Hereditary (Beatrice Harrow Series)

by Jane Washington

  Nareon waved his hand dismissively, “the throne test will not be a problem, as soon as she is rested, she can get it over and done with, and then a High Council can be established.”

  I nodded, because there didn’t seem to be many other options at that moment.

  “What do you want to do now?” Harbringer asked me.

  “I need to go home. I need to speak to the others, make sense of all this.”

  “Very well, I’ll take you back. Your father’s men might not be waiting, so we will have to take horses with us.”

  Grenlow shot towards the door, probably relieved to have some definitive thing to work with, “I’ll have them brought around to the front, and I will announce that you are in the process of selecting a High Council to bring justice to the dead king, it will put people at ease.”

  I nodded to Grenlow, and winced as he made a quick bow and then strode out the door, leaving me wondering how to also make Nareon disappear before the whole castle saw him. At the thought, his grey eyes swung toward me, and he bent into a mocking bow, crooked a smile, and vanished into thin air. Harbringer stared at the spot a moment longer and shook his head, and then we began moving toward the door as one.

  When we broke through the barrier back into the Read Empire, and trotted to the clearing where we had left my father’s men, it was to encounter my father himself. He was alone, pacing agitatedly beside his horse, and his head jerked up as we broke through the line of trees.

  “Oh thank god.” He breathed when he saw me, and I slid from my horse, running over to clasp his hands.

  “You were gone so long.” He flicked a look to Harbringer, eyes narrowing on the new bandages, and then he seemed to realise that my own bandages had now disappeared.

  “The king is dead.” I said, knowing that there would be no keeping this new development a secret, “and he left his kingdom to me.”

  My father was struck speechless, and I felt the grip on my hands slacken and fall away.

  “What did you just say?” He croaked.

  “He was attacked tonight, by the same people who attacked me. They were winning the fight, and so he used… he used…” I trailed off, feeing the horrible desolation return, reminding me that even though I hadn’t lost Nareon completely, he was still dead, and I was still the one who had killed him.

  “He was lost in the battle.” Harbringer edged his horse forward, and I looked down to the ground, unsure as to why he would lie, until I realised that admitting one thing would inevitably lead to questions about why Nareon would choose for me to kill him, moments before he would have died anyway.

  Because then everybody would know that a part of him remained, inside me somewhere. What would the human King do with this knowledge?

  “And naming Beatrice as successor? How the fuck did that happen?”

  I blinked, surprised at my father’s language, and looked to Harbringer, glad that the question had been directed to him instead of me.

  “Nareon trusted her, I suspect that his influence lead the Hereditary Scroll to choose her over his enemies. In the moments leading to his death, I doubt he would have had much time to deliberate over viable candidates.”

  “I know about the Hereditary Scroll, and I know that whoever killed the King should have inherited all of his powers. If that’s the case, then his influence would not have counted for much, and whoever that person is, they should be sitting on his throne right now. I know more than you give me credit for Harbringer.”

  My father looked back to me, then, and Harbringer threw his hands up into the air. I suspected that he was growing frustrated, and I didn’t blame him, especially since his lie to my father indicated that he was planning on also lying to his own King.

  “Nareon.” I said aloud. “This is all your fault, and I’m not going to stand here and lie to my father another second longer. Come out and explain yourself.”

  Harbringer cracked a smile, and my father’s eyes went wide, but the dead King materialised obediently, his expression wary, as he took in the scene he had been pulled into.

  “You know, I was in the middle of something important then.” He admonished me.

  “You’re dead. How could you possibly have been doing something important?” Harbringer asked the question before I was able to.

  “I don’t intend on staying dead for long, just so you know.”

  “Nareon.” I reminded quietly, before his words could wreak any further havoc than they already had, judging by Harbringer’s expression.

  Nareon looked to me, a habitual arch to one dark, slender brow; and then slowly, he turned to my father. I felt cruel then, forcing him to face the man who had stolen the woman he loved, and wished that I could touch his arm, to let him know that I was sorry, somehow. But despite how real he looked, I knew that my touch would sift right through him, because in a way, he wasn’t really there. Not like we were.

