Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle)

by Jones, Krystle

  Something sharp grazed his back, and he cried out as he shoved Lianora into the bramble and dove on top of her. The great beast abruptly broke its dive and keened, as if it had met with an impenetrable wall only it could see or feel.

  They breathed heavily as it tried once more to enter and again was denied entry into Dreaka’s Forest. It cried out in fury and wheeled sharply around, gliding back toward the smoke before vanishing into the darkness altogether.

  They lay like that, each panting hard, and after a few quiet moments of nothing but the sound of roaring fire, he rolled off of her and immediately squinted as white light flooded his vision.

  The teardrop was glowing.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER 16Hurt

  “DID YOU SEE THAT? Did you see it glowing?”

  Lian glanced down at the teardrop once more. It was dull. She didn’t mean for her words to sound so frantic, but right now she needed to know that if the world was falling apart, she at least wasn’t losing her mind. She shook it hard with her free hand; the other was locked in Rowan’s iron grasp. “Blast you, work!”

  Ahead of her, Rowan growled. “As I have told you for the twentieth time, yes, I saw it. Stop that before you break it. And for the love of the gods, quiet yourself. I have enough to worry about without listening to your incessant prattle.”

  The eerie glow of the leaves began fading with the approach of dawn. Wet, thorny branches scraped across their legs as they ran, shredding their clothes and creating rivers of bloody scratches across the exposed skin underneath. The early morning dew blanketed the dank forest, and their feet kicked up the musky smell of wet dirt and decaying plants. Moisture hung thick in the air, the promise of yet another smoldering summer day in Accalia.

  She fought to catch her breath, while Rowan seemed to have no problem keeping at the blazing pace they were setting. The sopping cape he wore must have been quite heavy, but it never slowed him down. “What does it mean?” she murmured.

  “I said I don’t know.”

  She gritted her teeth. “The monster that chased us into the woods… I’ve seen it before, in the Marketplace. And in my dreams.”

  Rowan said nothing, though his fingers tightened painfully around her wrist.

  She gasped softly. “Am I… am I seeing the future?” Those “images.” They were supposed to be bad dreams, a side effect of the illness, and yet…

  Rowan was silent. Aside from the occasional frantic – or was it frightened? – glance behind them, he paid her little heed.

  The sky was growing lighter with the rising sun, turning from black to deep gray, before they slowed their break-neck sprint.

  Splashes of color caught her gaze, from the shade of her eyes to the deeper green of the gown she had rejected, but for the most part, everything appeared in monochrome thanks to the dense canopy overheard, all but the bright red and gold veins of the leaves.

  Memories of the night before jabbed at her already fragile composure, images of her family, all those people, a dagger soaked in blood, flames destroying everything she had known. Did she really miss that place, and the family that had alienated her all those years?

  Guilt stabbed at her chest until it felt so heavy she didn’t think she could take another breath.

  “Wait!” She pulled against Rowan’s hand.

  He ignored her and continued to plow through the brush. Her legs felt heavy, like she was wearing weights along her thighs and calves. “Would you stop and just look at me?”

  “What for?” he shouted over his shoulder. “We need to get as far away from here as possible.”

  “But think about the people we left behind. Your father, Ana-Elise, Alastor, they need our help! We have to go back. They might –”

  She nearly slammed into him when he suddenly turned on her, a hard glint in his dark eyes. “They might what, my Lady? There’s nothing we could’ve done to save them. And we’re not going back.” He took a step away from her.

  She jerked on his arm, forcing him to face her. “We have to try! That’s my home back there!”

  “It was my home, too! You really don’t understand, do you?”

  When she gave him a blank stare, he dropped her arm and rubbed his temples. “You’re it, the only remaining kin of the duke. I wish you’d get that through your thick head. I can’t risk getting you killed over nothing.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Nothing? So Accalia, your friends, your father, mean nothing to you?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “That you’re the only hope Accalia has now.” He sighed. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go back, just as I couldn’t leave you there.”

  She remembered Merí’s warning: “Don’t trust Rowan.”

  Lian rubbed her arms and glanced around nervously. The forest was quiet, but screams rang in her ears. “I would’ve been fine. I had a plan.” She silently cursed her voice for warbling.

  “Oh? And what plan was that? Running around the palace after some stupid trinket while everyone else fought for their lives?” He gestured around him, and she imagined all those people dying and running from the monsters, like ghosts moving in and out of the trees.

  “Wake up!” he yelled. “People died for you tonight. Good people. You should at least have the dignity to admit when you’re wrong and respect them for the sacrifice they made.”

  Right that second, she despised him. “How heartless do you think I am? I care more about others, and I have known and shown love far more than you’ve ever been capable of!”

  He stood stock still, as if paralyzed. If it had been under any other circumstances, she might have felt guilty. At that moment, she didn’t care. He had crossed the line a long time ago, and he had it coming.

  Her fury boiled over as she let all of the suppressed fear and pain drain out of her. She felt the being inside her awaken. It consumed her, and this time she didn’t fight back. She didn’t want to feel, didn’t want to think anymore. Her mind and heart were so exhausted that the prospect of someone – or something – else taking over for a little while didn’t bother her as much.

