The Spirit Heir (Book 2)

by Kaitlyn Davis

  As though the sound spurred the enemy on, the charge grew faster. Specks in the distance turned into men, their uniforms grew recognizable. The sky blue silks of Roninhythe were the first Rhen recognized, decorated with a roaring lion. Those colors were almost as familiar to him as the rearing stallion of Rayfort. But others soon called to him, the deep purple leathers of Fayfall and the green overcoat of Lothlian. Each one signified a different part of Whylkin—his kingdom, his home, a place he would not idly watch fall apart.

  Yet, orders of attack would not pass his lips, could not, no matter how he tried to force them from the depths of his throat.

  Rhen shut his eyes tight, swallowing the knot back down, wishing more than anything that Ourthuri and not Whylkin soldiers had been in the first line of attack. But the enemy knew his weakness. The Lord of Roninhythe, Cal's father, had seen Rhen grow from infancy, and he knew just how much his prince cared about his people.

  So much that ordering their deaths was near impossible.

  "My Prince," the commander beside Rhen murmured, "they have passed within range."

  Rhen nodded, eyes still locked on the incoming soldiers. Arrows were still out of the question, but the catapults along the wall could crush those men if aimed correctly. Still, Rhen hesitated. Something felt off, not quite right.

  Why did they march with so few men?

  Why did they not pull catapults with them? A siege tower? A battering ram?

  Nothing about this attack spoke of an attack.

  And then the enemy soldiers slowed to a stop, kneeling behind elongated shields, pulling bows from behind their backs.

  "What are they doing?" Whyllem cursed under his breath, confusion knotting his brows.

  Rhen copied his brother's expression, lips pursed in thought. Arrows would never reach the wall from their location—not even longbows could shoot so far. So why?

  His mind wandered back to summer days spent in the castle of Roninhythe, to the endless lectures Cal's father forced upon them. All Rhen remembered was growing glassy eyed and bored as more and more maps were shoved across the table, followed by more and more words he tried to tune out. Cal, of course, listened carefully to every morsel of knowledge. But Rhen, after months locked in classrooms with elderly knights, after so many hours yearning for freedom—for swordplay and riding lessons—Rhen was done.

  Shaking his head, Rhen the man and not the boy could kick himself for failing to pay attention. Concentrating, he tried to pull any bit of information from his jumbled memories. Until suddenly, a thought filtered to the top of his mind, clear as the cloudless sky overhead. It was the one lesson Rhen had decided to listen to—a lesson on the rebellion that almost removed his ancestor Whyl the Conqueror from the throne.

  The Lord of Roninhythe's voice droned into Rhen's ear. And the rebellion would have succeeded if so many casualties had not been dealt on the first day. If the commanding officers had been just a little smarter, Rayfort, fortress as it is, would have fallen.

  Remembering the words now, Rhen shook his head—the longing in Lord Hamish's voice had been clear. But as a naïve little boy, Rhen had been unable to recognize the duplicity.

  "Trenches," he whispered to himself. Whyllem turned to the sound of his voice and Rhen met his brother's stare. "They are trying to locate our trenches, so when the right time comes, they can attack on a clear path—bringing their horses, their catapults, their heavy weaponry unhindered."

  "Can they do that?" Whyllem asked.

  With a sigh, Rhen nodded and pictured the ground below. Scattered under the dirt, hidden beneath a layer of grass held up by rope and tarp, were deeply cut holes in the ground filled with sharp spikes. The trenches. Throughout his kingdom's history, approaching armies had quite literally fallen victim to their deadly grasp. Horses, catapults, marching soldiers—all had been swallowed, claimed. Everyone in Rayfort knew of their existence, were told from infancy to leave the city only on the Great Road lest the ground open below wayward feet.

  A little fire, Rhen remembered as the Lord of Roninhythe's voice filled his thoughts once more. "The canvases covering the trenches are sturdy enough to hold the weight of five men, but as soon as the sixth walks over, they'll collapse, dropping every soldier to his death. Father believed that to be the only way a trench would be revealed, yet I heard a theory once that the canvases would burn if hit by enough flames, that a little fire would be their undoing."

