Page 11 of Fate Promised

Juri guffawed. “Not a chance, you’re too ugly.”

Kyril ran his hand over his head and frowned. “We look similar.”

“No, your muzzle is more pointed, like a jackal.”

Kyril turned away toward the ocean, but Juri caught him running his hand over his muzzle as if checking its length. The corner of Juri’s mouth twitched. Since when was Kyril interested in females? All the times they’d journeyed to the vae lands, where Juri had spent time with a vae female or two, Kyril hadn’t shown the slightest bit of interest.

Kyril turned back, eyes narrowed. “You sure the vanishing isle showed up here? I mean, you saw it in a bowl. I think this is an excuse to watch over your village again.”

Juri pointed at the fog, its heavy mist turning the air above the water into sludge. “I’d know this coast anywhere. Out near the lighthouse is where the island showed up in the scrying bowl.”

“The vanishing isle is complete bollocks. Like most of your stories.”

Juri decided not to point out that whenever he told stories in the vulk den, Kyril was always the first to sit down to listen, and when it was his turn to request a tale, Kyril asked for long ballads about warriors who fought battles on and off the field to gain their one true love. The romantic ballads.

Juri ran his hand through his hair. “The vanishing isle is less a story and more … part history, and part cautionary tale.” He frowned. “It’s said powerful shapeshifting sorcerers lived on the vanishing isle a long, long time ago. Their blood possibly runs in the veins of any peltwalker born with magical abilities.”

Townsfolk spread out along the beach, lighting small bonfires or shoving long torches into the sand, making the entire beach alight in a warm, red glow. The crowd ringed around the scarecrows, waiting for the burning. A pack of boys raced by, playing tag through the group. His brothers weren’t with them. Juri scanned the crowd. He didn’t see his mother either.

They’d been there earlier for the judging. And she’d been there too. Standing so close to where he hid in the forest, he could hear her speaking to her friend.

After he and Kyril took care of the necromancers, he’d visit his family. He only stopped by during the darkest hours of night, making sure no one knew he was around, but his wee brothers enjoyed waking up to see him.

Once he’d become a vulk, it was verboten for him to maintain contact with his family. The ways of the vulk were ancient and secret, and once a vulk took his permanent form, he was supposed to consider his life born anew, leaving the old behind forever.

He hadn’t exactly followed that rule. And he’d had Kyril join him because he needed a lookout to make sure no spawn or other enemies saw how often he returned to Ryba.

Kyril still stared out at the bay. “Where are those sorcerers now? Were they cursed during the Deciding War and tossed in Peklo?”

Juri shook his head. “I don’t think so. Something happened afterward.” He frowned. “It’s said their leader betrayed an oath … or he betrayed someone. It isn’t quite clear. He was punished, and the isle sank into the ocean. The rest of the people scattered throughout Ulterra. Hoyt mentioned Herskala thought he might be descended from them.”

Kyril growled. “Is that in any of the tales?”

“No.” As they’d run up the coast to Ryba, he’d thought about every tale mentioning the vanishing isle or those who’d lived there. Not one mentioned their power.

Kyril shifted. “Seems ridiculous to raise an island to get a bit of magic.” He stretched, flexing his claws. “Who needs magic when you’ve got claws and fangs?”

Juri nodded. “Well, when you’re a simpering little rodent like Hoyt, I guess you’ll do whatever. Including some incantation that will probably kill him. But it doesn’t matter, we’ll find him before he raises that island. Let’s go. We’ve stood here long enough.”

Before he could take a step, a familiar face threaded through the crowd, and his heart lurched. Triska, still wearing her white fisherman’s sweater and black trousers tucked into boots but without her sou-wester hat, walked with the female in the odd coat she’d stood on the beach with earlier. Both of them smiled at something. Ten steps, maybe twelve, and he could be at her side. See her face up close for the first time in ages.

“I changed my mind. The entire town is here,” he said. “Let’s stay a little longer and keep a lookout over them.”

Kyril growled again. “If they’re all here, it gives us a chance to roam through town and see if we can find anything.”

He had a point. Although with all of Ryba’s magicwielders threading the stench of magic through the town, it would be tough to scent something that didn’t seem right.

Triska walked along the sand, her face golden in the fire’s glow. The most graceful vision he’d ever seen. She and her companion stopped along the outer edge of people and turned to watch the mayor as he descended the boardwalk steps with a large torch.

Kyril jerked his chin toward the beach. “I knew you were waiting to see her. Guess we’re not moving.” He sighed. “You’ve never talked to her, and you’ve told me you never intend to, yet you force me to come here with you over and over so you can check on her.”

Juri’s hands fisted. “I promised to watch out for her. At least that promise I can keep.”

Kyril shook his head. “Whatever. Well, soon you can give it up. You heard her friend earlier—she has a dreamy suitor. Let him keep her safe.”

Juri’s vision turned pure scarlet, and his claws extracted their full six inches, nicking his palms. Warm blood welled and dripped down his fingers. Triska was engaged to him. She was his.

He gulped in air, and his vision faded back to normal.

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