A Kiss of Fate

Chapter 4

Ayana set out at the break of dawn, escorted by Iezabel and two steadfast guards from the Black Citadel, elites from Gregor's personal Guard. The freezing winds showed no sign of subsiding and raged on, howling and screaming like frenzied wraiths. Ragged clouds hurried overhead, tinged with a shade of gold from the rising sun.

It was the third day of Kilayel, first month of winter. Their horses plodded along the snow covered road, wisps of condensation trailing behind them. The saddlebags sagged with supplies and rations they had packed for the journey. The thick fur cloak which enclosed Ayana's sleek turquoise dress and the woolen scarf wrapped around her neck did little to shield her from the frigid blizzard.

A couple of leagues later, they diverted to a beaten game trail that led into the woods of Zelien, the great forest surrounding the fortress of Argent. A chilly wind shrieked past the desolate jungle, hurling flakes of snow to the ground. The trees on either side swayed and creaked like rotten skeletons, laid to waste by the warring tempests. Snakelike streams and rivulets gorged a mighty river that charged through the woods, a brute force of nature battling against the rocks and boulders in its path.

"River Risetta," Iezabel stated. "We'll follow its course." She gave Ayana a questioning glance. "It will guide us to Theos."

Ayana nodded. "As you say."

They followed the treacherous trail as it meandered with the river. The monotonous crunch of iron shod hooves on ice pulled Ayana into a trance-like lull. Her breath came in short bursts of white vapor, swirling and twisting into wispy clouds. She pulled the cloak taut and wrapped her quivering arms around her chest, hoping for mercy from the ruthless Isei Ilvi. Before long, the dark line of trees had faded into the horizon behind them.

"Well, if this snow isn't a nuisance," Iezabel muttered, tugging the hood down to her brow.

Their winding path led them through steep ravines and treacherous swamps, impeding their pace. Days passed as their horses trudged on, fighting the fury of nature. The short breaks in between barely rejuvenated their strength. The skies changed from gravel gray to pale blue, and from dying gold to purple tinged blackness. Rarely did the sun or the moon reveal themselves, choosing to hide behind the leaden clouds.

On the sixteenth day of Kilayel, around mid-afternoon, they came across a small fishing village, a cluster of brown buildings on the western banks of Lake Westria. Its water shimmered like an endless pane of glass, quiet as a crypt and clear as moonshine.

Ayana pulled on the reins near a grassy knoll. Lush and beautiful land surrounded the secluded settlement, most of it cultivated into wheat fields and vegetable patches. White smoke rose from the chimneys, weaving silvery trails toward the sky.

"It is better if we keep out of the village," Iezabel said. "What do you think, my lady?"

"I am thinking of a hot bath and a soft bed," Ayana answered. "I smell like a stray canine."

Iezabel sighed. "And I'm thinking keeping you safe is more important than your unnecessary needs."

"Will it hurt to spend one night under a proper roof?"

"Yes, it will," Iezabel replied. "Especially if the walls are surrounded by armed men trying to kill you." She glanced around the countryside, before pointing at a belt of trees that rimmed the lake. "We'll set up camp near that shore. It is well hidden by the beech-maples."

"And I am certain it is very cosy too," Ayana muttered.

Iezabel urged her horse forward. "Yes, the dense canopy will protect us from the snow. It's good enough to spend the night."