Page 10 of To Touch A Silent Fury

He shrugged. “That’s alright, I’ve made my peace with it. I’m halfway done, and where I’m posted next might be worse.”

“Where could be worse than this?”

As if Eavenfold was listening, a sinking candle in the corner fell off its iron holder, the soft wax smattering into the pile of scattered books on the floor. I gestured to it.

“Lots of places,” he replied, and he looked so serious that it sobered me entirely. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“Is it still raining?”

“Yep.” He shook out the ends of his wet hair.

I grimaced.

“Tomorrow may be your last day on this island,” he said. “Last night, I saw us walking, and you were laughing, so I know you can be persuaded.”

“That sounds like a lie,” I grumbled.

Seth only smirked. He had the gift of foresight, though since he had no control over it, the Threads hardly knew what to do with him. So far, the dreams were solely of his own future, and often only hours or a few days ahead of the present. He frequently complained that if he wanted to see himself slaving away at his worn desk, he need only install a mirror.

Once he’d completed his Service Fate, he might see near futures affecting others or hold more agency into the visions of his own future to make some practical use of them in the present. If his foresight proved helpful enough, one of the royal houses of the Triad could offer him a role in their court. Worst case, some minor lord would be interested. A cushy life of advisorship awaited him no matter what the result, which was far more than any reassurance the Threads would giveme.

Nonetheless, I looked back at the stacks of paper on the desk and the dregs of the candle melted down to the wooden surface, its light clinging to the wick by sheer willpower alone. It looked nearly as tired as I felt.

I blew it out. “Let me get my cloak.”

He pulled his hand around from behind his back, holding my cloak aloft. “This one?”

I smiled as I took it from him, pulling the thick grey fabric around my shoulders, somehow still not fully dry from my dash across the courtyard over three hours ago.

“Can you test me?” I asked as we stepped out into the drizzle.

Seth groaned. “Really?”

“Please.”

The Ceremony wasn’t as splendid as it sounded. I would step into the room and place my wrist on a needle, and as my blood flowed out, each Thread would ask one question. That was all I would be privy to. Behind closed doors, my aptitude for each Fate would be discussed, they would deliberate on the path my Fate should be bound to, and grant me the condition to unlock my full abilities.

One of five Fates. Death, Knowledge, Acquisition, Marriage, and Service.

Some thought our Fates were chosen long before the Ceremony, but I had to believe it mattered. I had to believe there was some way to choose my own destiny.

“Why do they call Edrin ‘the Shepherd’?”

It was a droll question born of rote regurgitation of one of my least favourite tomes,The History of the Five.

The writings suggested that there was an innate sanctity to the number five, embedded into every part of life. That, I agreed with well enough. Five kingdoms, five fingers to a hand, five seasons to a year each with fifty days, and five years to a span. Though those who believed too directly in the teachings ofTheHistory of the Fivemight be simple enough to accept that Edrin, one of the so-called ‘Five Founders’, created this natural order. After all, in the allied Triad, namely the Scentlands, Sightlands, and Tastelands, it was akin to a foundational religious text. To me, learning my own history and that of the forgotten sixth Founder, Tavedwen, their version of our history felt reductive at best. The magic of fives was far more ancient than the quintuplet who once killed a monster.

Still, I delivered the answer with as much nuance as the Threads would permit. “Edrin is seen to this day as the guiding force of the Founders, known as the Five. He watched over the many lands, casting his foresight to help the Five eventually defeat the Oktorok. It is largely his legacy as a leader of flocks of men that granted him the title, though some suspect that before his founding of the Sightlands, he was a common sheep herder.”

Seth only nodded and asked another question as we trudged down the edge of a shrubbery leading to the main courtyard and gate. “What is it that makes the venison from the Scentlands taste so damned good?”

I shot a look at Seth. “What kind of question is that?”

“Is that what you’d say if Thread Groulin asked you that tomorrow?”

“He wouldn’t,” I replied.

“Humour me.”