  Her eyes closed, and when they opened, she was no longer herself.

  The imposter rolled its neck. “Why do you think you’re all alone? I can tell you: because no one cares what happens to you, Rowan. Don’t you get it? Nobody wants to be around a self-righteous, arrogant stint like you.”

  Hurt flashed across his face before he was the same cocky knight as before. “And you, of course, would be the expert on public image since you’re such an outstanding example yourself. I wish I’d brought some parchment or something so I could take some notes, maybe learn from all of your wisdom. Wish I’d thought of that while we were up in your room.” He put his fist under his chin, pretending to be thinking. “Oh, that’s right. I was too busy saving your life.”

  “I would have been fine.”

  “You would have been killed. But I suppose you’re too much of a stubborn, spoiled, selfish brat to understand that.”

  The imposter smirked.

  He bit his lip, as if mulling something over. “You know,” he said, his voice edged with malice, “maybe Gabriel should be thankful they put him out of his misery. I don’t think the guy realized what he’d gotten himself into, falling in love with you, that is.”

  A flash of white hot rage scorched her, stunning her back into her body for a moment. “What did you say?”

  At first, her brain refused to register exactly what he had said because it was so awful. Then the gears cranked faster and faster until she thought her head would explode from anger. She balled her hands up into fists, digging her nails into her clammy palms until she felt them slice through the skin.

  I want to hurt him, like he’s hurt me.

  “Then why don’t we?” said the voice.

  Rowan started to walk away, and without hesitation she and the being said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Your fathe
r would be proud. You’ve become just like him. A monster.”

  He came up short, like he’d run into a brick wall. Whirling around, he caught her by her arms. “You don’t know anything about me. So shut your mouth and quit pretending like you do.” His eyes were wild, somewhere between anguish and explosive rage. That look reminded her more of Orris than anything he could’ve said or done.

  For a second, she vaguely worried he’d snap and lose control of his emotions, possibly hurting her in the process. Oddly, that didn’t alarm her as it should. The thing within her was practically rubbing its hands and licking its lips in anticipation; if Rowan struck her, it would give it an excuse to tear into him, to sate itself on the violence it so craved.

  Rowan fixed her with another harsh glare. He released her and stormed off into the trees, leaving her alone in the clearing.

  “Damn. I was looking forward to hitting him,” said the shadow being.

  The thing retreated, hurtling her back into her skin. Dizzy from exhaustion, she sank to the still sopping grass and buried her head in her knees to try to stop the world from spinning. She was so tired; her mind felt as bruised and beaten as her body.

  Did I really allow that creature to take over?

  Was she becoming as evil and twisted as the being, or had she been that way all along and was only discovering that part of herself?

  She should have been terrified, but she couldn’t summon enough energy to flame the ember of fear within her. She was tired of being afraid.

  Wrapping her dirt smudged arms around her ruined dress, she closed her eyes and tried to push the sickening realization she might be mentally ill from her mind. The last moments of her father and Gabriel replayed behind her closed lids, spiraling into a dark vortex at the center of her shattered soul. I’m truly alone, she thought, still not quite accepting the truth. She had always felt lonely at the fortress, but being in the woods surrounded by nothing but vegetation brought a whole new meaning to the word “loneliness.”

  “I’m all alone,” she whispered. “Gabriel’s not coming back.” She hugged herself tighter, trying to warm her suddenly clammy skin. Maybe I deserve this solitude. Ursa… I said such terrible things to her. Did she die thinking I hated her?

  She turned her head and looked off in the direction Rowan had gone before laying her head down on her arms again and squeezing her eyes closed.

  Sleep overtook her almost immediately. It was dark, and she was alone, but it wasn’t painful. She didn’t have to feel anything there, in the void of her dreams, only the sweet bliss of unknowing. What a wonderful feeling it was.

  A twig snapped, and she groggily glanced up. The world was sideways. Sometime from the moment she closed her eyes and now, she had lain down.

  There was nothing there.

  “Rowan?” she asked, sitting up. “Is that you?” She figured he was only trying to calm down and would return shortly, but now that she looked around, she realized how much time had actually passed.

  It had been nearly a full day. The sun was setting, and the forest was shrouded in an eerie silence. No birds chirped, no animals called, and no insects beat their wings. Creasing her brows, she turned all the way around from where she was sitting, trying to peer through the dense foliage. “Rowan? Are you there?”

  Nothing. The forest was completely still.

  The hairs on her arms and neck pricked upright. There were no birds twittering or animals scurrying about. She was alone.

  Stay calm. The more she said that to herself, the more her trepidation increased.

  Leaves crunched under invisible feet, and she yelped as she spun around, leaping up to a crouched position. She clamped onto the teardrop, which had started to glow white. The footsteps drew closer and closer, but she still couldn’t see anything. Her throat felt tight, or the air was too thick, she wasn’t sure.

  Then it stopped.

  She listened, every muscle ready to spring at the least little sound. She counted her breaths. One. Two. Three. Four…

  There was nothing.

  At last, she closed her eyes and let her chest relax. It’s exhaustion, working my imagination twice as hard.

