I lied. Even if I knew what happened, I wouldn’t share it with anyone. It wasn’t a matter of trust - though I didn’t trust her - it was a matter of greed.

  A distant memory sparked, a woman with cruel eyes and a metal-tipped cane—the words of my husband's grandmother on my wedding day.

  Bring that thing off that mongrel's neck.

  “Ralford.” I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud until I heard a strangled wail.

  The old woman started rocking in place, muttering to herself.

  It was a name everyone knew. Three generations ago, the head of the Ralford Family was a sell-sword who got a Baronet Title for his service to the Crown. Now they were the undisputed rulers of the South.

  That was all because of one woman.

  Clarissa Ralford. The current Queen Dowager of Sargos.

  It was a legendary story of love and sacrifice.

  Clarissa, whose birth wasn’t high enough to become Empress, met Crown Prince Staffon while studying in the capital and blocked an assassin’s attack for him. They were fond of each other while attending Knox Academy, but the then Emperor arranged his son's marriage and they parted ways because she refused to become his mistress. In an effort not to wrong the brave and strong girl who captivated him, he made her his only queen when he became the Emperor.

  Because of the Emperor's love and favor, it was a position more valuable and powerful than being Empress. Clarissa’s expert pillow talk landed her son on the throne after her husband died, squeezing out the two male heirs of the Empress.

  Both of the crown prince's younger brothers died a few months after their father, and the Empress, grieving the loss of her sons, committed suicide.

  It was a tidy, picture-perfect story—if you squinted, the lights were dim, and you got hit in the head with a rock.

  The problems started with the current emperor, who, while an excellent ruler, wasn’t a romantic like his father. He had an Empress and five queens as allotted.

  However, they weren't enough for him, and he had many mistresses. That many women led to even more children. All of which were given proper titles and ranks. I didn't know the exact number, but the crown prince always complained about the cost of marrying off his sisters and killing his brothers.

  The crown prince was the only son of the Empress and the only grandchild Queen Dowager Clarissa acknowledged. He failed to live up to their expectations and was a sadistic, incompetent cockroach. He also took after his father and was a lustful ghost, never satisfied.

  Yes.

  The civil war was inevitable.

  The crown prince wouldn't have lived or ascended to the throne if the Holy Nation hadn't intervened.

  “What else?” I asked.

  Those faded red eyes focused on me. “Curious. Curious little kitty. Strange fate. Broken fate. Unwritten.” She sighed. "As good as it's bad."

  Her eyes blurred, and I realized she wasn't coherent, teetering on clarity and insanity. It was almost like the woman who spoke a moment ago was an illusion.

  “What is this?” I held up my necklace, relieved to see the fog clearing from her eyes.

  “Anything taken must have a way to get from one place to the next. That-” she said, pointing to the stone. “-acts as a conduit, exchanging your fate with the fate of the person who wears its pair. There are two conditions. They must be blood-related to the person they want to exchange fates with, and that person must be female.”

  “Exchange?”

  “Yes. That person takes your magic and fate, and you get hers.”

  “My magic?” My voice was high, my hand moved to my heart, and I struggled to sit up.

  She gave me a pitying glance. “What else? Who could identify and transfer something so abstract as fate to someone else? Our Mana Source is the essence of who we are. After the transfer, your half-sister becomes you. Any magical contracts signed would change the person bound by those contracts. Everything except your appearance ends up swapped." Her index fingers pointed in the air and crossed. "The tribe gives out a manual to explain the best way to make the transfer without either party noticing. The first step is to block your magic because it’s easier to do if you are unaware. A person with a double fire-lightning source would notice if they suddenly ended up with a four-element waste source. It would be obvious." She shook her head. "If you’re over fifteen, the magic has finished transferring, and it will take a year to settle in the new hosts. If that comes off your neck, then puff, all their hard work is gone. It takes time to transfer, but moments to return.”

  An image of the swirling silver light shining in the orb as the magic teacher proudly declared Selena had a single Ice Mana Source.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  How proud she was.

  Did she know she was stealing someone's fate?

  Would she care?

  I laughed at myself—of course—she knew. That smug look, the way the potion reacted to me. All the little pieces that didn't make sense fit together. She knew everything, and Selena was happy to do it while laughing at me.

  Human greed was inexhaustible.

  My hands curled into claws, dragging along the muddy, rotten wooden floors. I felt them cracking and breaking. I screamed—a loud, anguished, broken sound pulled from the pits of my stomach, shaking my soul.

  I frowned. “Why go through all that trouble--”

  The hefty price the Duke paid for me made sense. Upgrading his daughter to the famed single Ice Mana Source the Amber Lineage was known for.

