Soul Binder (Soul Saga (Book #2))

by Todd, E. L.

  Shane watched him turn away and cursed himself for his following words. He had no choice. “And what of Paso Robles?” he asked. “Who will work in the mines and the fields?”

  Drake stopped at his words, but did not turn around. He wanted to leave the heated grounds of the city and return to the palace where he could be alone with this grief along with his wine. “Send the slaves to the realm. They will attend to the work.” Drake withdrew his blade from his scabbard and faced his man-at-arms. He dared him to ask another question. “Any other concerns, commander?”

  Shane looked down at the steel blade and thought about all the men the king put to the sword. The deceased were allies and enemies. He imagined the blood of his body covering the sword and trembled at the thought. To be killed by doing his master’s bidding was nauseating to think about. When the king promoted him to the position of the commander, he rejoiced at the news. The position came with unlimited access and resources, along with the gift of travel and the exemption of other work, but now he wished the post had never been granted. He feared for his life on a daily basis. The king continued to stare at him with a heated look. The crystal blue eyes were dim and dark, appearing almost gray. The suit of the king was made of dark blue. The emblems of the other provinces were pinned to the sash that reached from one shoulder to the opposite hip. Shane could distinguish the ripple of his muscles even under his elegant uniform, and he knew the king was losing control of his rage. Against his better judgment, he spoke. “Then we do not have enough hands to work in the city. There are not enough slaves, m’lord.”

  Drake pressed the serrated edge of his sword against Shane’s neck, the intricate cuts of the blade invisible to the naked eye, and spoke directly into his face. “Then I suggest you find more.” The king lowered his blade and grabbed him by the front of his uniform. “You are more of an idiot than I thought,” he said as he pushed him back. “Since you are unable to make mediocre decisions alone, I will have to do it. A slavery lottery will be held in every town. Those whose names are drawn will be shipped to Paso Robles or will be put to the sword if they resist.” Drake sheathed his sword and took a step back. “Do you understand? Do not insult your own intelligence by answering yes to my question if you can’t comprehend with that useless brain of yours.”

  Shane rubbed the front of his neck and felt the small line of blood. “Yes, I understand, m’lord.”

  “Good,” Drake said as he turned away for the third time. “I was hoping you would catch on.”

  Drake left the ground of the keep and ascended the staircase that led to the main doors. The king marveled at the beautiful structure of the palace. The walls of the fortress shined even in the absence of light during a pounding storm, and he was amazed by the beauty of the Soul Binders that constructed the foundations of the palace. He knew the keep would have to be demolished entirely because he intended to hoard every single Soul Binder from the structure, ensuring that his lifespan would last an eternity. Artremian would be very displeased by the news, but that didn’t matter. Art was no longer the duke of this realm, just a mere pawn in the province, forced to complete his king’s bidding. Drake smiled at the thought. He had complete control of everything and everyone. The sudden hollowness of his heart gripped his lungs and he had to stop his progression up the stairs. Drake lost the one thing he wanted more than anything; Accacia, his queen. He forced the thought from his mind, knowing it would drive him insane with melancholy and rage, and continued up the stairs. He was on the brink of insanity every minute of every day.

  Accacia was absent from his life for half the year and the king was weary with sorrow at the loss of his prized possession. Drake hadn’t had a single sexual relationship with anyone other than the courtesan from a few months ago. He didn’t want anyone else. He only wanted Accacia.

  Drake walked through the grand marble doors and entered the fortress. He immediately advanced to his bedchamber, his new quarters in the realm of Roslyn, and dropped into the chair of his desk, facing the window and the cloudless sky over the province. The king was expected in the Grand Library of Roslyn to discuss the manners of the Continent, but Drake needed a reprieve before he walked into the library and was forced to converse with the imbeciles. He poured himself a glass of Roslyn wine and swallowed it despite the bitter taste. It was nothing in comparison to the Aleutian wine.

