Aureate Fates

16

"Plague or not, I will be no one's puppet," Erik drew his conclusion. He seemed to say it more to himself, to the spirit beside him, though he could not see him.

The old ghost, a king, she guessed, crossed his arms. He arched a brow in her direction as if to say, this is my replacement?

That was when she knew that this man was the former King of Verskyia. She inclined her head, and the man disappeared, leaving her with the right words to say.

"You are king," Thema said, letting her words be articulated with mighty truth. "When your feet graze the soil of Verskyia, you will know your fate. You will just know."

Erik remained silent for a long while, then said, "A crown gifts burdens."

              *_*_*_*

Marisol was one of the most radiant figures she'd ever seen. Her eyes were forces of nature, welded from the tears of gods. Even the brown of her skin seemed to glow as she was chained. Perhaps this was how fate decided to decorate its queen.

Light poured into the too-dark caravan to illuminate them all, and yet, Marisol shone the brightest. Thema smiled as she breathed in the wonderful smell of liberated air.

This was the first time she'd seen sunlight in years. She might have been restrained by the metal on her wrists, but with the comforting warmth on her face, she knew that fate was done damming her.

They had been traveling for exactly one day, and yet it felt like a lifetime. The sunlight in Verskyia was luxurious—its rays danced and sparkled.

Delphinia appeared before the entrance to the caravan. Sounds of scuffling, soldiers shuffling. "We must make haste," she said, clapping her hands twice. "Your people should not be left waiting."

Your people.

Thema realized she was still in her cherry red robe, the one that held the stains of sinners. If her people were to see her like this, what might they think of her?

Reese creaked open his eyes, and blinked against the sun. After a moment, he turned to her and threw her a sharp grin, as if to say, you're free.

What a feeling.

   —MARISOL—

Marisol's arm was gripped by a soldier as he led her down the steps of the caravan. Her feet wobbled on one of the steps initially, but the soldier quickly steadied her. She was stunned at the sure amount of sunlight that poured onto them. The land was utterly incandescent.

Each one of Marisol's thoughts ceased to exist as she set her first step on the ground. The soil of Verskyia. Her breath was suspended as she heard whispers, real whispers. They were endearing, and seemed to envelope her in a reassuring embrace.

This ground is true, it is the seal of fate.

She heard that phrase so loud in her mind that she nearly jumped. Marisol knew then that Delphinia may have been right after all, about their fate. And that meant—

"Your Majesty," the soldier that held her arm said, peering into her face with concern, "we must keep moving."

Marisol wasn't sure if she'd ever become accustomed to that title. Not even the whispers in the ground could reassure her of it.

Delphinia came into view, with a simple dress of orange. It was finely embroidered with crescents of the sun. The Oracle with milky eyes gave a long look to Marisol, from head to toe. Dissatisfied, she was.