  "Fire?" the commander questioned but then nodded gravely as though agreeing with the idea. He stepped closer to the edge of the wall, as though trying to reach across the distance and read the enemies' minds.

  But mind reading was unnecessary, as a moment later orange sparked to life in the distance—bright despite the afternoon sun. Gradually, the flames spread from neighbor to neighbor as arrows were slowly lit behind shields.

  Rhen grinned.

  Fire would never be his city's undoing.

  "Should we attack, my King? The catapults are ready," the commander asked, eyes skipping over Rhen and landing on Whyllem, who flinched just slightly with the title.

  "No," Rhen interrupted, uncaring if he broke protocol. Whyllem might be the king regent, but his brother was frozen with indecision, frozen with the weight of a king's responsibilities. "Firing the catapults might accidentally reveal the very trenches they are trying to unearth."

  The commander held his palm out, signaling his men to hold steady even as the soldiers in the distance lifted their bows, aiming their arrows high into the sky.

  "Give me room," Rhen ordered, stepping forward to the very edge of the wall. Immediately, everyone within three paces of him stepped back, eyes lit with curiosity—undoubtedly remembering the rumors that had been circling the city since before dawn.

  The Lord of Fire.

  Rhen sighed, breathing in deeply, calming his nerves. Would it ever get easier to reveal this secret? Would it ever feel normal to be so different?

  Whyllem grabbed Rhen's forearm, squeezing just once before joining the other men standing a few feet away. But once was enough to give him strength. To make him feel just a little bit accepted.

  A few hundred feet ahead, the soldiers of the rebellion loosed their arrows. Each one arched high, losing visibility against the bright white of the sun, before plummeting down to unseen targets.

  Rhen opened his mind, letting go of his thoughts to connect completely with his senses. The flames burned as though already touching the tips of his fingers, and it took almost nothing to reach out and grasp them. Eyes closed, Rhen did not see the fire pull free of the arrows. He did not see the river of flames hurtle toward him.

  But he heard the men around him gasp, with fascination and with horror, just a second before the burn smashed against his palms. And then the world faded away as he let himself revel in heat rippling under his skin, the power, the invincibility.

  Cheers filtered into Rhen's ears as the blaze cooled. Hesitant, he opened his lids, searching for only one set of eyes in the crowd—Whyllem. His brother's hazel irises looked on proudly. The barest hint of a smile graced his lips. No trace of fear lined his features, no ounce of judgment.

  A moment later, another flight of scorching arrows sailed across the sky. Without pause, Rhen sucked the heat beneath his skin.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  For nearly an hour, the exchange continued until the grounds before the city were speckled with half sunken sticks. But no trenches had been revealed. Whether in pure dirt or grass-covered canvas, the arrows all looked the same from his vantage point. Useless.

  "They're retreating!" a soldier shouted.

  Rhen, energized rather than tired from the exchange, focused on the distance, watching with a smile as the row of shields lifted and walked slowly backward. There would be no deaths today, on either side. A small victory, but one Rhen rejoiced in.

  "Lord of Fire!" another man shouted.

  But Rhen did not acknowledge the title, even as it spr
ead along the wall, lifting into the air, growing louder—a different sort of wildfire, one Rhen would never be able to control.

  Instead he turned, away from the battlegrounds, away from the wall, away from his men, searching for his exit back home. For some reason, without the fight to hold his interest, his thoughts had drifted back to Jinji. All he wanted to do was see her, the need punctured his gut, urgent as he thought of how he had left her this morning. Serene in sleep, more peaceful than Rhen had ever remembered seeing his friend's face. More beautiful, too. The memory was hard to suppress as it fluttered up to the forefront of his mind.

  Rhen woke to a gentle yellow glow spreading across the horizon. Confused for a moment, he sat up, but a weight rested on his side. Looking down, honey brown skin greeted him.

  Jinji.

  And suddenly he remembered running to her rooms the night before, needing more than anything to know that someone understood him, accepted him, did not fear the power curling under his skin.

