I stood in the middle of a bustling town—alone.

  Typhon, Zagan, Catherine, Lisa, and the two guards accompanying me were gone.

  Our separation could have been an accident, but that was unlikely. It didn't take me long to figure out who was behind this little trick. The Duke, Duchess, and Selena were on the same side, and they wanted to monitor me as closely as possible. Bastian, while not an ally, didn't have a motive, and we were exploring whether we could work together. That left Tracy.

  I tried imaging her face, but couldn't. Instead, I imagined Selena muddying her features to make them less distinct. It was close enough.

  When I first tried to determine the best course of action, I lumped all the Duke's family together, but that was a mistake. They weren't working together, but that didn't tell me much.

  I remembered the 'Empress' and wondered if it was Tracy.

  How would the second daughter of a duke end up as a prostitute in the capital?

  It made more sense why the crown prince married her. Yes, she filled the space so that a more powerful family couldn't claim the Empress seat, and Tracy's children could inherit the title if the crown reclaimed the duchy.

  Several eyes wandered to me before looking away.

  The smartest thing to do was to find a guard and tell him my identity. The second best option was to stay in one place, making it easier to locate me.

  I didn’t do either.

  With steady steps, I got lost in the crowd, sending the bag with my jewelry into the system's storage so I wouldn’t get pickpocketed.

  The town was lively. Some people moved around with purpose, while others hung around talking in groups. You could tell they lived good lives—smiles came easily to their faces.

  As I left the central square, I entered a market street. The colorful goods caught my attention. I walked past all the food items and looked at the poetry and jewelry. There was a bustle around me and I felt calmer than I had felt in days.

  The hum of voices and shouts of vendors provided a tune that people moved to. There was something special about getting lost in a crowd where no one knew who you were.

  “What is that?” I asked, pointing to a bracelet.

  “It’s a seashell from the south. Only,--” Her words stopped. A look of fright appeared on her face to be replaced by disgust.

  I turned—an old woman stood beside me.

  My breath hitched, wheezing and rattling, as I forced air in and out of my body.

  Dull pink hair streaked with gray-

  Faded red eyes-

  A wire-wrapped pendant-

  She smiled at me, turned, and walked away.

  My feet moved automatically, following her as she ducked into an alley. The liveliness of the street disappeared as we moved deeper into the slums. The rotten eggy smell of sewage and stagnant water was choking but familiar.

  The woman at the stall called out to me, but I barely heard her, ignoring her as I followed the old woman's hunched back.

  I stopped, turning to look at the bright street and then into the shadowy darkness. I looked at the light with longing before continuing to follow the woman. Her step hadn’t paused, and I jogged to catch up.

  Soon she entered a house covered in vines, windows hanging off their hinges, with the door split in two. It creaked and groaned with the effort it took to stay standing, much like its occupant.

  The smell of smoke and herbs wafted out of the house, covering the natural rotting smell that oozed out of the ground and air in the slums. It was a familiar smell. Regardless of the town, every shanty settlement seemed to have that scent of decay.

  My skin pebbled as fear settled in. We hadn’t seen a single person as we walked. That was the strangest thing of all. These narrow, dimly lit alleys were usually teeming with voices. Women hanging their laundry from the ropes attached to windows, children running around, prostitutes soliciting, and thugs milling about.

  I shuffled my feet, hesitating.

  Determined, I clenched my fist and entered.

  She was sitting on a chair facing the door. A smile tugged at the edge of her lips. The skin on her face was unused to the action, pulling and stretching as her face struggled to make the expression.

  “I am shocked. So shocked. Oh, hmmm.” The old woman crooned, then hacked a cough that shuddered through her whole body, threatening to splinter her to pieces. Aged and withered, the only vitality she had shone through her all-knowing eyes as she stripped me bare. For once, someone's gaze on me was awed, and I didn't feel lacking. It was more than being a curiosity to her or amusement. “Truly a blessed child, despite having your fate plundered.”

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The word ‘fate’ set my teeth on edge. The strange atmosphere popped, pierced by her words as my consciousness jolted back into my body.

  Fate—a word I’d turned over in my mind and couldn’t help using to explain my situation. Yet, it wasn't a word I liked. It made my situation seem permanent and unchangeable.

  Those with enough money and power to change the situation used fate as a broad brush to paint over and hide the injustice and suffering of the lowly. It forced them to accept the situation as a fact, and they could only comfort themselves by calling it fate. As though, using the influence of a higher power to make what happened inevitable would ease the pain of their despair or lessen the hunger clawing at their stomachs.

  “Fuck fate.” I looked at my feet - feeling betrayed - wondering why I left the light to wander here to listen to this old hag spew tripe.

  I looked up but forced down the words I wanted to say as I saw her head bobbing.

  I wanted to caution her not to move. One wrong motion, and it seemed like her head would pop off and plop on the ground.

