He hoped Orris didn’t catch him with his armor in that condition, as strict as he was about keeping up appearances. He tentatively glanced around for his father, as if even thinking about Orris would somehow magically conjure him from thin air. It would not surprise him very much if his father did appear before him. He had seen Orris do things no ordinary human should be able to do. Rowan’s eyes searched the tall hedges and trellises while he strained to hear footsteps through the sheen of cricket chirps and frogs.
No, he was completely alone, the way he liked it.
He did not keep many friends; actually, he did not have any friends at all that he could think of. His father had taught him early on to accept loneliness as a companion. He thought of the approaching gala and tried not to visibly cringe. I’d rather spend the night in the darkest, dankest dungeon than hang around that bumbling bunch of fools.
As he sat on the edge of the fountain, listening to the bubbling laughter of the water, his mind wandered into the darker regions of his childhood memories.
***
IT WAS A HOT summer day.
Tears welled in Rowan’s eyes as he cradled the broken wooden horse, his favorite toy. His mother had given it to him for his sixth birthday, and he had been so excited. Since the weather was pleasant, for Accalian summers no longer bothered him, he had taken it out and played with it for hours, pretending he was a great hero or a knight of Asilee like his dad. It was the best day of his life until two boys from across the river took it and broke off one of its legs. They ran away laughing and calling insults at him. His heart swelled at the sight of the poor wooden animal.
Father can fix it. Orris had always fixed his toys or bandaged him up when he played a little too rough, so he did not hesitate to carry it back inside.
His mother was out tending the vegetable garden while his father, having recently returned from his long journey – the one that changed everything – lay sprawled out on the bed. Rowan tapped him on the shoulder and presented it to him. “Father, will you please fix him for me?”
Orris peeked at the toy. “Hmph. Shouldn’t have broken it in the first place.”
Rowan began to slink back. That was not the answer he had expected. “But –”
“Fix it yourself!” Orris hissed, eyes flaring red. “What kind of a weakling asks someone else to do his work for him?” He sprang out of bed and clutched his son by the collar, lifting him off the ground. Rowan dropped the small wooden horse as his father slammed him into the wall, whimpering as Orris drew his face even with his. It was the first time he could remember ever being truly afraid of his father.
“Don’t you ever ask me for help, or anyone else, do you hear? Not everyone in this world is a friend, and the sooner you learn to look out for yourself, the better.”
“Ye – yes, sir,” fumbled Rowan.
Regret flashed over Orris’ face before he grunted his approval, setting him down and crashing onto the bed once more.
Rowan ran from the room, which had begun to smell like sulfur, not bothering to retrieve the horse.
***
ROWAN CAUGHT HIMSELF RIGHT as he was about to fall over the side of the fountain. Sleep deprivation had finally won out, and he had nodded off for a few miserable minutes. Rubbing his eyes, he stood up and stretched, trying to wake up. He didn’t like to remember what had been; the present was depressing enough without adding the weight of a memory that had happened exactly twelve years ago.
“Happy birthday,” he muttered to his reflection.
Fighting back a yawn, he spun on his heel toward the palace.
“Somehow I thought I would find you here.”
Rowan stifled a groan and peered irritably into the darkness. Gabriel stepped from behind the fountain, looking rougher than his usual perfection allowed. He had not shaved, and his hair was in disarray, giving him a disheveled look Rowan was unaccustomed to seeing on the White Knight.
“Good evening, Gabriel,” he said gruffly, nodding.
Gabriel responded with a half-hearted smile. “I see I’m not the only one seeking some sort of refuge tonight.”
Rowan shifted his weight, letting his eyes wander the garden. “I needed somewhere to think.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck, loosening the taut muscles that had knotted up while he dozed by the fountain.
Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. “Any leads?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh.”
Gabriel chewed on his bottom lip, scowling at the ground.
