A Fate of Wrath & Flame (Fate & Flame 1)

It is far from here.

I calm my breathing. “What other places are there? Like, on the other side of this Endless Sea?”

“Espador and Udral, but we don’t concern ourselves with them. They are too far for benefits of regular trade.”

There’s no way people in North America or the other continents would not know of this place. It’s too big to be missed.

I slide into the empty chair to hide the fact that my legs are wobbling.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Zander mocks, but he’s watching me closely. After a moment, he offers, “You are suddenly rather pale, and I would prefer you not collapse on my table. I have work to do.” His eyes flicker to my shoulder where my scars are concealed. “Should I call for Wendeline?”

What could the caster tell me about sending people to other worlds with magic? Perhaps everything. And perhaps admitting that I’m not from this world is precisely what will make Zander decide I am, in fact, not more valuable to him alive than dead, daaknar or not.

I shake my head. I’ll gather that information some other way. For now, I should learn as much as I can from this map while Zander seems willing to share information. “Have you been here?” I point to Seacadore.

“Yes. Islor can produce most everything it needs on our lands, but there are things we enjoy. Their latest ruler, Empress Roshmira, is an especially keen partner in commerce.”

Commerce like the ingredients for Wendeline’s salve, I imagine. I tap Mordain. “And Wendeline’s from here, right?”

He stares at me without answering for so long that I begin to fear I’ve earned the priestess a flogging for admitting even that much about herself.

“Yes, she is,” he finally confirms, his tone calm, conversational. “As are all casters.”

“They’re all from this island?”

“No, but they are sent there at an early age to receive their training. Afterward, they are required to serve Ybaris.”

“But not Islor?” Like Wendeline and Margrethe?

His lips twist. “Ybaris does not allow them passage through the rift to come here.”

“Why not?” My questions are tumbling from my mouth without touching a scale first to decide if my curiosity might be dangerous.

“Because Ybaris does not want Islor having access to any of the casters’ power.”

The “why” is on the tip of my tongue, but I sense Zander’s irritation growing, so I hold it and refocus on the map, tracing the path from the island, through Ybaris, to where the cartographer illustrated a long, jagged canyon across the mountains. Great Rift is written across it. Wendeline wasn’t talking about a great rift as some sort of schism in their relationship. Or at least, not entirely.

This Great Rift is a literal split between the two kingdoms.

The only viable passage across on land is through an ominous sounding Valley of Bones, but he’s saying they’re not permitted to go through there.“So Wendeline got here by ship, then?” I follow the map south from Mordain, through the Grave Deep.

“Not that way. In two thousand years, no one has ever survived that sailing route. They traveled across Ybaris, into Skatrana, boarded a ship from Westport”—his long index finger traces the path to a port city in the far west—“to Seacadore, and then crossed the water to our port.”

I see now that Cirilea is on the southwest side. A channel cuts into the land, leading ships directly to it. “That’s a long way to travel to get here.” Wendeline did say as much.

“And I appreciate her for it.”

“Enough to flog her just for talking to me?” It slips out before I can stop myself.

“You forget yourself,” he warns through gritted teeth.

I bite my tongue and study the smaller details on the map—the towns and castles. Lyndel, where that man told me to run, is north, past the dense forest, protected on the north and west by the mountain ridge, in the south by hills. To the east is a great expanse of land where the towns are numerous. “What is this? The Plains of Aminadav,” I read out loud.

That question earns me an eyebrow twitch—of surprise or amusement, I’m unsure. “That is the reason your father wanted this union in the first place.”

“He wanted land?” My arranged marriage to this guy is over property?

“We would never give him any part of Islor, not even for you. But he wanted what the plains produces, for your people.” Zander lifts a leg and settles on the side of the table. It’s an oddly casual pose and different from what I pictured—him sitting stiffly on his throne. “The plains have the most fertile soil in both our realms. The crops harvested there are plentiful, year after year. It easily sustains all of Islor. Ybaris, on the other hand, has boglands and dead woods. It’s overcrowded and has been plagued with blights and disease for centuries. Your kingdom cannot sustain itself for much longer, no matter how much of the casters’ magic you wield to try to fix it.”