  She cackled, cutting me off. I could see the blacks of her gums and rotted teeth. “It was never about them. Not to the Kala Tribe. All of this is a punishment for you-” she pointed at me and then herself “-and me. The Tribe can’t forgive heretics born outside of the grace of the Goddess Avea. Be grateful you have a fate worth selling, the daughters without that are killed. Or maybe it would be better to die early? Those girls drink a painless poison. Their sin was lighter since they didn’t defile their bodies with the blessings of another god. The Tribe will never allow you to live a decent life. Every time you find contentment or happiness, they will destroy it. They'll never forgive you until you're dead. Punishment. Yes. That hollowness you’ll feel after you turn sixteen is a death mark on your soul." She paused, peering at me, seeing something amusing. "Well, it should. That won’t happen to you, will it? No. Fate is unraveling. When that last bit breaks, you will be free. I've seen anything like it.”

  “How can you see it now?” I asked, shoving everything else in the corner of my mind to examine later. My voice came out cracked, dry from overuse and screaming. It didn't matter. I spit on the floor, trying to clear the taste of dirt and blood from my mouth.

  She opened her mouth, a gaping maw, but no sound came out. I felt unease and a creeping cold settled into the room.

  “Necromancer,” I said, the words exhaled on a breath that misted as it left my mouth. “I thought-” Everyone thought they were a myth, hunted and destroyed centuries ago, but I knew the truth. I remembered--

  Oh, ye of lost faith and broken truth. What a waste, what a waste. Fighting and not knowing the prize is gone. Funny. So Funny. We must keep this secret so the fun can go on. Little one, how will you repay us?

  I forced the memory away, my arms coming up to protect myself. My eyes scanned the shadows, ready to bite my tongue if they appeared.

  “Hehe. None know what I am, and I can’t say, but it easily slips off your tongue. How interesting. Oh, how interesting. Yes. I am that." She giggled like a girl, an odd sound coming from her. "You found your way to escape fate's control, and I found mine.”

  Her words made it clear they hadn't raised her.

  “I didn’t find it." Calling for Gideon in my mind, I only felt relieved when the blue surface appeared. "I woke up like this.” Yet, it explained so much about my experience in my past life. I didn’t have Avea’s blessing, so I could marry and give birth to a son without dying.

  “There is no need to question it or think too deeply. Should we call it luck? I was also lucky. The death mark resonated with something buried deep in the South." She stroked the necklace like a pet she was fond of. "Without this mark, I wouldn’t have gotten my inheritance.”

  It was good she could think of it that way, but I couldn’t. Maybe it was because she had more time to accept it.

  “Do you want something from me?” I asked, wondering how to repay her.

  “Do you have anything I could want?” If looks could kill, I would be a distant memory. She looked me up and down, turning her nose up in disgust. “You are worse off than me." It was the truth, but it didn't feel good to hear that from a woman living in a hut in the slums. She spoke again, her voice low and tired. "Not everyone is kind, but not everyone is out to get you. I was curious, so I did. You are afraid of being abandoned or trapped, so much so that you deprive yourself of opportunities in a spectacular example of self-sabotage. Buck up and try to find a little joy, or else what’s the point of living?”

  I weighed my options and did something reckless or pointless. I couldn’t tell which. “Leave the North within the year. In the next three, you must leave Sargos. After that, flee the continent if possible.” I didn’t know what the Holy Nation would do to a necromancer they hadn't raised and collared since they were young.

  Her features looked shaken as she pushed to her feet. Her head tipped back, and her mouth opened, black gas billowing out. An unfamiliar language and voice spewed out on black miasma, but I could still understand. “Lankas declares a life debt owed to Jal for her words of truth. Lankas clears a debt of chaos from Amera, her fate of death broken. Lankas clears a life debt owed by Jal to the brother's three. One foot in the grave only to be taken out, Lankas laughs. Death is fair and unbiased, but the god is not. Lankas declares a boon owed to Jal. Seek a temple of the Silenced, but know gifts from death may be a blessing or a curse.” The old woman slumped like a puppet whose strings were cut.

  Fingers ghosted over the nape of my neck. An ice breath breathed on my neck. I closed my eyes, holding as still as possible. "Oveta." The voice whispered in my ear. There was a pressure in my mind, and my back naturally hunched forward. For a second, wails echoed through me, leaving me miserable and craving peace. My mind struggled to find reasons to live, lured by the sweet promise of nothing.

  It was only a moment, a breath, but it left me happy and miserable; angry and calm—as if I experienced my whole life from life to death in a heartbeat. I wanted to cry, but couldn't.

  Worn out, I lay on the floor.

  I thought I’d had enough for one day, but the old woman started shimmering, her body blurring and her features blurred.

  In seconds, she went from old to young but gave the feeling that something was off about her.

  The old woman was twice as shocked as me. Her hands roved over her face and skin.

  I cataloged the similarities and differences. Her hair no longer had streaks of gray, but the pink was closer to blood red. Her eyes were black and pupilless, having lost the characteristic red.

  [XXX revenge points awarded]

  [X strands of Divine Qi collected]

  I ignored Gideon, at any other point I would have rejoiced to hear from him, but what was happening in front of me was too shocking.

  Two red gazes collided over the rotten floor of a dilapidated shack. I saw fear in the old woman’s eyes and wondered if mine mirrored hers.

  God.

  We stood in the presence of a god.