Rowan knew full well Gabriel was just as worried about the killer as he was. Gabriel had initially offered to help, but Rowan had turned him down. I could only imagine what we’d look like. Hateful Orris on my left; perfect Gabriel on my right. And me, somewhere in the middle. The fact Gabriel was a genuinely decent man added to his guilt at resenting him.
Another moment of awkward silence ensued before Rowan said, “Well, I have business elsewhere.” With a grunt and a nod not unlike his father, he pushed past Gabriel and disappeared into the fortress.
***
THERE WAS ONLY ONE chance left to find a lead, and he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before.
Countess Merí eyed him coolly as he entered the candlelit room. Her handmaiden stumbled past him and jerked out a plush armchair. “Here, my Lord,” she said as he sat down across from Merí’s bed, where she lay with her back propped up against a stack of pillows. The girl wrung her hands in the skirt of her dress as her eyes darted back and forth from her mistress to him.
“Sir, shall I fetch –”
“That will be all, Merissa,” Merí said. She waved the girl off with all the care of flicking away an insect.
Merissa sloppily curtsied and left the room, leaving them to thick silence.
He clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees. “Forgive my intrusion, Countess, but I –”
“Spare me your apologies. You are not sorry; you are desperate. There’s a difference.” Merí’s eyes sparkled, as if she was privy to some joke he was not aware of but very much a part of.
He fought to unclench his teeth long enough to form a coherent sentence, but she spoke before he could gather his thoughts. “You know, it astounds me that the Black Knight has not thought to question me before now. I expected more of Accalia’s finest.”
He glared at her. “You must also realize that as the city’s Black Knight, I have more than my fair share of work.”
The twinkle faded from her eyes. “Life isn’t fair. Don’t blame your incompetence on it.”
A growl threatened to rise in his throat. What did she know about fair, with her riches and her mocking smile? “Tell me everything that happened the night you were attacked, down to the last detail.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you what you ask, but only if you ask for it politely. Do they not teach you manners in this military academy of yours?”
He closed his eyes and twisted his fingers together, imagining what they would feel like wrapped around her thin neck. “Will you please tell me what happened, Countess?”
She smiled. “We left at dusk.”
The entire recollection took less than five minutes, and by the time she was done, he could see nothing that would link the two crimes together.
“What a waste of time,” he muttered under his breath, rising from his seat. She stared up at him as he walked to the edge of her bed. “Thank you for your time, my Lady,” he said. He stiffly bowed and turned his eyes to the floor where something red glimmered from underneath the bed. His eyebrows furrowed as he bent closer, discerning the outline of a hilt.
“What is it? Do you see something?”
He looked up at Merí. The twinkle had returned to her eyes.
When he looked back down, the object and its red glimmer were gone, nothing more than a shadow. He blinked, feeling exhausted, and brushed the whole thing off to lack of sleep. “Must have been my imagination,” he murmured, straightening. He nodded once more and walked towar
d the door.
“Oh, and Rowan?”
He rolled his eyes and turned around. “Yes, my Lady?”
“Try to take care of yourself. You’re looking a bit frayed around the edges.”
He stared at her long and hard before finally opening the door. “Cocky bi –” he started to mumble when Merissa nearly tumbled into him, her face turning almost the same shade as her hair. “For – forgive me, my Lord.” Then she made a dipping motion that was supposed to be a curtsey and hastily shut herself in Merí’s room.
He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. Merí had known his name, though he did not recall giving it to her.
Then again, perhaps he had, and he simply did not remember. What did it matter anyway? It was a trivial detail; his name was common knowledge in Accalia. She probably picked it up from the Arch Duke, flirtatious bastard. Yawning, he slunk down the dark hallway toward his quarters.
He thought he heard laughter.
CHAPTER 11Legend
LIAN COLLAPSED ONTO HER bed the moment her door shut.
The walk had given her too much time to think, and her mind was a twisted knot of emotions because of it. She needed a distraction.
