Soul Siphon: Set includes four books: Midnight Blade, Kingsbane, Ash and Steel, Sentinels of the Stone (Soul Stones)

by T. L. Branson

  “I guess,” Callum said.

  “Excellent! Six o’clock,” Drygo said, and he left the training grounds.

  ***

  Callum showed up at six in the borrowed dinner suit Drygo had sent to the barracks for him. The guards at the front gate straightened a little bit at his approach, but let him pass without a word. Drygo collected him in the entrance hall and led him up to the banquet hall.

  As they entered the room, the king coughed and said, “What’s he doing here?”

  “I thought you said he invited me?” Callum said to Drygo.

  “He did,” Drygo said to Callum. Then he looked at his father and said, “I asked if I could bring a friend to dinner and you said ‘Tonight would be great.’ Remember?”

  “I…” The king looked pensive. Then realization dawned on his face. “I was talking to my valet,” he said in frustration. “Oh, well, the boy’s here now.” He shot Callum a glare and went back to his conversation.

  The prince and Callum approached their seats at the table. The girls were already there. Callum’s eyes met Chelsea’s and she averted her gaze.

  This is starting off well.

  “Good to see you again,” Evangeline said, smiling. Her eyes shifted to Chelsea, then to Drygo.

  “You as well,” he replied to Evangeline. He turned to Chelsea and said, “Hi.”

  “Hi,” she said quietly, refusing to look at him.

  “I thought you said she was over this,” he said so only Drygo could hear.

  The prince only shrugged.

  Callum ate his meal in silence while the prince and Evangeline talked the entire meal, only pausing when the king looked in their direction.

  When the meal was almost over Callum asked him quietly, “Why do you and Evangeline hide your relationship from your father?”

  “Father would be furious if he found out. He wants me to marry a girl named Giselle, she’s the princess of the island kingdom, Kent. There’s a resource called pyridis that only grows on the island and father wants access to it,” the prince explained.

  Understanding dawned on him. “So when I mentioned arranged marriages to Chelsea…”

  “It hit a little too close to home, yes,” Drygo said.

  Callum cursed. “I’m sorry, I had no idea,” he said.

  Chelsea and Evangeline stood up to leave. Drygo shot Evangeline a look, and she hung back as the princess left the room.

  “I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” he said, nodding in the direction of the door.

  A small wave of fear came over him. What was he supposed to say to her? Would she even listen to him? Regardless, Callum knew he had to talk to her. He stood up, excused himself, and slowly enough as not to cause a scene, yet with determination, he left the room to catch up with Chelsea.

  She was waiting outside for him.

  “Can I say something?” they said together.

  “I’m sorry,” they said at the same time.

  “No, I’m sorry,” they said, doing it again.

  “You first,” Callum said.

  “No, go ahead,” Chelsea replied.

  “Your brother told me about your father and him and Evangeline. I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It’s not your fault. How could you have known? I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  “Will you give me another chance?” Callum asked. He took a chance and reached out to grab her hand, “Can I court you?”

  “Courting? Preposterous!” someone roared.

  Callum and Chelsea turned together, still holding hands, to see the king staring back at them from the open door. Their hands broke apart in a flash.

  “You’re nothing but a nameless rat. I will not have you courting my daughter,” the king said.

  Before Callum could say anything, Chelsea said, “I’ll court whomever I want to court! You might be able to push Xandie around, but I will not let you do it to me.” She spun and stormed off like when they were in the gardens.

  “You come back here, young lady!” the king called. “I am your father. I am the king! You will listen to me.”

  She ignored him and kept walking until she was out of sight.

  The king turned back to him and said, “And you.”

  The prince slipped in between them, holding both hands up.

  As the prince began to speak, a guard ran up quickly and said, “Your Majesty, it’s happening again.”

  All of the king’s bluster melted away in an instant, replaced by a mixture of worry and fear. “With me!” he yelled and ran off down the hall, his royal guard in tow.