  Guilt flooded his mind as his thoughts wondered to Accacia. She died because of him. If he hadn’t sent her to the Prisoner’s Circle, he never would have lost her. He would be married to her at this very moment, and she would be lying on the bed naked, waiting for him. His eyes watered at the knowledge that he would never have her again. He missed her.

  Drake thought about her last moments and the pain she must have endured. She froze to death when he could have been keeping her warm in their bedchamber, having his way with her throughout the night. For the first time in his life, Drake felt remorse for what he had done. He never expected to love Accacia. When he first laid his eyes on her, all he wanted was to bogg her repeatedly, but he fell in love with her very quickly, something the former duke never thought was possible. The king hated himself for what he had done. He gambled a bet he couldn’t afford to lose. Drake paid the price of his stubbornness—Accacia.

  The king’s vision was shattered by a gentle knock on the door. Drake turned his gaze towards the sound. “Come in,” he said. The chamberlain of Roslyn entered the bedchamber and looked at the Sole Sovereign of the Continent. He flinched at the darkness in his eyes. He stared at the king but said nothing, unsure if he should leave the king alone with his upsetting thoughts. Drake waited for him to speak, but no words were forthcoming. Drake saw the wrinkles around his eyes tighten, and his elderly frame shake in fear. “Do you have something to say, Xavier?”

  “I can come back, m’lord,” he said as he began to close the door.

  “Speak now.”

  Xavier steadied the door and stepped into the room. The resolve in his words was not to be argued with. “The council requests your presence in the Grand Library. Duke of Roslyn also waits for your appearance.”

  Drake glared at the chamberlain. His words came out as a whisper, but the deadly threat of his voice was just as powerful as a heated shout. “There is no such duke, Xavier. I am the only ruler in this land,” he said. “I suggest you remember that.”

  Xavier gripped the door handle, and his words rolled over his tongue in breaks. “I apologize—m’lord. Of course—you—are the only ruler of—this land. I apologize—most profusely.” The elderly chamberlain gripped his hands together and looked down. “I have served—Artremian and Penelope for—many years and—”

  “Silence. Do not speak further.”

  Xavier closed his mouth and closed his eyes, fearing his upcoming death at his unwise words.

  Drake rose to his feet and approached the door. He stopped before the chamberlain and stared at him. Xavier returned his look with a tightened mouth and widened eyes. The chamberlain was blocking the doorway and Drake waited for him to move, but Xavier remained glued to the spot, shaking in fear. “Get out of my way.”

  The chamberlain stumbled out of the walkway and dashed into the hall, running towards the wall of the wooden hallway underneath a flickering torch to allow the king adequate room. “I apologize—again, sire. I—”

  “Shut it,” the king yelled over his shoulder. “Do not speak unless I ask you to.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Drake stopped and turned around, glaring at him with a look of menace. Xavier immediately regretted saying those last words. He was about to apologize again when he closed his mouth, preventing the words from escaping his lips.

  “Good,” he said. “You’re learning.”

  Drake advanced down the hallway and passed the other bedchamber doors, which were all carved out of dark wood. He strode across the marble floor of the building, making the flames of the torches flicker with his passing. The servants averted their gazes when they spotted him walk t
hrough the palace, trying not to trifle with his renowned anger. The maids dusted counters that were already clean just so they had something to do until he left their presence. They sighed in relief as he left the room.

  The king turned down another hallway and approached the mahogany doors that led to the library. It was carved with the image of the spire of the Channel of Souls, the structure that allowed the human souls of the Continent to be channeled to the afterlife by Father Hyphalia. He pushed opened the doors and walked into the room. The members of the council stood at his entrance. Only Artremian remained glued to his seat. Drake walked past the bookshelves adorning the walls and took his seat at the head of the table, the reserved spot of the king.

  “Good afternoon, sire,” Rancar said as he returned to his seat. The other councilmen smiled at him and greeted him as well. Only Artremian remained silent, nodding his head to the king he loathed. Art tried to control his anger and steady his tongue, inhibiting himself from speaking his mind, but he couldn’t force himself to pretend he actually liked the king. It wasn’t possible.