  Out of nowhere, a heavy silver net wrapped around her, pitching her forward so hard it knocked the air from her chest. Furiously struggling to free herself, she did the only thing she could do.

  She screamed.

  All around her, weird human-like beings covered their large, bat-like ears, chattering unintelligibly. She fought harder, scratching and clawing at the net like a wild animal while she snarled at them. One of them pointed to a long bamboo stick. Another picked it up, put it to its lips, and blew. A small, needle sized dart shot out of it, burying itself in her neck.

  All her thoughts ceased as the drug took effect, and the forest around her turned fuzzy as it faded into black oblivion.

  ***

  ROWAN KNEW HE WAS too late the moment he crested the hill, and he silently cursed himself for leaving her alone for so long.

  He barely had his sword unsheathed when he was slammed onto the ground face first. White hot pain shot through his chin, and his vision blurred. Sharp bramble leaves cut at his cheeks and palms, which were now empty.

  The gangly creatures descended on him like ants. He bit at their limbs as they poked and prodded him, but his teeth did not so much as dent the sickly, slimy skin. The taste of mold caked his tongue, and he nearly vomited. As they squirmed on top of him, he managed to pry an arm loose and swing out at one of the creature’s faces.

  “Gods!”

  The blow should have broken a nose, should have broken something, but it was like hitting a boulder. His hand throbbed violently, each pulse reminding him of his stupidity, as they pulled his hands behind his back and stuck a grimy, damp cloth in his mouth. He didn’t want to think about what it was soaked in. They managed to keep him down, like he was lying under a mound of solid rock.

  Their skin was translucent, and it looked uncomfortably delicate and thin, like it had been stretched over a skeleton with too many bones in it. They looked deceptively vulnerable. Bumps ran along the creatures’ spines, and some had spikes protruding from where he supposed their elbows and skulls were. Clothes made from animal hides were wrapped awkwardly around their un-proportional bodies, and their long, bird-like feet were black from days spent working among dust and pitch black rock. Three long, bony fingers protruded from arms that were twice as long as their bodies, and they waddled on short, stubby legs, jabbering to each other in a language that consisted of short sounds and tongue clucking.

  His mind wandered as they clucked. He couldn’t overpower them; his aching hand was proof enough of that. The binds around his wrists and ankles were so tight he was beginning to lose feeling in his hands and feet, so he couldn’t wriggle free. If he could just reach his sword... where was it?

  The longer he breathed in the dust and dirt, the puffier his eyes became. They stung and burned as he searched the immediate area, but he could barely move his neck. He caught a flash of silver from the corner of his eye, and a moment later, one of the creatures – murdels, he thought they were called – moved into his line of vision, swinging his sword as if it were a toy.

  The creature sort of skipped in jerky motions as it hobbled toward Lianora’s body. The murdel crooked a finger, and two others wobbled forward, running their hands together in gleeful anticipation. They grinned, their mouths stretching clear across their wide faces, and clucked to each other excitedly as they pointed at Lianora. The sword danced in the air, mere inches from her unwary face.

  Thud, thud, thud.

  With every step the murdel took, Rowan felt his heart hammer harder inside his body, climbing along his throat and arms until it throbbed violently against his binds.

  It means to kill her!

  He fussed with the rope around his wrists, but it was wound so tightly that the movement against the thick rope formed long blisters across his skin. The sores prickled when the sharp bristles of the rope dug
across them, and he finally gave up.

  All the while, the sword drew closer.

  Beads of sweat trickled down his sunburned forehead, guided by strands of his frizzy black bangs. Fire burned under his cheeks, and his breathing became much heavier and more concentrated, like his body was starving for oxygen. His nostrils struggled to pull enough air into his lungs, but the small holes didn’t feel big enough to perform the job efficiently.

  The sword-wielding murdel took one last step up to Lianora and leveled the sword in both hands. It looked more like a wraith as its long black fingernails trailed white paths along the grainy handle as it scraped, and scraped, and scraped.

  “No,” he tried to yell, but the salty cloth in his mouth made it impossible to decipher it as anything more than a loud moan.

  Scrape, scrape, scrape.

  He kicked and twisted, trying to loosen his binds or knock the other murdels off, but it was useless.

  He didn’t dare blink as they circled around her like animals closing in on their prey. One stopped and squatted beside her on its short, stubby legs. Ever so carefully, the net slid from her body like a sheet of silver silk, pooling beside her snarled curls.

  If she dies, who will restore Accalia? There will be a civil war as the nobility fights over the crown like vultures.

  He jerked back and forth, grunting madly, as the murdels waited, watching for any sign of her coming to. Lianora lay still as death, the rise and fall of her belly the only indication of life. Deciding it was safe enough to continue, the leader motioned, and a small grunt stepped forward, reaching for the teardrop at her chest.

  Of course, he thought, sighing heavily, they mean to take the necklace. Murdels lived among precious gems and minerals; it only made sense they would naturally covet anything shiny.

  Accounts had it they were mountain dwellers, keeping to themselves in the mines and occasionally traveling to the sketchier markets to conduct their business. Generally peaceful, they only attacked when they felt threatened or to defend their territory from intruders.