  Callum didn’t wait to be dismissed. He rushed back to the barracks as fast as he could, but Captain Platz intercepted him just before he reached the palace doors.

  “What are you doing here?” Callum asked.

  “I am here on official court business for King Rommel. And watch your tone,” he whispered. “I am still your commanding officer. Or have you forgotten? Remember why you’re here.”

  “Did you say King Rommel?”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve forgotten,” Platz said. “After you left, the high lord pitted Ober against Roth. They destroyed each other. With three of the four ruling Houses in ruins, the high lord declared himself the first king of Havan. There was no one to oppose him. None that dared come forward in any case.”

  This must have been the second phase Rommel was talking about.

  Before Callum could respond, a set of footsteps echoed through the room. He quickly left the palace, not wanting to get caught talking to someone he shouldn’t know.

  When he arrived at the barracks, the dormitory was empty as everyone enjoyed their free time after dinner. Callum opened his trunk and started gathering his belongings, throwing them on the bed. Forget his mission, Rommel was too ambitious for his own good. Besides, he wouldn’t survive the night if he stayed here. He grabbed the old iron sword out of the trunk last.

  “Where are you going?” a voice said.

  Callum lifted his head to see McKinnon standing there. “I’m leaving. After what just happened at dinner, surely the king will have me killed,” he said.

  McKinnon grabbed him by the bow tie and shoved him against the wall, holding a knife to his throat. “You won’t be going anywhere. Try, and I’ll kill you before the king does.” As if Callum’s words suddenly registered, the sergeant asked in an alarmed voice, “What happened?”

  Callum told him about Chelsea. “The king ran off before he could issue punishment, but surely he’ll have my head when he returns.”

  McKinnon cursed.

  “What’s going on, anyway?” Callum asked.

  “It’s none of your concern. All you need to worry about is the prince. Suffice it to say, Rommel has more agents in this city than you and me,” the sergeant said.

  “What’s going on in here?” the prince asked from the doorway.

  “Nothing,” McKinnon said, backing off of Callum. “I heard this recruit upset the king. We were just having a little chat.”

  “My father is fine,” the prince said curtly.

  McKinnon stared at him in silence.

  “That’ll be all, Sergeant,” Drygo said.

  “But—”

  “Good night, Sergeant,” the prince reiterated.

  “Good evening, Your Highness,” McKinnon said as he bowed and took his leave.

  “Surely your father will kill me,” Callum said once McKinnon was gone.

  “Nonsense, he’s just a little flustered,” the prince told him.

  “He’s always flustered,” Callum said.

  “No,” Drygo said, mumbling, “Only when you’re around.”

  “See? That’s my point,” he said.

  The prince came over and started putting Callum’s things back into the trunk.

  “Stay. Please. At my request. I’ll handle my father. He has other things to worry about anyway.”

  Callum thought for a moment. He still needed to complete his mission. They were alone right
now. It was the perfect time. But how could he? He’d broken the number one rule of espionage. Never get attached. Alexander was quickly becoming a friend. And what of Chelsea? His heart beat faster with each passing second of indecision.

  Before he could make up his mind, Bigsby walked into the room. He stood there, eyes wide at the sight of the prince in the dormitory standing next to his bed.

  “Okay, fine,” Callum said.

  The prince nodded, turned, and left, patting a stunned Bigsby on the shoulder on his way out.

  ***

  True to his word, the prince must have taken care of the situation. No guards came to arrest Callum, no assassins murdered him in his sleep, and he wasn’t expelled from the guard.

  Weeks turned into months.

  Callum was invited to eat dinner in the palace many times, but the king was not present. The troubles outside the gates had not abated and he often took dinner in his study.

  Against her father’s wishes, Chelsea met with Callum often. He was pretty certain she began courting him just to spite the king. They met secretly at first, in hallways, under stairs, and once in her brother’s chambers at his invitation.