  The king looked around the table. “Greetings,” he said. He looked over at Artremian, who returned his gaze with no emotion. “Are you unwell, Artremian? You seem rather somber.” The king smiled as he watched the anger flood Art’s face. It was no secret that Artremian hated him. Drake planned on killing him soon.

  “I am very well, m’lord,” he said with a stoic expression. “How are you, sire?”

  Drake’s smiled widened at Art’s displeasure. “Very well, Artremian. I have wonderful news to relay to you all.”

  Artremian shook his head. He knew the news would be nothing of the sort.

  Drake leaned back in his chair and placed his fingertips together. He looked at the members of the council. “I have decided to build a new palace for Roslyn. My chambers and affairs will take place in the new keep.”

  Artremian’s eyes widened at the news. The Roslyn palace had been built by his ancestors generations ago. The fortress was perfect in its design with its translucent material that comprised the palace walls. To think of building another relic was preposterous. “Why do you need another fortress?” he asked the king. “What of this palace? What will become of it?

  Drake turned his gaze toward Artremian. “It will be destroyed, of course. I have no use for it.”

  The councilors glanced at one another. The motive behind this decision was unclear, but they knew better than to challenge his decisions.

  Art’s cheeks reddened at the insult. “Why?”

  “Because I choose to,” he said. Drake dropped his smile. “As the Sole Sovereign of the Unified Continent, it is my decision to make. My bidding will be done immediately.”

  Art wanted to stab this man through the heart then burn his corpse over a dung fire, spitting on his desiccating body as it was consumed in the flames. Artremian never harbored anger for another human being, and his patience was difficult to wane, but the king of the Continent was trying his last nerve. He thought of his wife and unborn child, knowing they would pay for his disobedience, so he swallowed the heated words on his tongue and let them sink back into his body. He sighed to himself. “Very well, sire.”

  The king nodded his head in approval. Drake was glad the man learned the meaning of respect, to follow his leader’s order with no objection. Perhaps the king could find the mercy to spare the former Duke of Roslyn. His knowledge of the realm would be helpful during his reign.

  Drake turned his gaze back to the councilors. “I have also decided to turn Paso Robles into a flourishing realm that will be renowned for their immaculate production of goods, luxury items, weapons, and produce. The soil of the province is ideal for the vast turnover of edible goods, and the mines of the realm are rich in ore for the manufacture of weapons. I think it will be an excellent production realm.”

  Rancar nodded. “It is wise to increase the output of the realm. The province is rich in terms of valuable goods. Sharing this with the Continent will ensure our perseverance.”

  Artremian stared at the king in surprise. It was the first idea the king ever conceived that wasn’t selfish or inexplicable. The other realms always needed the indigenous goods of Paso Robles, but were forced to pay ridiculous taxes to trade with the province. In addition, the price of the commodities was ludicrous. This notion would allow the wealth of the province to spread everywhere, reaching the hands of starving peasants who could never afford such luxuries. Artremian thought it was out of character for a man who was reputed to have no heart. He eyed him suspiciously.

  Drake smiled at Rancar’s praise. “Yes, I agree. It will benefit the Continent immensely. Slaves of Morkarh have been shipped to the realm to begin the foundations of productions,” he said. “Shane, my leading commander, will hold a lottery in every province. Those whose names are drawn will be shipped to Paso Robles as slaves, where they will work in the forges and fields to produce the mercantile. Every item sold will be pure profit for the treasury.”

  Artremian jumped to his feet. “Are you insane? The idea is ridiculous!” Art couldn’t control his anger. The idea was too wrong. He couldn’t let thousands of innocents work as slaves for the rest of their existence, creating mercantile for the duke’s exclusive fortune. This insane fiend stripped Artremian’s crown away, planned to destroy the keep his family built generations ago, and now he intended to subjugate his own people to work as slaves. “You can’t do that!” Artremian looked at the council. He recognized the fear in their eyes. They were also stunned by the king’s intentions, but just like before, when Drake burned Orgoom Forest and killed its holy priest, they sat in silence. They refused to oppose the king’s decisions. “No,” he said, his voice full of desperation. “This cannot happen.”

