’t risk his recognizing her. Lifting her hand to gesture for a pint, she seated herself at the bar, the floating smell of bread and garlic caressing her nostrils enough to cause her stomach to stir. Staying cloaked in darkness, she did her best not to gag as she sipped on her ale. It tasted cheap and watery.

“- Gregor! What's the news like in The Shiz?” A voice exclaimed atop the drunken chatter.

“-The schwiss?” Gregor hiccuped.

“- You got back yesterday, no?” When Gregor nodded the man carried on. “I see the brawn still putting you through it?” Gregor grunted adamantly.

“- Yeah, I got one myself.” The new arrival took a seat on his left. “Little shit’s obsessed with university, like that has anythin’ to do with me” He continued, unaware of his neighbor’s criss crossed eyes. “I’m telling you, never should’ve bedded his mother… Now I have to send my hard earned money to those leeches for the rest of my life? Nobody ever paid for my shit! Not my folks at least…” He drowned the bottom of his whiskey glass with newfound intensity. “Been on my back for years now trying to get a sliver of my gold, well lemme tell you: I don’t care how bad she begs, I ain’t giving a dime to her or that kid... Cristio and its cursed university…” The man snorted. “Full of fae sympathizers and academics,” Ghosts flickered in his eyes. “Should’ve never allowed that southern vermin to settle there.” He gulped his drink down, unaware that Gregor’s head had fully fallen to the counter. “One of them conspirators is recruiting in The Shiz - telling folks they can escape to some southern land where magic is rampant.” He fiddled with a gold coin. “Aye, I’d pay good money to see that too if I was delusional...”

Lyanna downed the rest of her pint in one gulp and uprooted herself from the bar, having heard enough.

She checked the brass watch on her wrist.

Four hours until dawn.

–

The spy tried not to think about the decapitated head at the back of the carriage but it proved difficult as it kept rolling and thudding against the trunk of the carriage. The pounding in her temples had finally ceased and her sweat-slicked skin returned to a normal temperature. She closed her eyes, burrowing herself deeper into her cloak.

Sleep caught up with her swiftly.

Bargains always drained her energy - the ride back to Ambrosia was set to be two full days long and she’d already slept through half of it, only waking to eat a handful of bread and cheese provided by the rider sent to her.

She’d been asleep for another string of hours when the soft peach rays of dawn shone through the pulled curtains. Lyanna straightened up, sniffed at her clothes and pulled at the collar of her blouse, brushing curls that had come loose from her thick braid out of her face.

She could do nothing about the blood on her sleeves.

Preserving appearances with the Queen didn’t matter but she didn’t want Raven to be reminded of how gruesome her line of work was.

The carriage pushed past the Great Gate, a huge gruesome thing made of broad iron doors and a drawbridge. Once they passed the gateway and its security - Lyanna flashed her letter of mark - they entered a broad mossy flagstone courtyard. A large mulberry tree stood proudly in the center, its branches sagging beneath the weight of the plum fruits.

She wasted no time once the carriage came to a stop and surged out, grabbing her prize from the trunk. A putrid tang oozing from it, its stench so strong Lyanna swallowed a gag. She pushed through the palace doors, hood fixed over her head. The smell of fresh cut fruits and warm bread barely masked the sharp sting of blood that seemed to follow her everywhere.

Pillars flanked both sides of the double mahogany doors, hand painted scenes of ancient fae warriors on display, the first words of the Modern Age carved at the top:

ne’er gain fissum eren’t.

Never Again Will We Forget.

Lyanna scowled internally, her face betraying nothing as she approached the dais.

There she was, straw blond hair like melted gold in the sunlight pouring in from the floor to ceiling windows. The Queen of Nass didn’t even look up from her papers as Lyanna dragged the decapitated head across the floor.

Raven sat at her mother’s side. If the Queen’s hair was molten gold, Raven’s was a sea of platinum silver - perfectly brushed straight down her back. She had her mother’s curved down nose but unlike her predecessor it gave her a solemn, kind air. Her gray eyes caught Lyanna’s, she cocked her chin at a devious angle.

