A fate so wicked into th.., p.1
A Fate so Wicked: Into the Shadows, Book One, page 1
A Fate so Wicked
First published by Gilded Ink Press 2024
Copyright © 2024 by K.E Austin
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Acknowledgments
About the Author
In loving memory of my mom.
May this story reach you in the stars.
12/30/59 - 2/3/21
One
The hushed whispers of urban legends circulated amongst the crowd as they pulled Lilian Quelling’s pale, lifeless body out of the Dolorem River. With her sopping brown hair covering half of her bloodied face, she was nearly unrecognizable as they laid her onto the shore.
Trembling, I brought my hand to my mouth.
I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t speak.
Shock wrapped around my rigid spine, squeezing the air from my lungs as I watched the doctor’s futile attempts to resuscitate her. It was too late.
Lilian was dead.
The hoard of onlookers grew larger by the second, shouldering past me to glimpse the fifth person who’d drowned this year.
“The fae are out of control!” a man shouted.
“When is this madness going to end?”
“Soon we won’t be safe in our own homes!” someone else cried.
I tuned their conversations out. They didn’t care that she was someone’s daughter. Someone’s friend. No one knew her name—they only cared to satiate their morbid curiosity.
She happened to be the only person I’d trusted in Wendover. The one person who hadn’t cared who my mother was.
My hand dropped at the realization she was none of those things anymore.
The crowd hovered over her body feigning their condolences in a covert attempt to gossip and spread fear. No one had seen a faerie in over five hundred years. The iron-laden river prevented them from crossing over. Yet, as I stood there, struggling to catch my breath and quell the tears from welling over, I couldn’t help but notice the twisted panic that festered in my chest. What if they were right? What if the iron levels were failing?
“Elowyn discovered her wedged between the rocks about an hour ago,” the watchman told the coroner. “It doesn’t appear to be an accident. I suspect foul play.”
Everyone fell silent as they spoke. Whispers of the fae evoked pursed lips and judgment.
They gaped at me openly: the illegitimate child of the disgraced lady-in-waiting, Deirdre Rosewood. Lovely. I didn’t need to hear their thoughts to know they’d run with that bit of information—gossiping about my mother and me was the vultures’ favorite form of entertainment. Nothing about our lives remained off-limits to them. Not even my mother’s illness.
I squeezed through the sea of bodies, thumbing the ring around my index finger. Closer and closer to Lilian’s mangled corpse. I hugged my arms across my middle to shield my skin from the crisp spring air and conceal the involuntary tremors that riddled me. My body didn’t feel like my own as I approached, each step too heavy. Too fast. Like I was in a dream and my mind was asleep.
The coroner shifted on her feet as I neared, trying but failing to conceal the wince on her face. She cleared her throat before turning to the watchman. “Would you mind informing Mrs. Quelling we’ve located her daughter and to come to the morgue right away—”
Their conversation faded away.
My ring ceased all movement.
I stared at Lilian. Her once bright brown irises were now glazed over—wide with terror—as she stared off into some otherworldly place, her arms and legs bent in an unnatural position.
I pulled my gaze away from Lilian and looked at the coroner.
“It’s almost nightfall, and we need to get her back before curfew.” Concern pulled at the coroner’s thick eyebrows, yet something stern under the surface of her disposition put me on edge.
There my friend lay, her young life abruptly ended, and all they cared about was how to dispose of her as quickly as possible.
I rested my hands on my knees to stop the world from spinning. This couldn’t be happening. It’d almost be comical if it weren’t so tragic.
Stars forbid anyone be out past dusk in fear of a faerie coming to snatch them away.
The curfew King Edgar had implemented ten years ago did little to prevent these drownings and disappearances. In fact, it prevented nothing. Every year, the Dolorem River claimed countless lives. Dozens of children and adults, even household pets and cattle, still vanished without a trace. It was hard not to wonder if the fae were truly to blame or if they were a convenient scapegoat to maintain order without an uprising.
“Are you okay?” The coroner’s voice sounded far away as she turned her attention to me, the ground swaying under my feet.
No, I should have checked on her sooner! I wanted to scream. She had come there to paint every Wednesday morning and every afternoon, and, like clockwork, I’d meet her to grab a bite to eat at the farmers market. The one day I slept in an extra hour. The one day I took the longer, scenic route.
A cold sweat licked my skin; the world spun out of control.
I darted over to the willow tree—everyone’s attention on me as I spewed up the contents of my stomach on the yellow and white daffodils.
The coroner approached me like I was an untamed animal, holding her palms up by her chest.
No.