  “John Harrow.” He said quietly, “We meet at last.”

  “I can’t say I’m disappointed that my daughter was the one to finally kill you.” My father acknowledged, causing me to wince.

  Nareon’s gaze slid sideways to focus on me, his faintly golden irises sparking with something familiar. It was a bond, our bond. Forged through his love for my mother, and the necessity of Nareon in my own life over the course of our strange friendship… not to mention his hold over my mind. With his re-appearance, I could feel his presence there again; it was a shadow dodging each of my thoughts, a subtle string of wry supremacy, a feeling that I had grown to attribute to Nareon.

  “She didn’t want to kill me,” He spoke to my father without looking away from me, “I forced her to do it.”

  I looked away from him, and focused my gaze on the ground at my father’s feet, “he already had control of my mind. I was the most logical escape option at the time.”

  “On the contrary,” Nareon intoned almost gleefully, “This has been my contingency plan for months now.”

  I sighed heavily, unable to fully muster the anger that I should have been feeling, because really, I expected no less from Nareon.

  The sound of a sudden scuffle warned me that my father wasn’t about to take the news as easily as I had, and I looked up in time to see his fist fly right through Nareon’s skull, before he yanked his arm back, shaking off whatever feeling it had left him with. Nareon barely winced, but he suddenly seemed less tangible, fainter.

  “Who’d have thought?” He said lightly, turning toward where his kingdom was now invisible to us, “I am more invincible in death, than I ever was in life.”

  His words brought an uncomfortable silence upon us, in which I avoided eye contact with any of them, until my father’s voice broke through the tension in the air.

  “If you think you’re going to be able to use my daughter for whatever sick plan you have in motion, you’ll be sorely disappointed, Nareon.” He hissed, clearly frustrated that his ability was failing him, because Nareon was already dead.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Nareon spun around again, stepping up to meet my father’s stare, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “Ever since she came into her inheritance power, she’s been walking around with my protection. No other race could harm her. The other tainted creatures couldn’t even touch her. You think I used her without ever thinking once about the danger I would be putting her in? You’re wrong. I intervened only to keep her alive during her transition, but when the others found out that I had reached out to another Force user, she became a target. I had to bring her into my plans then, to protect her.”

  My father scoffed, though I was considerably unsettled by the confession.

  “And yet here you stand. Living through her, to stay in control of your kingdom.”

  “It’s hers now. Tell me honestly Harrow, do you think they’d leave her be, once they killed me and gained the throne? Do you think they’d put her aside as insignificant and forget about her? She’s safer now than she ever was before. The throne puts her o
nto a pedestal. She’ll never be alone, never without protection, or people watching her. And she has the same weapon now that—up until today—had managed to keep me alive for hundreds of years, despite what you know to be a tremulous relationship with the Read successors.”

  Harbringer scoffed, “your dark magic is no use to her Nareon.”

  Nareon frowned, “she doesn’t seem very inclined toward it, does she?”

  “I’m right here.” I waved my hand in agitation.

  “And you’re taking this remarkably well.” My father added, narrowing his eyes upon me, as though he suspected I had been aware of Nareon’s plan the entire time.

  “I have very little control here, Dad. If Nareon hadn’t been using me to get to those Force-users, our own King would have eventually tried using me to get to Nareon, and we all know it. I don’t know where I stand anymore, I don’t know who holds my fate anymore. I just don’t know. I walked out of this alive, and so did Harbringer. Even a part of Nareon managed to survive. I’m angry, and upset that he did what he did, but it doesn’t feel like he’s gone, so those feelings are fading to my relief, which doesn’t make all that much sense either.”

  “You’re too good, Bea. And he knows it. It’s how he’s been able to manipulate you so easily.”

