I hugged Rowan one last time, fearing my heart would break. Memories assaulted me, all featuring my brother. When we were kids, we would climb the trees of the orchard, running away laughing when one of the farm workers chased us off. He was always there when I was hurt, bandaging a skinned knee when I tripped over the steps leading down to third and fourth tiers. We would sneak to High Road and make faces at the guards manning the gates around the palace. He punched Billy Dawson in the face when the creep called me names in primary school. I had looked forward to our children growing up together. I shoved the memories and unshared hopes into a box in my mind, setting my shoulders forward at the solid knock on our door.
Chapter Four
Mason
Mason Brantley, the eldest son of the High Commander of the Military of Treleaven, wasn't sure why he had been called from patrol when the summons came. He was told only that he was needed in Scholar House, second tier. He hoped the altercation wasn't a domestic dispute. He despised spending his evenings separating drunken spouses. When his comrades didn't crack jokes about the inanity of the summons, he began to wonder what else it could be. When his father joined the procession, he was certain their goal wasn't a simple domestic call. His father wouldn't stoop to such business. As Head of his House and High Commander, he was no longer required to serve on patrol. When Mason progressed to first tier, he would be relieved of patrol duty as well.
Scholar House resembled the other Houses. Each tier was elevated approximately fifteen steps above the other, a subtle reminder of the hierarchy of the House structure. The terraced design also helped with the sewer systems and the drainage of the fields and orchards, though he hadn't learned the specifics until he'd made friends with a city Planner.
He was certain his father didn't know half the information he did. Master Brantley only concerned himself with matters which directly affected him. Mason had learned from his father's shortcomings and gathered friends in all the Houses to cultivate a more well-rounded personality. Master Brantley wanted his son to succeed him as High Commander. Mason didn't mind the pressure or the expectations; he simply endeavored to be a better High Commander than his self-serving father, if that was to be his future.
The corridors of the House were well maintained as fines would be issued if the occupants didn't care for their dwellings. First tier, and sometimes second tier, paid the Commoners to clean, but the duties were still performed.
The High Commander himself waited on the street below while he sent his two best men, Mason and Gillian, to fetch whoever they were here to fetch. Mason clenched his teeth. He didn't know whether the person they were sent to apprehend was a fugitive or an enemy to the kingdom. Going into a situation without information made him irritable. A quick question to Gillian ascertained that his friend didn't have any more information than he did.
The two soldiers paused in front of the door with a plaque saying "Walton" and Mason knocked after Gill motioned he take the lead. The unit within was quiet and shivers trailed down his spine. His right hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, a habit borne from years of training. In reality, a sword wouldn't be his weapon of choice in a small unit dwelling. A dagger would be the better option. He had several stashed about his person.
The door swung open and Mason absorbed the room in a glance. The small living area was dominated by an upholstered couch which had seen better days, a couple wooden chairs and a packed bookcase. Everything seemed typical, the bookcase a testament to the Scholar who lived there.
Mason studied the occupants next, establishing the cause of the secrecy and goal of the mission. A man sat on the aged couch in the living room, still dressed in the green tunic of his House. Though he was no older than Mason, his eyes were milky white and unseeing. A shiver of shock coursed down Mason's spine. He'd never seen a Soul Tender before but he recognized the signs. The patrol had been briefed after the old Soul Tender died, in preparation for the new one who would be "born" to take his place.
An older woman stood to one side, her face upset and her hands crumpling the folds of her Scholar robes. The younger woman standing at her side drew Mason's attention like a moth to a flame. She had a bold, attractive face and a tempting body. Her hair shone in the dim lantern light and her eyes glittered with anger. Mason's training urged him to hesitate a moment at the anger, but he dismissed her as a threat. The family resemblance was clear. He attempted to put himself in the woman's shoes, something his father was incapable of. The soldiers were here to take away her brother. Her anger was justified. Still, the potency of the emotion rolled over him, hiding an intense sadness.