Lyanna emptied out her bag, the mutilated head rolling to the Queen’s feet as the Dragon helmet clinked against marble stone.

She knelt down.

“- The golden head of a Dragon as promised, Your Majesty.”

The Queen removed her glasses, nudged the disembodied head with her silk slipper.

“- And the gold?”

A pause.

“- That wasn’t part of the bargain.”

“- It was implied.”

“- Well I guess you didn’t care all that much for it given that my head hasn’t exploded yet.” Lyanna heard herself say.

The Queen’s silver eyes glinted with a flash of cold light. She angled her face like a predator, sun rays catching against her moss green velvet cape. Behind her Raven wore her usual silver, the flimsy gown gathering like sea foam at her feet, her moon white collar bones on display.

“- Shall I remind you what happens when a Queen’s bargain is not fulfilled? You came awfully close…”

The reminder sent ice skittering over her bones. It was a physical effort to clamp down on her retort. She knew she’d been more than fortunate with her timing, angering the Queen was useless.

“- It starts with headaches of course,” The matriarch’s voice continued with deadly edge. “Then it’s the body temperature - the fever overpowering all senses. Oh my favorite is the nausea… Every movement turning your bowels to ash, your bloodstream incapable of getting rid of the poison. It’s fashioned rather well.” A beat lingered. “Your mind betraying your body. Without a lifted finger on my end. Bargain magic is so very useful.”

“- I apologize, Your Majesty,” Lyanna kept her gaze down. “I only meant to say I was so focused on retrieving your prize, I did not grasp the importance of the gold.”

The Queen huffed.

“- Might I remind you however,” She started slowly. “My contract binds me to spying duties. Not the execution of people.”

“- Dragons are not people, Reever.” The spy winced at her last name, another unspoken tightening of the leash the Queen had wrapped so expertly around her throat. “It's a poison spreading through our land, stealing gold from good honest people.”

Stealing to survive barely counts as a crime, Lyanna thought.

Raven’s tilted doe eyes were trained on the scene before her, going from her mother to her friend like a game of lawn-ball.

The Queen stepped forward, her heel digging into the Dragon's eye socket. The sound of piercing flesh rang like a fired pistol against the tapestry-adorned walls.

“- Your Majesty, I apologize,” Lyanna whispered.“ I will carry out any bargain you assign me.”

The Queen said nothing, her foot still deep inside the man’s face - chunks of flesh and brain slowly oozing out onto the white floor. Lyanna regretted loading up on so much cheese and bread as the food crawled back up her throat.

“-Mother.”

Raven’s voice chimed.

“- I wish to send Ly- Miss Reever on a mission.”

Lyanna kept her midnight-sky eyes on the Queen.

“- Thomasin is behaving strangely,” The princess carried on, “I would like to send after him”

The Queen smiled fully, still staring down at Lyanna. Unease creeped up her spine.

“- Grand idea Raven… Maybe Miss Reever’s talents are better put to use for petty royal romances. She is disposable after all.”

Lyanna felt the sharp knife of the implied threat poking at her ribs. She willed the blood in her veins into a calm stillness.

“- Yes, Your Majesty.”

She kept her head hung low, watching as tendrils of blood soaked her knees, the scent of rotting death swirling around them. The Dragon’s empty eyes staring ahead in fixed horror, the flesh of his face already decaying off his skull. Tears pricked behind Lyanna’s eyes as she swallowed down bile. The Queen dismissed her with a wave and she rushed out the door without a word, fists tight at her sides.

Lyanna heard the whooshing of Raven’s skirts gliding through the halls behind her. Her heart hammered like a hummingbird against her ribcage, gulps of air stuck in her throat, rasping and begging for release. They kept walking at a hurried pace without a word, only stopping once they’d reached the first tower staircase and Lyanna’s breathing had soothed.

“- Thank you.” She let out.

Being assigned spying on Raven’s betrothed would make a significant dent in her salary but she was happy for the opportunity to settle for a week at least.

“- Don’t mention it,” Raven’s voice was so soft and caring, Lyanna’s heart sank even lower inside her chest. She wasn’t sure how to let in such kindness, or if she even could. “I think this Dragon situation is affecting Mother a lot more than she lets on.”