  That wasn’t entirely true, but him blaming my apparent good nature was preferable to him knowing that I had been sustaining myself on Nareon’s dark energy and power ever since my eighteenth birthday. Nareon seemed to be thinking the same thing, because there was a smile beginning to twist his lips. I opened my mouth to say something to distract my father from seeing it, but whatever I might have said died on my tongue at the sound of an approaching rider.

  “Go, Nareon!” I hissed instead, moving back to my own horse and mounting it.

  He shimmered out of existence immediately, and my father also ran back to his horse, while Harbringer edged in front of me. The man who soon broke through the cover of trees into our small clearing was wearing a helm and his torso was encased in armour, with a blood splatter marring the right breastbone.

  “Cody, what’s happened?” My father snapped, recognising the man before I did.

  “The castle was attacked…” Cody started to reply breathlessly.

  Whatever else he might have said was lost on me.

  I was past him in an instant, the sound of my own familiar panic roaring in my ears. Two coordinated attacks… on both kingdoms. Whatever fear I had felt for Nareon was nothing compared to this. I would have thought that I would be numb of feeling by now, but my entire being was suddenly compiled of terror. I could feel it numbing my fingertips, swelling in my throat until I was struggling to breathe. I had no idea if the others were following me, but I didn’t care. All that mattered were the people I loved. What if I never saw Cale’s smile again, or felt Rose’s hand in mine? And Hazen… He had done more than keep me alive, or keep me sane. He had shared each new horror with me, lived through it as though it were his own.

  It was nearing dawn by the time I finally arrived at the castle, and my horse was almost crippled with fatigue, but I could only muster a small amount of compassion for the beast as I handed her reins to the nearest guard. The man recognised me, and waved me through the gates, but I was already moving past him, running for the doors. The entrance chamber was full of activity, servants rushing around trying to restore order to the room—which looked as if a cyclone had hit it. There were various nobles standing around in small groups too, whispering quietly among themselves. I caught sight of Miriam first, and I examined her from afar, finding her unhurt—though disheveled—before pushing my way around the room to find the others. I found Rose and Cale at the base of the staircase. They sat side-by-side, neither one talking, faces white. They looked up when I approached, and I flung myself at them, an arm around each, hugging them closely. They both laughed, but there was something off about the sound, and I drew back, the paralyzing fear threatening to return.

  “Where’s Hazen?” I asked.

  Cale, who had opened his mouth to say something, looked away, and Rose stood from her perch, clasping my hands in her own.

  “He’s alive.” She said quickly, peering into my face, “but it doesn’t look good. There was a Force-user here, Bea. Hazen is the most powerful of us all, so he got the worst of it.”

  “Worst of what? What are you talking about? Where is he?” I squeezed her hands when she didn’t answer me, and then looked back to Cale, repeating my questions.

  When he didn’t answer me either, I felt my face fall. “I’m so sorry.” I muttered, pulling Rose into a hug.

  She sagged against me, her small arms encircling my waist, and I ran a hand through her hair, closing my eyes against the tears I could feel itching to escape. When she moved back to her seat, I told them both I had to use the bathroom and continued up the stairs, ducking into the first empty room that I came across and shutting the door behind me.

  “Nareon,” I whispered into the empty space, “I need you.”

  He was there in an instant, looking about himself in surprise.

  “Am I in the castle?”

  “Yes.”

  “If only Harbringer were here to witness it.”

  “How were the Force-users killing you Nareon?”

  He paused in his inspection of a gilded statue beside the window at the other end of the room and looked up, his eyes narrowing on me.

  “There’s been another attack?”

  “Yes, Hazen is hurt.”

  “The prince? Only him?”

  “As far as I can tell.”

  “A Force-user has a unique position in the synfee race. It’s something I never quite explained to you before, for reasons of my own.”

  “Of course.”

  “When a synfee attempts to kill another being and fails, nothing befalls that person other than any physical repercussion of the attack. When a Force-user attempts to kill another being, the assimilation process kicks in at a certain point before the deed is complete, and whether the attempt is successful or not, the process can continue for as long as the attacker is able to maintain it.”