  His fingers rose, brushing the silky skin of her cheek as a smile pulled at his lips. As always, she had been there when he needed her the most.

  Jinji stirred under his touch. Her hand crept up his chest, barely brushing his shirt as she shifted her weight, but heat flooded his veins nonetheless. Rhen breathed deeply, but no amount of cool air could quell the boil rising in his pulse as the woman in his arms pressed ever tighter against him.

  More than anything, in that moment he wished to lean his head down and brush her slightly open mouth with his. Rhen stared, mesmerized by the air slowly rolling in and out of the space between her rosy lips.

  And then a knock sounded, quiet, discreet, but distracting enough. A head poked through. Whyllem. Rhen's eyes widened, caught.

  "When you weren't in your rooms, I thought I might find you here," his brother whispered.

  "Nothing happened," Rhen quickly assured, with the barest hint of regret in his voice. He licked his lips, nervously waiting for his brother's response. Disapproval? A lecture?

  Whyllem just grinned. "There's a first time for everything."

  The tension in the air dissipated just as quickly as it came. Whyllem might not like it, but he accepted it—whatever it was. Rhen himself still wasn't entirely sure, but he couldn’t deny that part of him, a large part, desperately wanted to find out.

  "Come on, little brother." Whyllem sighed. "It's time to see the ships off."

  Rhen nodded, and Whyllem slipped back through the door, closing it silently behind him, leaving Rhen just a few more minutes alone with Jinji.

  He stood, lifting her small body easily, and laid her gently on the bed. A sigh escaped her lips and she turned toward him, as though even in sleep she could feel his arms slip away. Goosebumps rose along her torso, cold now that his body heat was gone, and Rhen tucked blankets around her.

  Hovering just above her face, Rhen stared for a moment, wondering what dreams had brought the slight smile softening her features. And before he could stop himself, he brought his lips against her skin, kissing her forehead, stealing a moment that did not belong to him—at least not yet.

  Careful not to wake her, he pulled away, controlling his wayward lips before they found another target, a more dangerous one. Without another glance, he walked away, trying to ignore the depression spreading down his limbs as he realized Jinji would wake alone, perhaps without the memory that he was ever there at all.

  "Rhen," Whyllem called, snapping him back to reality.

  Fighting to clear his mind, Rhen waited, foot hovering over the top stair, until his elder brother caught up. A hand landed heavily on his shoulder. Whyllem sighed, whispering, "You did well, brother. Better than me."

  Rhen shook his head, pushing thoughts of Jinji from his mind to focus on his sibling. "Not better, Whyllem. We're both doing what we can. And the city is safe for another day."

  "I suppose," Whyllem murmured, but Rhen heard the doubt in his tone. And something else, something harder he could not place. Determination. Resolution.

  Rather than push the point, Rhen remained silent as they descended the steps and approached the royal carriage that had carried Whyllem to the wall. A few yards away, Ember waited for Rhen, already impatiently neighing now that she had seen his face. Rhen wanted to pat her hair, smooth it down and whisper that he too was feeling impatient to get home, to escape the wall, to find a certain someone.

  Rhen turned to bid his brother farewell, but Whyllem hesitated before entering the royal coach—one foot in and one foot glued to the ground. After a moment, he gently lowered. Rhen held his breath, waiting for the speech blazing behind his brother's eyes. Fierce. Passionate.

  "Rhen," Whyllem began, squaring his shoulders. And for the first time he could remember, his brother's voice held true weight—a note of authority that was unfamiliar. But before Whyllem could continue, a king's guard ran to them, panting, out of breath with a sealed note in his hand.

  "For the king regent," he said with the hasty bow.

  Holding Rhen's gaze for just a moment longer, Whyllem accepted the letter with a deep sigh, thanking the messenger and sending him away. Rhen released his breath, fixing his eyes on the ground, feeling as though he had escaped something, but he wasn't entirely sure what.

  Then Whyllem cursed under his breath, and Rhen's brief moment of reprieve ended. Nerves flooded his veins, zapping his heart, as an immediate sense of dread overcame his body.

