Excerpt: Devon Davies' Destiny

Chapter One - The cards you're given
Devon had often dreamed of holding a sword like this, doing great deeds of daring, vanquishing the enemy, defending the innocent and having them all chant his name as their hero. Though at the age of 15 he'd often dreamt of a great many things, like being a famous adventurer exploring the lost reaches of the lands and finding hidden riches, or of some fairy good mother turning up and telling him there had been some mistake and he, Devon Davies was actually some lost prince from a distant kingdom where fame and glory was just waiting for him to reclaim his throne. But dreams were one thing. Destiny was another entirely, plus his mother would be mortified if she thought he secretly wished he was someone else's child. That wasn't true. He loved his parents deeply, he just thought there must be something...well, more.
“Devon! Stop daydreaming and give me my sword, boy!”
“Yes, your highness. Sorry.” Devon avoided the gaze of Prince Algernon's friends as he handed the glorious weapon to its rightful owner. They didn't even try to hide their laughter.
“Honestly, I don't know where your head is half the time, but you should keep it on your job, boy, or I'll be having words with your father about assigning me a new man servant!”
“I'm sorry, your highness. It won't happen again,” he quickly promised. His father would be devastated if he had to be redeployed in the household. As far as he was concerned serving one of the royal family was the greatest honour there was.
“Well it had better not. I need staff that I can rely on in order for me to realise my destiny.” The over muscled, flame-haired royal turned to his friends, all in various stages of training for their inevitable knight-hoods. “You see, my friends, it is important you get good help in order to achieve the greatness that we are all destined for. In my birth prophecy there was no doubt in the Seers' minds that I will become a great hero when the war comes, and you are all here because they saw such greatness ahead of you. We all have important parts to play in the great tapestry. Don't allow little threads to get in the path of your greatness. We have responsibilities that will shape the future.”
Devon felt his blood boiling. “Just because I'm not destined to be a war hero doesn't mean my life doesn't have any importance!”
“Oh, I'm sure you're right, Devon, you're very important. I mean, what would Algernon's horses do without you to muck them out,” said Percival. He wound Devon up more than any of them. He could almost understand it from the noble families, but Percival was a humble baker's son, but just because the Seers prophesied that he'd be a knight in the war he gets treated like a lord and Devon get treated like something a lord would scrape off their boot. Actually no, they'd get him to do the scraping. Birth prophecies just cut through all these pesky class barriers. If you were lucky enough to be destined for greatness you were automatically one of the elite.
“Thank you for reminding me, Percival. Boy, go and clean out the stables. Once we have complete our training you will sharpen my sword and clean my armour, then you should go and get yourself a suitable punishment from your father for your insolence today. That should put you in a less exuberant mood.”
Devon sighed inwardly. He knew a big, dramatic outward expression of his exasperation would only serve to get him into more trouble at the moment. “Yes, your highness,” he said, and headed towards the stables to fulfil his destiny.

As Hannah made her daily journey to the Temple of True Sight, she couldn't resist watching the young knights at practice on the way past the training yard. She'd never considered herself the kind of girl who'd stare whimsfully at strapping young men, though she was at the age where people seemed to expect it.
“Good grief, stop drooling, Hannah,” a voice from behind her said, and a moment later she felt the hood of her cloak get pulled back. She turned to see a thin, dark-haired girl that always put her in mind of a wisp of smoke: transparent and toxic. She glared down at Hannah, as she was a whole foot taller than her tiny 5'2” stature, though narrowed charcoal grey eyes, one thin eyebrow delicately arched into an expression of contempt that Hannah strong suspected she had spent hours practising in front of a mirror. She was flanked by her two shadows, Daria and Mather
“I wasn't drooling, Rhiannon, I was just watching. That's not a crime.” *
“Well you should stop 'watching' and get to class, Hannah. The saints know you of all people can't afford to miss any lessons.” Her cronies giggled behind her, even Mather, who giggled so much like a girl Hannah didn't think he had any business teasing other people. Still, she couldn't help the blush she felt rising in her cheeks and wished Rhiannon hadn't pulled her hood down baring her pale cheeks.
“I'm a good student, Rhiannon,” she mumbled, knowing before she even started that had to be the most pathetic attempt at defending herself in the history of self defence.
“Oh please, your prophecies are an embarrassment. You'll be going to class until your 60. You're completely hopeless, Hannah.”
“My prophecies are accurate.”
“Well Benson the royal cartographer can draw maps, it doesn't make him an artist.” Mather and Daria made some approving noises, making Rhiannon smile even more at her own comparison. “I think that's enough encouragement for the terminally hopeless,” she said to them. “We'd better get to class, not that we need any more lessons before Assignment Day.”
She swept passed Hannah, flicking her sleek hair over her shoulder into her face as she passed. Hannah's nose twitched, but it wasn't from the irritation of the hair. She felt that familiar feeling wash over her, the sensation of being connected to something bigger for just one moment, then as quickly as it came the feeling was gone.
“I'd watch out for that donkey card if I were you,” she called after them.
“What?” Rhiannon stopped before crossing of the street and turned back, and just at that moment a cart rushed past them, kicking up dirty rain water from the side of the road and soaking the bottom half of the robes of all three of them. The noises of anger that Rhiannon made very quickly stopped sounding like anything that even vaguely resembled language.
Hannah was dignified enough to not smile until after she had passed them. They wouldn't thank her. There could be some case for the argument that she had saved their lives, that if she hadn't called out at that moment they would have stepped into the street and been hit by the cart, but Hannah had trained for her future as a Seer her who life. Destiny didn't work like that. The image that had been left in her head from that brief connection was the exact one she left behind her, with three people who couldn't deserve it more covered in mucky water, so no one would ever know what would have happened if she hadn't delivered her prophecy, an no one would ever question it. There was no other way it could have happened. Nothing went against the design. Nothing.