  But lately, with the king preoccupied, they’d been going on walks in the gardens almost daily. The guards that milled about had grown accustomed to their presence. If they knew of the king’s displeasure, they didn’t report it. What started as a casual friendship had budded into something more.

  “…and so Topher asks Abigail,” Chelsea told Callum, “ ‘What rhymes with orange?’ and she says, ‘No it doesn’t.’ ”

  Chelsea burst out laughing at her own joke. Callum chuckled, smiling at her. The joke wasn’t funny. Not even remotely. But he didn’t care.

  She looked up and saw the smirk on his face.

  “What?” she asked, returning his smile, her eyes lighting up.

  “You have the most beautiful smile, you know that?” he said.

  “You only tell me that, like, once every other day,” she replied.

  “Does it hurt to hear it again?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, grabbing his arm and resting her head against his shoulder as they walked.

  His arm tingled at her touch, warmth filling him. Her tender touch gave him a measure of boldness, pushing aside the flutters.

  “Chelsea?” he asked, steeling himself.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I tell you something?”

  “Anything.”

  “I—”

  The thundering of footsteps, followed by shouts, interrupted his thoughts. The guards in the garden ran to see what was going on. Callum and Chelsea followed them.

  Through the archway leading into the garden, several of the seasoned guards ran by. One of them stopped to address the men in the garden.

  “Another uprising. This time in the market, in broad daylight. Early reports are that several have been killed. The king is launching a full assault to crush the dissenters,” he told them.

  One of them addressed Callum, “Get the princess to safety, back in the palace, now.”

  He turned and left to follow his comrades out into the city. Callum grabbed Chelsea’s hand as they ran back up the steps and into the palace.

  “Go back to your room. Lock the door,” he told her.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To find your brother.”

  She stood up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. His face reddened. She turned and left. Callum moved down the hallway, took a right, and stood before the prince’s door. The door opened before he could knock and McKinnon and another guard stepped out.

  He smiled and said, “Just the person I was coming to find. The prince would like to see you.”

  Callum eyed him suspiciously then entered the room as McKinnon left.

  “Harkin, a word before you go,” Drygo called out. The other guard re-entered the room. Drygo looked up and saw Callum. “Callum! Chelsea? Is she—?”

  “She’s safe. What’s going on?” he asked.

  He held up one finger, finished scribbling on a piece of parchment, rolled it up, and handed it to the guard—Harkin. “Get this to my father. Quickly.”

  The man nodded and ran from the room. Drygo sighed.

  “What’s going on?” Callum repeated.

  “No use hiding it from you now,” Drygo said, going back to the maps sprawled out across the table in his personal library. Similar to Rommel’s strategy meetings, the map bore various figurines indicating troop locations. A knife stood up on one end, its blade sunk into the map, pointing at the center of a group of figurines in the harbor. “Spies in the city have started a rebellion among the people.”

  Rommel, surely, Callum thought. They’ve had this planned for months—years even.

  This was the moment. Rommel told him he would know when the time was right. This was it.

  Callum glanced around the room. His eyes fell on the dagger above the fireplace. Drygo had his back to it. It was perfect. He walked over to the fireplace, trying not to draw attention to himself.

  Callum picked the dagger up off its stand and pulled off the sheath. He held the dagger before him, the prince’s back not five feet from him. Yet he couldn’t move.

  What’s holding me back?

  Drygo was his first true friend. He was the first person to really show him kindness, to treat him not as a tool to be used, but as an equal, despite his social status.

  And what of Chelsea? He loved her. She would surely hate him, or worse, if she found out he killed her brother. Maybe she wouldn’t find out. He could make it look as though the rebels breached the palace. But no, he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it.

  “Father has been trying for months to root them out, but I finally have a lead.”

  “What lead?” he asked.

  Drygo grasped the hilt of the knife. He yanked it free and spun on Callum. “You!” he yelled.

