Foretold: 14 Tales of Prophecy and Prediction by Carrie Ryan

Author:Carrie Ryan [Ryan, Carrie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0385741294
Publisher: Delacorte Books for Young Readers
Published: 2012-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

The Chosen One

SAUNDRA MITCHELL

I suppose there’s nothing to distinguish Vernal, except that it’s my home, and it has a prophecy. It starts like this:

There will come a day when Evil will pierce the Heart of the Green City. Questing through wilds and dark and peril, the Light-Forged Champion alone shall claim the Fabled Cup and restore the kingdom’s Heart, and with it, all our joy. Praise Vara.

There are also bits about three flaming witches, the Breathless Reaches, and an Earthenwork Defiler. It doesn’t sound like much, does it? Though admittedly, it only rhymes in the original tongue.

Nevertheless.

Like Vernal, there’s little to distinguish me, except that I am myself and no one else can claim that.

My father is the king, my half-sister, the crown princess: respectively, the head of the kingdom and its burgeoning heart. I am nothing. I rolled out of the wrong side of His Majesty’s sheets. Consequently, I can’t be acknowledged, but neither can I be entirely ignored.

I’m close to the court, but not in it; cared for but never coddled. The king is a wise man and knows enough to walk a balance with me. I have nothing to resent, and I never feel entitled to anything more than the pleasant position I have: my sister’s bed mistress. I dress her hair and hear her secrets, and I love her completely.

Everything about her is exquisite, from her coiled black hair to her curved ankles. Likewise her voice of spices and honey, which she uses to beckon me.

“Corvina—”

I glance over my shoulder, still busy polishing her bronze mirror. It takes a fine touch—too much sand and the face will go hazy. Too much acid and it will go dark. “Yes, Lucia?”

With a smile, and a net made of her dark lashes, she casts for me. “Come sit awhile. Come talk.”

“Oh no, I can’t. I’m slaving for you,” I say, with my own smile.

“I’ll rub your feet.”

I put the mirror aside and turn, scrubbing my hands clean on a cloth. Though I pretend reluctance, I have my sandals half-off before I reach her side.

“If you insist,” I say, and sprawl in her linens.

And she does, the crown princess of Vernal, rub my feet. She’s quite good at it, and cheerful, too. Hints of lavender and orrisroot waft around me, perfume from the herbs folded into the mattress. I taste bliss, and sigh with it.

“Yes, sweet?” she prompts.

I curl a hand over my head and beam at her. “Perfect.”

Lighting with that, Lucia doubles her effort and resists the temptation to tickle. Over my toes, she peeks at me and whispers, “I’ve figured out my Betrothal Quest.”

“Then tell me.”

“It will be a Decade of Conversations,” she says. She digs her thumbs into the arch of my foot, on purpose, I think, just to make me collapse. She’s pleased with herself, all but humming now.

Melting in dozy pleasure, I smile at the canopy and tell her, “Somehow, I don’t think Father’s going to let ten years pass before you pick a consort.”

“I knew I should have used another word,” she mutters.

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