Rubbing her swollen, bloodshot eyes, she rolled over onto her side toward her bookshelf. Something hard lodged itself in her ribcage, and when she reached underneath her to pull the object out, her fingers grasped the cool leather of a book.
Confused, she lifted it up so that its crimson binding and gold filigree were caught in the candlelight. As her eyes adjusted, the title crept into view, and she gasped.
In a single motion, she bolted upright, dropped the book, and clambered off the bed. Her wild eyes stared at the book resting between the folds of her sheets, the book she did not remember laying there.
She closed her eyes, seeing Gabriel and Ursa’s embrace again. The image became runny with blood, and she shook her head and rubbed her eyes once more. “Stop it,” she said. “Go away.”
There was a brief white flash, and all of the red faded from her sight. Why is this happening to me? Am I going crazy? She looked at the teardrop and watched the light swirl in its depths. It has to be the necklace. Somehow, it’s making me see these awful things. But why?
She didn’t want to believe it; magic and visions were for prophets and illusionists. But somewhere deep inside, she knew she could no longer ignore the obvious link. She looked to the empty space on the shelf where the book should have been and then back to where it waited for her on her bed. Maybe there’s something about it in there, something that can explain all of this. Perhaps the book is a sign from the gods.
Still dubious, she mustered up her courage, slowly walked back to the thin volume, and hesitantly lifted it up in both hands.
There were no images of blood, no orange-eyed monsters or blood-soaked feathers, and she sighed as she sat down on the edge of the bed and opened it up to the first yellowed page.
It smelled of dust and mold. The title read Tales and Legends of Eresea, with a picture of the continent beneath it. Elegant gold script laced its way across the page in precise strokes, but there was no mention of an author anywhere. It was odd; she read frequently and yet had no recollection of this title sitting on her shelves.
She read a few sentences from some of the entries. They were mainly poems and short stories over the lore of the land, everything from religion to ridiculous magical adventures, neither of which she believed in much. How could you believe in gods you could not see or hope for things that might never happen? She had given up such childish fancies long ago when she realized life was a far cry from one of those stories.
As she skimmed the pages, she grew more and more frustrated. All of it was lore she knew. After finishing a section devoted to the creatures rumored to roam Dreaka’s Forest – complete with drawings and descriptions – she flipped the page and paused. The words Inner Light were written at the top, accompanied by a depiction of Dreaka with flowers dotting her long golden hair. Intrigued, Lian drew her legs up beneath her and began reading aloud.
- “At the end of the Age of Stars, the Inrah – the children of the Goddess, Dreaka – called upon their Mother to bless them with the power to heal the land. Dreaka warned them it would come at a heavy cost, for She would require their souls to create such a gift. The Inrah willingly offered Her their souls, the purest in the land because they were extensions of Her own, and Dreaka wove them together to create the Inner Light. She blanketed the land in the Inrah’s gift, purging it of the darkness and sorrow that had plagued it during the Age of Stars, and bringing Eresea to peace once more.”
The rest of the entry was too faded to read, and she scowled.
She examined the teardrop. The passage had mentioned nothing about a crystal. Magic woven from people’s souls… was it lost after Dreaka used it to heal the land? Or could it have been trapped inside people and objects? What happened to the Inrah? Were they all extinct after their sacrifice? The questions made her head swim.
Her eyes skimmed the next page. It was a song called The Ballad of the Lost Queen. Not in the mood for poetry or songs, she almost turned the page when her eyes froze on a watercolor picture of a dark-skinned woman with flowing black hair. She looks familiar. Almost like the countess.
The woman’s face had been splotched in random places, as if someone had cried on it. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. After all, if they were the same person, that would make Merí over a thousand years old. That’s not possible.
Her eyes drifted up to the ballad above the portrait.
Summer’s breeze doth carried to the
Shore of poor, vain Stradvär
Midnight wings and fire lay siege to
Her fair city, now marred.