  Adrenaline coursed through Callum’s veins and he raised the dagger out of pure reflex. It deflected the prince’s blow and Callum danced back out of reach.

  Drygo grunted and lunged again. Callum sidestepped him. Drygo slashed and swung widely, but each time Callum dodged.

  “Hold still and let me gut you like the pig you are,” Drygo said.

  “No,” he said. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “So you deny being an agent of Rommel?” Drygo swung again.

  Callum stayed just out of his reach. “Well… no,” he said.

  “Then you deny that you were sent here to kill me?” Drygo grasped the knife in both hands, raised it above his head, and plunged down at Callum’s chest. Callum spun to the left, the knife sinking deep into the desk.

  “No,” he said, hanging his head.

  “Then what, pray tell, do I have wrong?” Drygo asked as he grunted, attempting to pry the knife out of the wood.

  “I don’t deny those things, but I’ve been here almost a year. In that time, I’ve had plenty of opportunity to carry out that mission, but I haven’t. In fact, Alexander, you are the only friend I’ve ever had. And, though I’ve not yet had the opportunity to tell her, I’m in love with your sister. I could kill you no sooner than I could kill a brother, for I’ve come to see you as such.”

  Drygo abandoned the knife and turned to Callum. “You expect me to believe that you’d denounce your own father and deny his orders?”

  “Of course, he’s never shown me any…” Callum blinked. “What did you say? My father?”

  Drygo’s posture relaxed slightly. “You… You didn’t know?”

  A wave of emotions washed over him. Callum grabbed a bedpost to steady himself. He didn’t know what he should be feeling right now. Relief? Excitement? Disdain? Satisfaction? He didn’t feel any of that, just exhaustion after a lifelong pursuit, as if he could finally rest.

  “I had a guess, but… but that’s a far cry from being certain. How?” Callum asked. His finger glanced across the edge of the parchment in his pocket. “How do you
know this?”

  “McKinnon. He was just in here. You saw him as you entered,” Drygo said, pointing at the door. “He told me everything.”

  “Did you stop to think how McKinnon might know this?”

  “I… I assumed he overheard you talking or something,” the prince explained.

  “No,” Callum said, shaking his head. “When I first arrived here a year ago, McKinnon cornered me and made it plain that he is another of Rommel’s plants and he would kill me himself if I failed.”

  “What? Preposterous. That doesn’t make any…” Drygo closed his eyes and cursed. “Why now? Why tell me this today of all days?”

  Callum answered, “McKinnon has stood off to the side and watched as I’ve slowly lost my resolve. I suspect he wanted to be rid of me and cast off any suspicion from himself.”

  “So,” the prince asked, looking down at the dagger in Callum’s hand, “what are you going to do?”

  Callum did not immediately answer. What did he want to do? Would Drygo accept him after this? Would Chelsea still love him? What were his alternatives?

  Complete his mission and return to his father? Would Rommel take him back? Was this all just a test to gain his approval? See if he was a worthy son? Worthy to be a prince and one day a king? Or had Rommel literally sent him here to die? Did McKinnon have orders to kill him if he survived? Perhaps Rommel never intended Callum to leave Sunbury alive.

  He knew of only one way to find out.

  PART 3

  The wooden door creaked as Callum pushed it open. Voices drifted out of a room ahead of him.

  “…Callum is as good as dead,” one of the voices said. It was McKinnon. “If we’re lucky… kill each other and this… be for naught.”

  “Idiot. You’ve left a… to chance,” another voice said. Platz, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  “Nonsense. Have you… prince in the training ring?” McKinnon asked. “…doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Callum crept closer so he could hear better.

  “You’re sure the prince doesn’t know where your true allegiances lie? He didn’t wonder how you knew about the boy’s genealogy?” Platz pried.

  “He’s a fool if ever there was one,” McKinnon said. “He thinks himself important enough that no one would dare lie to him. I—”