  “Assimilation process?”

  “It’s what we call the transferring of life-energy and power, when a synfee kills or feeds.”

  “I think I understand. So they have stolen his life energy?”

  “They might have, I would have to see him, to be sure.”

  “Can you find him?”

  “I’ve touched his mind before, but not for long. I will try.”

  He closed his eyes, and I temporarily stored away the fact that Nareon was clearly still in partial—if not full—control of his abilities to deliberate over later. I took the opportunity to examine him while I waited and he was otherwise preoccupied, and soon found it impossible to spot any difference in the way he had managed to physically manifest since his death. He was dressed typically for Nareon, in plain colours and minimal adornment, with the leather blade-holsters crossed over his chest. He didn’t look like a King. If it weren’t for the synfee blood that caused every line or dip in his complexion to protract the impression of perfection, I might have been able to mistake him for a common, human soldier.

  “I think I found him. He’s on the third floor, in the far left wing. The room belonged to Henry Read’s Emerald Mistress once, but I suppose that’s before your time.”

  “That’s a little creepy.” I muttered as I pushed open the door to the room and began to climb toward where Nareon had directed me.

  I hadn’t told him to disappear again, and I could still feel his presence in my mind, though he was nowhere to be seen. When I reached the right room, I knew it only because I suddenly felt that I was there. I momentarily toyed with the idea of walking straight past it, just to test how strong Nareon’s hold over me was, but the pull to get to Hazen was too strong. I pushed open the door, and then froze, unable to take a step further. The King himself sat at Hazen’s side, handsome face turned to the doorway, eyebrows arc
hed as he took me in. He looked angry and expectant all at once, and I scrambled for an explanation.

  Nareon suddenly re-appeared then, hovering just behind Fenrel’s chair, holding up a thick, bound tomb that had been discarded on a pile of other books beside the window. Before I could shout the sudden warning that rose in my throat, he swung the book down, slamming it into the side of Fenrel’s head. I gaped in horror as the huge man slumped from his chair and onto the ground, but Nareon only rolled his eyes at me.

  “You want to help your friend or not? A second longer and Fenrel would have called the guards to have you dragged out of here, and this one—” he gestured to Hazen’s inert form, “—doesn’t have the luxury of time, he’s still being drained.”

  “He’s what? Does that mean whoever attacked him is still close by?”

  “Depending on how powerful they are… they could still be on the grounds, or even inside the castle.”

  “We have to tell someone.”

  “You’re right. I should march out there and announce that there is a traitor in their midst. I think that will go well.”

  “Right…” I slumped down onto the end of Hazen’s bed, my eyes travelling up to his face.

  I had successfully avoided looking at him properly until now, but I knew that I couldn’t avoid it forever. He was pale, frighteningly so, and sweat had begun to bead above his top lip, mixing with the blood already smudged beneath his nose. There was a deep gash along his forehead, cutting through his left eyebrow, and another across the bridge of his nose, deep enough that I could see the cartilage beneath.

  He will never look the same again, I thought to myself as I reached for his hand, the stiffness of his fingers spurring me to action.

  “Alright,” I stepped gingerly over the crumpled form of Fenrel, “tell me what to do, and quickly, before the King wakes up.”

  “Drop your glamor, open the Force connection.”

  “Done.”

  “Now don’t fight me.”

  I felt him then, flooding my mind with a strength that still managed to alarm me, despite everything that had already transpired that night. He took a hold of my connection, the same way one might confiscate a horse’s reigns from another rider. I could feel it creeping closer to Hazen’s life-force, tentatively crawling across his skin, surrounding him in some kind of cocoon, until its progress was met with a weak resistance. It was the tiniest tendril of power, but it was connected to Hazen, and I could feel the pull of energy that it drew from him, even as Nareon suddenly pounced, and severed it. I expected him to pull back then, but he took a firmer hold of both my mind, and the tendril of power that he had broken. I tried to nudge him out of my mind, but the attempt was either too weak for him to notice, or else he was simply ignoring it.