“-Yeah,” Lyanna turned to walk up the stairs, Raven at her heel. “They’re a troublesome lot.”

“- How did you do it?”

Lyanna stopped in her tracks. She didn’t enjoy discussing details of her missions with anyone, Raven in particular. Being raised a princess sheltered you from some realities of the world. Lyanna wanted to keep it that way.

“- What do you mean?” She dodged, her legs back in motion.

“- The head.”

Being raised a princess apparently also sheltered you from learning how to read someone’s tone.

“- I looked into the past of a few enlisted criminals. This man, Heretio,” She forced herself to speak his name. “had business with Mya Lyra so he was associated.” The name of her former owner opened a pit in her stomach. “I actually had settled on following this new recruit, Gregor. A drunk, I thought maybe he’d have something shady on the side but nothing except for a son who seems to be treated well.” If not for the excessive drinking but Lyanna didn’t fault people for that. “He met Heretio at a pub and they got to talking. Actually Heretio did most of the talking. He’s had a family in The Shiz for years and refused to pay his half, the kid is almost seventeen now and wants to go to Critio for studies but he refused to even pay child support so he wasn’t about to start now…”

They’d reached the top of the stairs and made their way down the royal family quarters to Raven’s chamber.

“- I figured with him… Gone, that kid and his mother would be better off. It was easy to forge his signature on the bank statements - by tomorrow that family will be able to live a comfortable, academic life.” Lyanna swallowed. “I followed him home, Irisej is packed with criminals by the way never go there, made sure he ran into the wrong people. Some thieves I had tipped off earlier on, but I mainly got him to brawl with people to whom he owed large sums of money, after checking his accounts. It wasn’t…” Lyanna searched for the right word. “Pretty. I mean it never is but these folks were hungry for more than just money,” She’d remained clouded from view, crouched on a building rooftop as Heretio’s former boss had him surrounded. She’d done nothing but add whispers and rumors of overflowing bank accounts but she had orchestrated the whole attack. Down on their luck criminals were easy to manipulate, it only took her an hour of her night - after leaving the Cock’s Cock and making sure Heretio drank half his weight in there while she got to work - to chase down the people he owed. With her scarf hiding her face from view she had approached most of them, feeding them story after story, tipping them off on Heretio’s whereabouts and then disappearing in the night. “As it turns out he was already dead when I reached him. They'd left him in a pool of blood. Cutting his head off was the least of his worries.”

That was a lie, he’d been dying but alive enough for questioning, she’d made sure of that. Her hand still remembered the steel grip she’d had on the nape of his neck, the wet sound of skin ripping, her dagger digging into flesh like a hot knife against butter, the blood painting her scarlet after she closed another dead end.

Raven had been so silent, Lyanna forgot to be mindful of her words. When she looked up her friend was several shades paler than her usual porcelain coloring.

“-I’m sorry-” Lyanna started.

“-No.” Raven raised the palm of her hand. “I asked. I know what you do and why. I can take it.”

Lyanna closed her mouth. They’d had this argument before.

“-And the helmet?”

“- I got it from his place afterwards.” She lied easily, she couldn’t bring herself to mention Nyk. “He must’ve stolen it.” At Raven’s silence she added, “By the way those things? Complete fraud, they’re just painted gold - I mean I guess that’s obvious, real gold would crush their heads in but still. If they’re basing their whole reputation on being fire wielding thieves who named themselves after the most famous fire wielding monster of all, they could put some effort into the design of their costume don’t you think?”

“-Really,” Raven nodded after a beat. “ It’s almost like all this gold they steal isn’t going into a showmanship. Which is the only forgivable reason to steal, obviously.”

“- Obviously.” Lyanna smiled.

She readjusted the scarf around her face once they reached Raven’s room, as two guards flanked each side. Once they’d been allowed through she took it off completely, along with the hood of her jacket.

“- So,” Raven started, plopping herself onto her fluffed up bed in a rather unprincess-like manner. “Dragons are just petty thieves dressing up as death sprites to scare people into giving away all their money?”