Another figure flounced from the back of the unit as they entered. The younger girl was both taller and more slender than her sister. Mason didn't approve of the calculation in her eyes or the blush on her face when she took note of him, though. His father continuously pushed such women at him. He steered clear of Merchant House. Though the girl was untested as evidenced by her school uniform, he predicted she would be a Merchant. They considered people assets and liabilities. His father would have made a good Merchant if he weren't so bloodthirsty. The older girl, who by all rights should be sorted, made him pause. He had good intuition when guessing the Houses of citizens but the girl confused him. He couldn't determine her aptitude.
The thinking on his part had only taken a second. He stepped further into the room, bowing to the oldest woman. "Mistress Walton, thanks for sending for us." The protocol for dealing with a new Soul Tender was sketchy. The experience occurred maybe once in a military man's career. In a way, Mason was part of history. The thought didn't please him.
"Of course, sir. My son has had a vision. This is Rowan Walton." The young man on the couch nodded, his blind eyes set upon Mason. The vacancy of his gaze disturbed him. Soul Tenders existed in the realm of the five Saints. They were a legend, the mystery surrounding them as deep as the River Ilia.
"It is my pleasure to accompany Master Walton to the palace," Mason bowed again. The policy may be vague, but Soul Tenders were ensconced in the North Tower. There could be no other course of action. The oldest sister helped her brother to his feet though he appeared steady without her. Still, Mason didn't interrupt. He wouldn't begrudge her any last contact with her sibling. Mistress Walton embraced her son, tears trailing silently down her cheeks. The man also hugged the youngest girl but the action seemed wooden and perfunctory instead of filled with emotion.
The eldest sister led Rowan to the door, her chin held high as if challenging Mason or Gill to rip her from her brother.
"Kiarra," the mother protested, her eyes darting to Mason's.
Kiarra. Mason rolled the name on his tongue. It suited the woman, strong, soft and exotic. She challenged him with her gaze as she passed close to him. Her eyes resembled the sky before a thunderstorm, grayish-blue. Those wide, expressive eyes were ringed by thick dark lashes, negating the need to enhance them with the cosmetics used by some women of the city. Her observation tempted him to enfold her soft body in his arms and soothe her pain. Mason mentally kicked himself. Women were a means to an end for him, used to sate his desires to prevent his pent up frustration from spending itself on the point of his sword. He wasn't ready to find a partner, not while his father still secured control over his life.
Mason glanced at the Scholar. "She may accompany her brother to the street. Then, we will have to take him ourselves." He was being too kind and risked the girl coming under his father's notice. She might lash out in her pain, giving the High Commander an excuse to deliver punishment.
He caught the girl's despairing gaze. Their eyes held and then she moved ahead, not acknowledging him more. Though he enjoyed the view from behind, he missed the depth of those storm filled eyes. The woman had strength and steel in her spine, he noted, sufficient to be sorted into Military House. He wouldn't wish such a future upon her, however. Lower tier Military women did not have an easy life. They had to work twice as hard to prove themselves and harassment was unavoidable. It was po
ssible to progress all the way up the tiers, but the women who reached the top lost their softness somewhere along the way.
Kiarra led them to the exit and Mason didn't protest her leisurely pace. Another couple was climbing the stairs to their dwelling and Gillian moved ahead to intercept them. The soldier steered them into the second-floor hall before they noted Rowan's blind eyes. Rowan didn't stumble once, Mason noted. He didn't know whether to attribute his steadiness to Kiarra's guiding hand, muscle memory of the stairs themselves, or perhaps his eyes were not as sightless as they appeared.
They reached the bottom floor. Kiarra didn't hesitate, her hand gripping her brother's arm. She led him through the door before Mason could halt her. He hurried after her and then inserted himself smoothly in front of her, hoping his father was otherwise distracted. There was to be no such luck.
"Ah, a new Soul Tender!" Master Calum Brantley boomed. Mason winced. For an undercover mission, his father was not helping their cause. "And who is this?"
Mason stepped aside with a silent sigh. There was no point in standing in front of his father when he adopted that tone. Kiarra's spine stiffened. She held her chin high. "I am his sister."
