Page 12 of Fate's Bane
Pedhri Clan Aradoc stood just as Hadhnri ran into the roundhouse.
“Father,” she said, running up to him. “There’s been an accident. One of the herald’s men.” She glanced toward the herald but finished looking into her father’s eyes. “He—was injured.”
The herald puffed himself with alarm. “Injured how? By whom? Bring him at once and see to his wounds!”
This time, it was me Hadhnri glanced at first. Then she thrust back her shoulders and raised her chin. “Father, the herald’s man is dead.”
Pedhri Clan Aradoc stilled. It was more than ill-luck for a guest to die on your land. “You’re certain?”
Hadhnri nodded.
Aradoc-Father sprinted to the training grounds, the herald flapping behind him. A few others followed, either to help or to nose like buzzards at the carcass for their gossip.
Hadhnri came to me where I sat on a bench alone. Her face was pale as ash, her freckles stark against her skin.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The one who grabbed you. He was sparring with Gunni and of course he was being a dog’s whole arse—it was the gorget, Agnir.” Hadhnri stared at the ground in front of her, eyes glassy.
“What do you mean?” But already I felt the answer creep up, the way you know a cloud has covered the sun without looking to the sky.
“It—choked him. First, he just gagged a little, and Gunni was able to slap him on the arse, but then he didn’t stop and he fell to his knees and his face turned purple. Gunni and the others tried to help him, but the more they tried to unclasp it, the tighter it got, and hiseyes, the way they—” Hadhnri covered her own eyes with her palms.
“We did that.” My voice was faint with horror.
When Hadhnri opened her eyes, though, when she looked at me, the glassiness was gone. A glint of satisfaction mingled with the fear. “We did. Our Making did this.”
I held my hands out in front of me, then flattened them against my thighs, as if they were weapons I could sheathe.
“Then we won’t do it again.”
“What?” Hadhnri pulled me around by the shoulder. “It kept you safe!” She leaned closer and murmured fervently, “Think of what else we could do!”
If it was ill-luck for a guest to die, it was worse luck for it to be a murder.
But what was luck, and who did it belong to?
“He wasn’t supposed to die.”
I thought of the spring in the fates-bane’s wood. Our muttered curses in the workshop.
“He deserved it.” Here was Hadhnri the warrior, the clan chief’s daughter passing judgment. Her voice dispassionate, her face unmoved.
“Hadhnri, what if this—this thing comes from the fates-bane? We should leave it alone.”
“What if it does? What if it is a gift? What if—” Hadhnri swallowed, attempting to convince herself. “What if the fates-bane is on our side?”
I scoffed. “Do you remember Fanig’s little brother? Just a babe, and smothered in the night by a twist of the blankets? Tell me that wasn’t the luck-hound. Or,” I continued over Hadhnri’s protests, “when Torvin’s father went hunting in the Baneswood and never came out?”
“Tempting fate is what he was doing. You can’t be mad if it calls back to you.”
“And the babe?” I knotted her tunic in my fist to rein her. To keep from losing her. “Us? Arewetempting fate? Do we wantthaton our side?”
Hadhnri scowled. She had no retort for that. She was halfway to covering her eye to avert the fates-bane’s gaze when she realized and lowered her hand in a fist.
“It saved you,” she muttered. “Like we wanted.”
“What if next time it’s someone else? Someone in the clan? We can’t control fate any more than we control the floods.”