Sanctuary on the river
Did turn to Death’s cold grave,
Their race destroyed, their magic gone,
The price of pride repaid.
Poison seeks justice through blood spilled,
Her raven hair flows free,
Lady fair bargains her soul for
Vengeance’s power complete.
Oh, too late was she to return
The Oath that she had made,
Fair lady had no choice but to
Fulfill the task and aid.
Eternity is her savior,
Forever is her curse,
Only when she completes her word,
Then will her binds disperse.
She sat in a dream-like daze as she analyzed the meaning of the poem.
Everyone in Asilee knew this story, which was more of a legend now because it was so old. It had been told so many times in so many different ways over the years that there was most likely very little truth left to the tale.
During the Age of Stars, the most powerful country in the land was the Empire of Stradvär, ruled by a wise Empress. No one knew what her name had been since there were barely any records left intact from that time. For their devout praying, legend had it the gods had blessed the Stradvärians with magical gifts which made them more attuned to the world’s innate power. But the Stradvärians grew proud of their power, abusing it to meet their own selfish ambitions, and they were ultimately punished by the gods for the misuse of their gifts. The entire race had been completely wiped out, stripped of their powers in their time of greatest need. Stradvär became a place of ill-omen, and to that day it remained uninhabited.
She absently fingered the page, trying to imagine what it would be like for Accalia to be annihilated, to have everyone she knew taken from her, and she shivered.
She stared at the woman in the picture, feeling sorry for her. Images and sensations suddenly swam through her mind, as if she were looking through someone else’s eyes. She watched as moon-kissed smoke rose from a pile of debris; she screamed in terror as a mast crushed her; a young, handsome man with dark skin and black hair kissed her, making her shiver at his familiar touch; and her eyes widened in fear as jagged claws loomed closer to her throat. She squeeze
d her eyes shut, trying to stop the flow of disturbing pictures.
She closed the book, and the images stopped. Her chin sank to her chest, and she closed her eyes. How do I tell what’s real? Do I even know anymore? She could talk to the healer about it, but anyone in their right mind would come to the same conclusion and lock her up in the asylum.
She glanced at the necklace at her chest. It twinkled innocently up at her, and she didn’t know what she was hoping for, save the possibility that further inspection would reveal the reason behind her hallucinations. Maybe it’s stress, a side effect of my illness, or perhaps from the medicine. I cannot be going crazy, I simply can’t…
She scooped up the book and promptly returned it to its place on the shelf. Fresh air. That will help. She walked to the door, still shaking off the trance-like state she had entered earlier. This room isn’t good for my health. Perhaps the illness has taken to the air and is affecting me through my lungs somehow, seeping into my mind and making me dream strange things. Some fresh air would help.
There was a sharp, hard knock at the door the moment her hand touched the handle, and before she could react, the door swung open, and Gabriel nearly collided with her.
He drew up short, his face flashing from worry to shock then back to worry. His eyes scanned her face, and she noticed how terribly sad they looked. She tried to swallow, but a nervous knot had formed in her throat, and she nearly choked.
“Are you all right?” blurted Gabriel, pushing the door shut behind him. He smelled of fresh flowers, a tangled mixture of sharp, sweet scents she had never smelled before.
It hurt to look at him, as if Ursa’s lips had tainted his body. “What? That is, I – ” she stuttered, glancing at the door. She swallowed her nerves and steeled her voice, unable to fully meet his gaze. The air felt stifling, though it possessed a damp cold that seeped into her skin. A shudder rolled through her, accompanied by a twisting sensation deep in her gut, where the stomachache she had felt since returning from the Market dwelled, but she ignored it. “We should not be alone,” she said tightly. “It is improper.” Her hands trembled, and she firmly clasped them together before he could take notice, cursing silently at her weakness and how ridiculous she sounded. They had been alone plenty of times, and it never bothered her before. What did she care for impropriety when it was all the courtiers showed her?
Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle) Page 10