I shook my head, unwilling—unable—to listen to whatever tumbled off her lips. The murmur of the crowd rose an octave, and all I could hear were their condescending remarks. Their unnecessary opinions. The venom that hid behind charming tones.
With each step the doctor took toward me, the harder it became to breathe, and I retreated. Stumbling until my back was flush against another tree several feet away, my vision blurred with tears.
“I—I’m sorry. I must go…” I tripped over a root, barely regaining my balance before skirting around the trunk and taking off in the opposite direction.
Away from the river.
Away from the vultures.
Away from Lilian.
Lacking any real destination, I only knew that I needed to get as far away from there as possible.
So, I ran.
My legs burned, and I flew through the dense woods, faltering as I dodged a low-hanging branch that missed my head by inches, only to careen into a thorny bush.
Blood trickled down my arm. Stains of scarlet mushroomed where droplets hit my white dress, but I pushed forward, continuing deeper into the forest. I needed to get away. My lungs threatened to catch fire the harder and faster I ran, but I pushed through it. Ignored it. Relished in the pain as my mind emptied, and I concentrated on the uneven ground in front of me. The only thing that existed was the next step, the next breath. All the pent-up frustration, anger, and sadness broke free with each stride. Running was meditative—my escape from everything. From everyone.
When I reached a clearing, I collapsed onto the grass—the exposed skin on my arms and legs itching from the coarse sod beneath me.
I didn’t care.
My body buzzed with energy as I rolled onto my back, my pulse slowing while I caught my breath.
“Safe. I’m safe, just breathe,” I whispered.
A soft breeze rustled the trees, cooling my flushed face as birds chirped and sang around me. I soaked it up—pretending for a minute that everything was normal.
That Lilian wasn’t dead.
And my mother wasn’t sick.
Wellington Castle’s clock tower echoed in the distance, bringing with it memories of a carefree childhood, and I hummed along to the deep, brassy chimes. Here, I could be whoever I wanted to be. Get lost in nature and forget about all my responsibilities. I knew I needed to get home, face reality—be the dutiful daughter I was—and make sure my mother took her nightly medicine.
But I soaked up the sun a while longer, mesmerized by th
I closed my eyes for a few more moments.
According to legend, five hundred years ago, King Broderick II persecuted all magical beings for a decade-long famine that had killed hundreds of our people. Believing magic was responsible for The Great Blight, neighbor turned on neighbor, and villagers began killing anyone suspected of wielding it.
After years of bloodshed, human and fae emissaries finally reached an agreement. The Iron Accords were formed, and fae were banished to Faerway.
To cross the river, under the Accords, meant death.
I struggled to find the sense in why the fae would violate the Accords or how, after a decade, there wasn’t a single reputable sighting of those ethereal beings. Some argued it was because they used magic—glamours—to make themselves invisible. Others claimed it was due to mind control. I didn’t know what to believe. I’d been more concerned about caring for my sick mother these past two years than worrying myself with baseless hearsay. However, after today—after seeing the fear frozen in Lilian’s eyes—there was no denying something untoward was going on in Wendover.
It was just before dusk by the time I made it home. I’d succumbed to my exhaustion and drifted off to sleep, only to startle awake hours later, shaking and disheveled.
The smell of fresh cinnamon enveloped me as I pushed open the solid cherry wood door to our cottage, relishing the warmth of the crackling fireplace. I soaked it up and savored the comfort only home could provide.
Our tiny cottage was tucked away in the countryside, surrounded by rolling hills and vast farmland miles away from the city—where an exiled lady-in-waiting and her bastard daughter were fit to live. Filled to the brim with eccentric, mismatched furniture, and random knick-knacks, it wasn’t much to look at, but it was the only home I’d ever known.
In fact, the threadbare textile rug in front of the robust fireplace covered the bloodstain on the hardwood from where my mother had given birth to me.
As I entered the foyer, I made sure to remove my mud-soaked shoes and set them aside. Then, I found the usual spot for my satchel and settled it on the wooden barrel, which was serving as an improvised table. The actions were familiar—comforting.
“Mother, I’m home!” I called.
A light shuffle sounded from the bedroom as she made her way into the hall, her sunken cheeks lifting into a forlorn grimace when she saw me. “Sweet child, come here. What’d you do to your arm?” She frowned.
I tried to keep it together. Tried to be strong so she wouldn’t worry about me, but the second she held out her arms, I was no longer the brave woman I pretended to be but a scared little girl who needed her mother. My lip quivered as she scuffled over and wrapped me in her bony arms, her light floral perfume caressing my cheek.