  “Yes. I have never seen someone step so cleanly out of fate’s control. Never seen it. In all my years. War. War is coming swiftly on the east wind. Challenge the heavens. Yes. That’s what I hear—the whine of shackles breaking and falling. Heaven revolting.”

  My heart stopped dead. It was shocking enough to hear her mention the war, but she repeated the same words Gideon said. Cultivate and challenge the heavens. “What else did you hear?” I asked, whispering.

  “Hmmm, I thought you didn’t believe in fate.” Her eyes drifted down, focusing on a spot on my chest. The wire-wrapped stone around my neck was identical to hers. It felt heavy where it rested against my chest.

  “I didn’t say that.” I wasn't that foolish. I knew of prophecies and the inevitability of some things. Divination was also popular and accurate enough if you could find someone with the gift instead of a charlatan. I just hated it as a catch-all term to explain the misery of people's lives.

  I used my fate as a crutch to view my incompetence and stupidity as unluckiness, while others achieved preordained success. The word ignored and diminished their planning, shrewdness, and malicious drive to do whatever it took to achieve their goal despite what it might cost.

  “Once when I was younger-”

  I wanted to tell her to stop the story and get to the point, but her eyes warned me to keep quiet or I wouldn’t get any answers.

  “I used to have beautiful pink hair that I dyed black. I couldn’t do magic but-”

  My impatience vanished, replaced by a familiar feeling. I crossed my hands over my chest and ignored the chill in my hands and feet and the sinking feeling in my stomach.

  This was my first time seeing another member of the Kala Tribe since my mother left me with the duke, but I couldn’t be happy about it.

  “I was skilled in other areas. I was young, but the promise of the power I held made me popular. Then one day, when I was nine, the priestess called me to her tent, and the next thing I knew, my mother brought me to my father’s house, and a bright red stone hung around my neck to remind me no matter how far I was from the tribe, they remembered me.”

  I bit my tongue, the tang of blood filling my mouth. All the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. It was clear she had the answers to what happened to me in the past, but I didn’t want to know.

  I covered my ears, crouching down.

  I don't know how long I stayed like that, the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

  I didn't want to know. However, my current situation made staying ignorant impossible.

  “He was a kind man. I lived in comfort, if not splendor, until I turned sixteen. One day I woke up, and something felt off. Something I had before was missing.” She paused, taking a wheezing breath—the effort to speak consuming everything she had.

  I wanted to claw my hair out. I was quaking to the point I could hear my teeth rattling, but I was also numb.

  Yet, I didn’t rush her. The differences in our stories weren’t comforting because the similarities filled me with dread.

  I remembered that feeling. Total emptiness—as if someone had torn a hole in my chest and scooped out all the parts that made me—me.

  I remember attributing the feeling of desolateness to the experiences I endured on my wedding night.

  “The sister I cherished and respected was kind enough to explain it to me.” Her eyes misted over and her pale lips pulled into a brittle smile. “They stole my fate.” Gnarled, trembling fingers reached up to hold the stone at her neck.

  I slumped to the ground, glad I was crouching instead of standing. My hand mirrored hers as it reached up and clutched the stone I couldn’t bear to take off.

  It was the only thing left to me by my mother. A reminder that I had somewhere else I belonged to. I clung to it even after knowing my mother sold me to the Duke. Even after the Queen Dowager took it away.

  Laughter bubbled out of me, burning my throat as I vomited it out. The old woman joined me. Our cackles rose higher, a symphony of madness and desolation.

  There was no use for sobriety.

  Flat on the ground, heaving, caked in dirt, I was calmest since my rebirth.

  There was no need to be clean.

  There were some things only dirty people could do. The struggle I experienced as I wondered what direction my life would take was meaningless.

  “What else?” I asked.

  “What happened to you?” she countered, greed replacing the craziness I saw before.

  “I woke up from a long dream.”

  “Bullshit,” she said, but the look left her eyes, leaving the frail woman who’d seen too much and accepted her fate. It was like looking at the future me, kneeling in that cesspit-like cave, praying to a god I didn't believe in. This woman had already given up. She slumped into the chair, looking smaller than before.

  I shrugged. That was what happened. I died and woke up after having a long nightmare of a life. If I knew the secret to what happened, I would tell her.

  “What else?” I asked, readjusting until I sat with my arms around my knees.

  “The Kala Tribe worships the Goddess Avea, the mother of all daughters. If a child is born in the tribe with a fate not gifted to her by the Holy Mother, Avea, her mother would bring her to her father, who would decide if he wanted to buy the child’s fate. My fate wasn’t strong enough to trigger a prophecy, and I never learned which god gifted it to me, but I was blessed to bring good fortune to everyone I care about, and my life would be smooth without issues and I'd accomplish anything I set my mind to.” She looked to the south.