  Was today just a distraction?

  Had the Ourthuri struck?

  Was Jinji okay?

  Questions burned his tongue, too many to ask all at once, so instead he settled on one all encompassing word. "What?"

  "Two Ourthuri women snuck into the city this morning."

  "How?"

  Whyllem shook his head, unsure, and continued reading aloud, disbelief evident in his voice. "They were found on the docks, dripping wet, and have been taken to the castle for questioning. Based on their tattoos, the guards believe it was a princess and her slave."

  A princess and her slave?

  Rhen shook his head—that made absolutely no sense.

  Unless…

  He cursed under his breath, realization immediate. "I know who it is."

  "Who?"

  "Someone who helped me escape King Razzaq."

  "A princess?"

  Rhen ran a hand through his tangled hair.

  "Princess Leenaka," he murmured, voice quiet. The name had run through his mind a thousand times since his escape from Da’astiku, always attached to the golden veiled beauty who had brushed her soft fingers over his cheek, caressing his skin warmly, running a thumb over his lips. The memory stirred, igniting his veins. Rhen had dreamt about her, thought about her. Even now, knowing that in truth the mysterious woman had been Jinji in one of her many disguises, Rhen couldn't help the curiosity stirring his mind.

  Who was this princess who helped him escape? This princess Jinji chose to hide behind, another mask his friend pretended to wear? This princess who had never truly met him, but placed her life in his hands?

  "I don't think you ever mentioned that part of the story," Whyllem said, nudging his brother with a grin and forgetting for a moment the grave situation of the day. "Another woman? You certainly were busy while you were away."

  Rhen shook his head, looking at his brother with exasperation. "Not like that, Whyllem." He sighed. "She… Well, I'm not sure why she helped save me, but she did. And in return, she was promised safe haven in Rayfort if she ran away from her father and her homeland. And it looks like she did."

  "You promised protection to an Ourthuri princess? Rhen, what were you thinking?" Whyllem rubbed the ridge of his nose, crinkling the message in his fist. "King Razzaq—"

  "King Razzaq tried to kill me once already and is currently waging a war against our people. There isn’t much left for him to do, whether we help the princess or not. Besides, I made a promise."

  Rhen bit his tongue, ignoring the fact that Jinji was in fact the one who made the prom
ise—after she convinced the princess to help save his life and usher them to safety. He owed both of them his life.

  Speaking of Jinji…

  Rhen's pulse quickened beneath his skin, eyes narrowing as he recalled his brother's earlier words. "Did you say the princess came with a slave?"

  "Yes…"

  Rhen dropped his head into waiting palms, fighting the urge to laugh or cry—he was unsure which. "The gods," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he fought to regain control over his unruly emotions.

  Jinji.

  It had to be.

  Pain pricked his chest as he remembered the gruesome scars circling her wrists, cuts from the shackles that had bound her hands while she was left for dead in the dungeons, before Rhen woke and rescued her from that dark fate. Too late though—he had been too late. Long sleeves hid the marks, but Rhen had not forgotten they were there. And with those branding her copper skin, Jinji was easy to mistake for an unmarked Ourthuri.

  Arrested twice already…

  Rhen closed his eyes tight, wishing he could turn back time, wishing he had never left her alone this morning. Convincing his family and his people to embrace an oldworlder was hard enough. Convincing them to embrace an oldworlder who had been arrested for the attempted murder of a prince and a queen was verging on impossible. But convincing them to embrace an oldworlder who had also been accused of being an enemy spy? The scenario was becoming downright ridiculous.

  Indeed, one side of Rhen's mouth lifted up in disbelief, but it quickly fell as the image of Jinji bound and chained, bleeding and bruised once more, erased all of the mirth from his mind, leaving a dark rage in its place.

  "Rhen," Whyllem yelled, sensing his brother's changing mood. But Rhen was already retreating, jumping on Ember, turning to the castle.

  "I'll meet you there," he called over his shoulder. Moments later, he was flying over cobblestone as Ember's hooves pounded in his ears.

  9

  JINJI

  ~ RAYFORT ~