Devlin's Luck by Patricia Bray Page A

had chosen death only to find that his own hands had betrayed him. All his strength of mind and will had been insufficient to wrest control away from the strange Geas that insisted he must live, in service of his oath.
    It was not that he feared remaining alive. But what more would the oath demand from him? His body was no longer his to command. At any moment the Geas might assert itself. The knowledge was like a great pressing weight upon him. How could any man live with such a burden? No wonder the Chosen were killed so easily. They must have welcomed death, knowing that only death would free them from this ghastly bondage.
    But death was unlikely to find him in this chamber room. He would have to leave here to seek it.
    Rising from the chair, he crossed over to the wardrobe. The servants had removed the discarded clothing from his predecessors, and filled the chest with finely made shirts and trousers dyed a light gray color. A uniform, of sorts. He scorned these in favor of the plainer garb that he had purchased in the market.
    Leaving his quarters, he realized that he was hungry. But he had no idea where to get food. Did they expect him to fend for himself? Or was there a common meal served that he was expected to join?
    He left his room and made his way down the stairs to the ground floor. As he entered the main passageway, a woman walked by dressed in garb similar to the servants he had seen yesterday.
    “Mistress,” Devlin said. “Can you tell me where I might break my fast?”
    “New here, aren’t you?”
    He nodded.
    She shook her head in apparent dismay. “And fresh off the farm. What the palace is coming to when we have to hire such, I don’t know. Still you’ll be of no use to anyone till you’re fed. Just go down the passage here till the very end, then turn left. The common room is midway down the hall on your right. It’s late, but if you hurry there’ll still be something for you to eat.”
    “I thank you for your kindness.”
    The common room proved easy enough to find. As he approached he heard folk talking, and the dull sounds of metal utensils scraping against wooden bowls. The room itself was enormous, easily the size of a guild hall. The room was only partly full. Men and women sat together at plain wooden tables. Some were talking, others were consuming their food with frantic haste. Many wore the livery of castle servants, while a few appeared dressed for outdoor labor.
    Food of all sorts was laid out in bowls and pans on a table near the door. Devlin filled his trencher with something that looked to be made mostly out of eggs, and then added a chunk of bread. He poured himself a mug of kava, then took his food over to one of the empty tables. No one seemed to pay him any attention, so he settled himself down to eat.
    He listened, but those few bits of conversation he heard made no sense. Someone named Emer was in trouble for having shirked her duties during the festival. A nobleman named Bozarth was in disgrace, having gambled away something while in his cups. There was no mention of a new Chosen One.
    In the distance a bell sounded. From a table across the room he heard someone exclaim, “We’re late!” A group of youngsters rose hastily and left, but the older ones stayed seated.
    By the time he was drinking his second mug of kava, few diners remained. Two young girls appeared and began clearing away the dishes. Suddenly the room fell silent. Looking up, he saw Captain Drakken standing in the doorway. He did not rise, and after a moment she came over and slid onto the bench opposite him.
    Those few who remained suddenly rose and left, as if they had just recalled urgent business elsewhere. Even the serving girls, after sidelong glances at Captain Drakken, left the room with the cleaning only half-done.
    “You make them nervous,” he said.
    “Not half so nervous as they would have been, had they known that the new Chosen One had decided to dine among them.”
    He did not need to be