  Drake rose from his seat and stared at Artremian. His eyes blazed with unspent fire at Artremian’s outrage, and his mouth tightened in a grimace. Drake did not reach for his sword, but stabbed him with his piercing gaze instead. “My tolerance for you has reached its end, Artremian,” he said. “Return to your seat—now.” Artremian followed his command and lowered his body. Artremian knew Drake was going to kill him. “When I attacked the holy forest of Orgoom Forest, you expressed your objections to my decision—by going behind my back and confronting the council—who I already consulted with on this matter. The overwhelming disrespect was unforgivable. You did not trust my actions even though I was keeping the Continent’s best interest in my heart.” Artremian shook his head at his words. All he heard was lies. Drake slammed his fist into the wood of the table, causing it to tremble under the force. Artremian did not flinch at the sound. “I forgave this treasonous act because of my generosity as a sovereign, but I cannot continue to let this disrespect go unpunished. You will pay for your disobedience.”

  “So you will kill me just like Lukein?” Artremian met his gaze with his own fire. “Is Josiah next? You won’t have any advisors left if you continue to act like a maniac.” Artremian turned toward the council. “This sick man killed an innocent Nature Priest for no reason whatsoever, and now he plans to enslave half of the Continent, yet you continue to do nothing?”

  Drake turned his gaze to the two guards standing by the doorway. “Bring Penelope to the library,” he commanded. The guards left through the exit and disappeared down the hallway.

  Artremian returned to his feet. “What do you think you are doing?” He hissed. “She has nothing to do with this.”

  Drake smiled at him. “I know she doesn’t,” he said. “Perhaps, you should have thought about that before you defied me.”

  Artremian stared at him with a look of fury then withdrew his blade from his scabbard. He aimed the blade at the king’s heart, but Drake remained in his seat with a stoic expression, unaffected by the obvious threat before him. A slight smile was on his lips. It seemed like he wanted Artremian to stab him. Artremian felt the cold panic in his body. He knew he was missing something. He stabbed the king directly through the chest, twisting the blade in his gras
p, and watched the red blood drip down his magnificent robes. Drake growled then tore the blade from his chest with his bare hand, cutting his palm open with the effort. He still didn’t rise from his seat, and his face remained somber. The king dropped the bloody blade to the ground then reached his hand deep within his pocket. Artremian heard the audible hum fill the room then disappear after a moment.

  Drake rose to his feet with a smile on his face. “You actually thought you could kill me?” Artremian felt his mouth drop open at the sight of the king, unscathed and unharmed. He didn’t understand what happened. He stabbed Drake directly through the heart, slicing the organ apart with his blade. Now, Drake was staring at him with a smile on his lips. Artremian didn’t know what to think. He thought he was dreaming. “I cannot be killed, Artremian. It comes with the territory. Those who are immortal never die.”

  Artremian felt his body shake. He heard the words enter his brain, but they registered no meaning. He didn’t understand. How can the king be immortal?

  The guards returned with Penelope. They grabbed her by both arms and forced her into the room. Art saw the fear in her eyes and anger flooded his body at her obvious distress. She wore a white blouse that billowed out around her waist, hiding her protruding abdomen from view. Artremian ran to her, but he was held back by the steady hand of the king.

  “I always thought Penelope was a natural beauty,” Drake said as he walked over to Penelope. He released his hold on Art, knowing he wasn’t stupid enough to move. He ran his hands through the strands of her dark hair then slid his fingertips over her swollen breasts towards her distended stomach. She cried at his touch and looked to Art for help. Artremian felt the tears fall down his cheeks at the sight. He didn’t know what to do. Artremian felt powerless to protect his wife, the love of his life, as he watched the king violate her. Drake rested his hand on her bulging stomach, and gently massaged the surface. “How wonderful,” he said as he felt the child kick beneath his palm. “The baby is almost here.”