Legends of Sora (Book 1: Fate & Fortune)

1 - An Awkward Invitation

"The ships sail, the wheel turns; if the Fayts fail, the world burns."

-Herwick Drassiter

THE NIGHT BEFORE.

Breeze and Valeo gaped up at the looming structure they'd sworn to infiltrate . . . and stare was almost all they did. They had only ever planned up until this moment. Now that it was looking right back at them, it was a sobering slap to the face. In richer garments than either of them had ever seen—much less worn—they hesitated on the threshold of what dared come next.

"Second thoughts, second thoughts," Valeo muttered, trying to pin down his nerves. "Maybe robbing the richest person in five hundred miles is a bit . . . wouldn't say stupid . . . but . . . ill-advised. Even for us." He looked at Breeze beside him. She merely shrugged.

Valeo gestured to the score of soldiers, straight-backed and grim-faced, flanking both sides of the broad gate.

"And you're sure these invitations are real? Because if they aren't, we're about to make some fast new friends."

Breeze smacked him in the side of the head. "I told you ten times already. As long as we don't stamp them with 'stolen,' we're golden."

She spoke each word with her hands, never uttering a sound, but Valeo understood every word. Breeze nearly always spoke this way, an intricate Evenglass sign language centuries old and passed down by her father. The only useful thing the bastard had ever given her, really. Despite having known her for almost a decade, Valeo had only heard her speak aloud a handful of times.

With her thin, angular face and eyes, Breeze looked every bit an Evenglass. Years of running the streets and roofs with Valeo had given her a hard form that was graceful and toned. She wore her hair in a tight tail, but it was black, not the silver of a true Evenglass. She tugged self-consciously at her violet gown, the fine fabric the exact same shade as her eyes—marking her for what she was, at least by half: Rageborn.

Twilight had fallen. They were late. They needed to make a move. Valeo strode up to the gate, his buckled boots pinching his feet with every stride. He reached forward and rang a large, golden bell, the soldiers' eyes never leaving him.

"It just seems too convenient," Valeo murmured, mind still on the tickets. "We've been trying to get in here for years. Now all of sudden luck strikes and we're in."

Breeze shrugged. "It's often the way of things. A hundred half-baked plans thrown to the frogs when a ticket scalper comes along with just what you need."

Valeo sighed, resigned. "Not much we can do about it now. Someone's coming."

An impeccably dressed attendant, with a nose that put any bird of prey to shame, came scrambling to the gate. His annoyance flowed seamlessly into apologetic bows as he peered down at Breeze's invitations.

The attendant ushered them through a high iron fence interlaced with ivy and led across a lush lawn to the most extravagant house Valeo had ever seen. Calling it a house was a grievous understatement. It was bigger than most castles.

The Magistrate's villa sat alone on a cliff overlooking the harbor town of Heartstone, where Valeo and Breeze had lived most of their lives. It was a beautiful combination of molded wood and worked stone, flowing together with such tremendous detail that it must have taken decades to complete. Easily five stories high, with crenulated towers capping each wing, it was part palace and all fortress.