She’d always been smaller than me—my height, she told me, came from my father—but the difference between us was becoming glaringly apparent as her illness consumed her. It pained me to see her wither away.
“She’s dead.” My words came out in choppy breaths as hot tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Who child? What happened?”
“Lilian … she’s—she’s dead,” I sobbed. “I found her in the river.” My arms clung to her tighter. “Oh, my stars, seeing her like that—so stiff—I can’t get it out of my head. It’s all my fault, if only I’d gotten there sooner.”
My mother had already sacrificed so much, and now she was putting her physical pain aside to comfort me. The knot in my stomach tightened. The grief and guilt collided in an internal war that would leave me as the only casualty.
When the royals discovered she was pregnant, the kingdom had thrown itself into madness with speculation. A lady-in-waiting was supposed to be pure. Meant to save themselves for someone in the royal court. When she had refused to disclose who my father was, they exiled her. Leaving her—us—to fend for ourselves. To this day, years after his death, she kept him a secret. Even from me. All for the sake of protecting his name. His leafy gold ring shimmered under the light, catching my eye.
I looked at it now. Over her shoulder. I wore on my index finger, set with small amethysts, the only clue I had as to who he was. A physical reminder of his absence, even in name.
She rubbed the back of my head, smoothing my hair as the tears dwindled away. “Don’t blame yourself, Elowyn. You couldn’t have done anything to prevent what happened.”
“But what if I could? What if I was only a few minutes too late?”
“The what-ifs will drive you insane, child, believe me.” She pushed a stray piece of hair from my face, her amber eyes searching mine. “You can’t save everyone. This realm is a wicked place.”
Swiping at my cheeks, I nodded, needing to talk about something else. “Have you eaten anything today?” I asked, in a poor attempt to change the conversation. She and I both knew her appetite was nonexistent these days, but I needed to busy my hands and distract myself from the turmoil of my mind.
“Of course I ate, child. And yes, before you ask, I already took my medicines, too.” Her tone was soft, if not filled with a light scolding.
I huffed my disbelief as I padded over to the kitchen—maybe if she didn’t always act like a child, I wouldn’t have to treat her as such. Ignoring her lies, I fished around the icebox to see what I could make.
My hands jittered, but I clenched my fists in an attempt to ward them off. If I was going to make it through the rest of this horrible day—the next few weeks—I needed to stay busy.
So, if hyper focusing on caring for my mother brought me a semblance of sanity, then that’s what I’d do. “I can heat some soup from yesterday?”
“No, I told you I was fine.” She waved her hand as she shuffled to her bedroom, signaling the end of the discussion. “I’m going to lie back down. Quit worrying about me.”
Gone was the once vibrant woman who danced and sang around the house. She’d been replaced with a hollow shell of her past self. Medicines provided temporary relief, but the doctors told us there was no cure. I held onto hope that things would turn around, but each new day looked bleaker than the last.
After placing a pot of leftover soup on the cast-iron stove and setting the flame, I left it to simmer while I washed up and prepared for bed.
Drops of blood stained the sink as I cleaned the cut on my arm. Images of Lilian flashed in my mind, and I steadied my erratic breathing, trying to shove them away. I knew there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent her death, but it didn’t stop the sense of dread that settled on top of my chest, turning my skin to ice. I splashed my face with water and glanced in the mirror, noting the dark, tired circles. Being my mother’s caretaker, the weight of today, all of it was carved into my features, slowly draining the life from me.
The soup had warmed by the time I finished changing. With each bowl that I poured for us, the kitchen became infused with the rich and delicious combination of garlic and onion, creating a savory blend that made my stomach growl.
My mother pretended to be asleep when I entered her room—an attempt to avoid dinner—and a usual occurrence that grated on my nerves.
“Not tonight, lady.” Purposefully allowing them to clash together, I placed the bowls on her bedside table and shuffled through the clutter for the serving tray. The noise would wake the stubbornness from her. “You need as much energy as you can get, and the only way you’re going to get that is if you eat.” I grabbed her hand and helped her up despite her reluctance and placed the bowl on the tray in front of her.
“Since when did you become so bossy?”
“Since the day I learned how to talk, now get eating.”
“Of course.” She huffed a laugh before launching into a coughing fit, her face turning bright red as she struggled for air.
I combed through her dresser in search of the smelling salts, located them under a pile of papers, and then held one under her nose.
Within seconds, her shoulders relaxed, and she took a full breath.
“You need to quit moving these.” I set them on her bedside table, next to the nightly medicine she allegedly took. “Why do you insist on letting yourself suffer for no reason?”