“- I think it goes a little deeper than that.” Lyanna answered, trailing her fingers along the extensive shelf of books Raven had at her disposal. “How about this one for our reading of the week?” She’d picked a book with an aquamarine leather spine, the sea-foam silver letters on it read Lady Jones And Companions.

Raven looked up from the arm she had draped over her forehead. She waved it off carelessly.

“- That’s a children’s book. “A pirate sailing the seven seas, making friends and enemies along the way”. I still have it because Grier insists on reading it every Yule.”

Lyanna’s heart pinched a little as she put the book back, she’d never read children’s books growing up and Lady Jones seemed like her kind of gal.

“- Do you think Mya Lyra is planning something bigger?” Raven asked, her voice muffled from the pillow she’d thrown over her face.

Lyanna paused at the question. Some things about her shared past with Mya Lyra would take her years to discuss.

“- When is she not?” She mumbled, pretending to pick out another novel for them to read now that Raven practically got her a week off work.

Raven didn’t answer, instead padded silently towards the thick heavy curtain against the balcony window. She tore it open in one fluid motion.

“- HEY!”

“- I KNEW YOU WERE IN MY ROOM!” Raven slapped the intruder’s arm.

A young blond woman stepped out from the curtains, shielding herself from the princess as best as she could. She had her mother’s golden head of hair and Raven’s down turned eyes only hers shone a bright cerulean blue.

“- Hey Ly! I heard about the head, it sounded fun!”

“- Hello Grier.” Lyanna welcomed the younger princess, arms propped against her hips.

“- Did you know I was here? Be honest.”

Lyanna had in fact known, in part due to the fact that Grier had misplaced her embroidered-with-her-initials shawl on the desk before hiding.

“- I can’t say that I did” She lied.

“- Ha!” Grier turned to Raven who had started massaging her temples in anguish. “Maybe I’ll be the guard’s next recruit.”

“- Grier, even nineteen years of expertise on how to follow me everywhere wasn’t enough to get you in last spring. This year is no different.”

“- Last spring was a fluke, I was sabotaged.”

“-By who?”

“- Martin!” She cried out like it was not only obvious but also offensive not to be aware of Martin’s alleged crimes.

“- Martin is literally seven years old I do-”

Lyanna quickly excused herself before she could witness another sisterly row. Raven made her promise to come round tomorrow to pick a book and wished her a relaxing rest of the day.

Grier mock saluted her goodbye.

—

She reached The Siren’s Call by midday and rushed past Henrietta, the barkeep. Once she’d made it to the final abandoned floor of the inn, Lyanna brought down the overhead ladder, unlocked the hidden trap door and climbed up into her apartment.

Lyanna closed the door under her, locking all three locks with the unique golden pins securing her braids, shedding her scarf and cloak right at the entrance - not caring to put them up anywhere as she ran her fingers through the mass of hair and braids atop her head.

She lit her lavender scented incense, watching the smoke twirl and dance overhead while she let water run in her poorly tiled bathroom.

By the time she got out of her bathtub, smelling of essential oils and pear-scented shampoo, night had fallen over Ambrosia. The sky not as open and bright as Irisej but still shining bright with the Saint’s trail peppering the milky darkness with stars.

She wrapped herself in a satin robe - that she had gotten after a quite impressive bargain that had filled her pockets with more gold than should be allowed - and headed to her kitchen for an infusion.

Lyanna was so focused on pouring herself tea she took no notice of the ball of fire flying towards her until it had shattered one of her window panes. Broken glass skittered across the open floor. Her kettle went flying, boiling water spilling down on her. She hissed in pain and reached for the dagger she’d left on the counter.

The ball of flame, no, inflamed arrow buried itself in the wall, inches away from where she stood moments ago, the familiar blue flames licking at the arrowhead but not burning the scroll of paper attached to it.

Lyanna’s pounding heart echoed in her ears as she ripped the note off, reading the words over and over until the letters all blurred together, dread crawling up her throat like acid.

the Bird’s song ends at moonfall.

bring her to us or She dies.