Lanie Bross: Fates

What was it that Rhys had said about time? That it was fluid. That it flowed like water.

Thinking of Corinthe brought a familiar ache. She should be here with him. She would be someday; he’d promised her.

“How’s she doing?” a hushed voice asked from behind him.

Luc turned and moved out of the room, careful to close the door quietly behind him.

“Better,” he assured his dad. “She ate a little bit of soup when she woke up this last time.”

His dad smiled, but it looked forced, and it did nothing to hide the shaking in his hands or the sweat that beaded on his face and neck. He looked sickly. Since realizing that his kids were nowhere to be found during the earthquake yesterday, he had stopped drinking. Now, twenty-four hours later, the withdrawal symptoms were catching up.

“Let’s get you some water,” Luc said as he ushered his dad down the short hallway to the kitchen. It still felt like a dream. To see his father trying to get clean and sober and acting like … well, acting like a father was an incredible relief.

The kitchen smelled like soup and garlic bread. Luc couldn’t remember the last time their dad had fixed anything besides a frozen burrito, but that was before.

Before Luc had brought a half-dead Jasmine back to their apartment.

Before Dad had come home and sworn things would be different from now on.

Before Jasmine had begun to heal and Luc had finally fallen into a deep and dream-filled sleep in which he saw Corinthe, smiling, leaning over to kiss him—and then snatched away suddenly by a wind.

He needed to find Rhys again. He had sworn he would. Now that he knew Jas was safe, it was time.

“I need to go out for a while,” Luc said. “If she wakes up, just make sure she eats some more soup. And she has to drink lots of water, too. I won’t be long.”

“I know what to do, Luc.” His father stared down at his hands. They were shaking. “I know … I know I haven’t been the best father to you, but I swear … I can do better.”

“It’s okay, Dad.” The last word felt foreign on Luc’s tongue, but in a good way. Dad. How long had it been since he’d said that?

“Do what you need to. I’ll be here in case Jas needs anything.” A spasm of pain passed across his father’s face.

“Thanks,” Luc said. He wanted to say something more, something deeper, but the words didn’t come. Maybe someday they would.

Luc left the apartment and made his way down the stairs. Miraculously, their building had suffered very little damage, aside from some bare patches on the ceiling where the plaster had crumbled.

A few blocks over, the buildings hadn’t fared so well. In the forty-eight hours since he and Jas had been back, heavy equipment had cleared the streets of the largest debris: sections of brick walls, massive chunks of concrete, tangled twists of metal that had once provided structural support. Glassless windows gaped at him, boarded-up storefronts lined the streets, and a thick layer of dirt covered everything. Luc’s boots crunched on broken glass as he walked past Fiend. Jasmine would be devastated that her favorite coffee shop was just a pile of rubble now.

Could Luc fix this, too, if he succeeded in going back in time?

He clutched the archer locket in his pocket as he walked. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he became lost in the Crossroad, with no one to help him. He just had to focus—then he would return to the Land of the Two Suns directly. At least, he hoped so.

Luc passed by the building twice before he realized it was the right one. This was where Corinthe had chased him after she’d attacked him on the beach—this was where everything had begun.

But now, the brick façade had fallen. Only a corner of the front door was visible. There was a no trespassing sign hanging from a broken piece of metal just above a shattered window.

Luc’s throat tightened. He had to get up on the roof—no matter what.

He climbed the pile of debris carefully, slipping a little on the splintered plaster, and looked once over his shoulder before slipping through the glassless window. He thumped clumsily to the floor inside, but no one called out to stop him.

The hall was patchy with light where the sun penetrated the half-collapsed walls. The stairwell had survived, thankfully, but Luc took the stairs carefully, testing his weight. They groaned loudly, but they held.

Finally, he reached the roof-access door and paused for a moment to catch his breath. But just for a moment. He was ready.

He pushed open the door and once again stood on the roof that had changed everything.

A cool breeze was sweeping off the bay. It felt good, like a murmur of reassurance. His gaze moved to the spot where he had stood and tried to reason with Corinthe.

Corinthe. Those violet eyes, the smell of flowers on her skin …

It was all for Corinthe.

He moved across the roof. But when he reached the spot where he had jumped, his stomach dropped to his feet. There was no laundry standing motionless despite the wind—just the fire escape, dangling at a strange angle from the roof and clanging against the side of the building every time the breeze picked up.

He scanned the area, trying to locate any weirdness, any anomaly that would indicate a Crossroad.

But everything looked normal. Damaged, but normal.

Could the quake have closed the Crossroad somehow?

Luc’s palms were sweating.

Impossible.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the locket he had taken from Rhys. The archer sprang up when he flipped the release and began spinning in circles. Tinny music filled the air.

Luc waited, but the archer only kept spinning.

Luc circled the roof, holding the archer above his head like a beacon, and still it kept spinning. A sick feeling started in his stomach. It clawed its way up into his throat.

It had to be there.

Maybe he had the wrong building. His memory from that night wasn’t a hundred percent clear. Corinthe had been chasing him with a knife, for Christ’s sake. It was possible he’d gotten it wrong. He closed his fist around the locket, feeling the cool metal in the palm of his hand before tucking it back into his pocket.

Just need to go back down and retrace my steps. That’s all.

But when he turned to go, something orange, buried in a bit of debris, caught his eye. He knelt and pushed bits of concrete out of the way. There, in almost the same spot it had fallen days earlier, was his Giants cap.

This was the right roof.

Luc straightened up slowly, filled with a sudden sense of hopelessness.

The sun had sunk below the horizon, and brilliant streaks of color painted the sky in bold strokes. The air had a violet haze to it. It reminded him of Pyralis.

Of Corinthe’s eyes when she had said that she loved him.

He had made a promise to her. And no matter what, he would keep it.

There were other Crossroads in his world. There had to be. He had emerged with Jasmine near the rotunda. Didn’t that prove it?

Crossroads everywhere …

He only needed to find one.

“I’m coming, Corinthe,” he whispered into the wind.

And for just a moment, he could almost swear he heard the wind whispering back.

First I would like to thank Lexa Hillyer and Paper Lantern Lit for this amazing opportunity. Writing Fates was so much fun, and I learned so much over the past year.

I’d also like to thank my editor at Delacorte Press, Wendy Loggia, for taking a good book and helping me turn it into a great book. No matter how many times I read back over the pages, I’m still amazed at how awesome they turned out.