"He no longer has a family," Master Brantley answered in a low voice, his eyes skimming Kiarra. Mason was certain he noted her brown Commoner clothes, her dirtied bare feet, the dark locks falling from her braid. The High Commander would find her lacking, bypassing the admirable traits which made her a compassionate human being.
"We'll take it from here, citizen." The term was derogatory in this case. The High Commander was pointing out she had no allocation to a House. She didn't respond, her stormy eyes spitting lightning like an angry sky. Mason admired her anew. Not many women, or men, held his father's cold gaze without shaking in their boots.
"Mason, take the Tender to a horse before we gather a crowd." There was no one around, but in this city someone was always watching. Curtains fluttered in the windows above them. Kiarra, still holding the High Commander's gaze, hugged her brother's arm one last time and then released him.
Mason led the man to a waiting horse. The way Rowan grabbed the bridle and leapt into the saddle displayed his familiarity with the beasts, which would ease his trip to the palace. The company of men which escorted him, six in all, stared at Rowan with surprised faces. Mason didn't begrudge them their curiosity. It wasn't every day one saw a Soul Tender in the flesh. Once Rowan was seated, Mason turned back to his father.
"Did the Soul Tender share a vision with you?" Master Brantley questioned the young lady. Mason cursed himself for his soft heart. If he hadn't let her escort her brother downstairs, she wouldn't be subjected to his father's attention.
Kiarra never faltered. Her shoulders straightened, pushing her perfect breasts forward against the tunic. Mason's jaw tightened. If his father took note of the girl's considerable charms, he would lose his temper. Master Brantley was a well-known philanderer, defying his Soul Match by keeping a mistress in each of the Houses. Another established fact was that the High Commander preferred women many years his junior. He preferred meek lovers, though, something Kiarra was not.
Mason took a step towards the couple. Kiarra's eyes darted to him and he clenched a fist behind his back. It took monumental willpower not to spring to her defense. He had protected his three younger sisters from his Father their entire lives. He possessed the same need to protect this unknown girl. His desires, however, were not sisterly by any definition.
"My brother told me nothing, High Commander," Kiarra replied, her voice steady. Master Brantley continued to assess Kiarra.
"High Commander," Mason urged. "We must be on our way." It was dangerous to provoke his father in any way, but Mason became more nervous as the stare-down continued. The girl refused to look away, lacking any sense of self-preservation.
The older man sneered, straightening his spine. "Very well," he replied in a clipped voice. "The King will certainly wish to thank your family for their contribution, Miss Walton. A summons will be sent to your unit before the week is out." He turned on his booted heel, rudely dismissing Kiarra before she had a chance to respond.
Mason hesitated. He wanted to reassure the young woman but his father observed with keen eyes. He nodded towards her before turning and mounting his stallion in one graceful motion. The procession began to move, Mason holding the bridle of Rowan's gelding to guide the younger animal.
Mason peeked behind him. Kiarra watched them disappear down the road. He experienced the pain of her heartbreak in his own chest. He couldn't fathom how he would cope if he was told he might never see his sisters again. He sensed Rowan and Kiarra had the same close relationship. He hadn't noted a father figure in the household and wondered idly if Rowan protected Kiarra like he protected his sisters. A smile lifted his lips. He was certain the girl could hold her own, even though his own protective instincts kicked in around her. He considered checking on her unobtrusively at some point to make certain she was well. He refused to examine his motivation for doing so, certain they were not as noble as he imagined.
The escort wound their way up Fenton Road to High Road, the track that circled the palace walls. Though the soldiers attempted to surround Rowan and protect him from prying eyes, citizens stared unabashedly once they realized a Soul Tender traveled in their midst. For his part, Rowan sat tall in his saddle. Mason sensed those blind eyes on him more than once, however. The Soul Tender seemed aware of his exact location at every moment. He shifted, the leather saddle creaking beneath him.
Night had descended fully by the time they reached the gate. The guards on duty clicked their heels, stood at attention, and uncrossed their spears to let them enter unencumbered.
The palace was a large building, but it still towered over the rest of the city, set on a small promontory. The grounds inside the inner walls were dedicated to the King's personal guard, private stables, and housing for the servants who managed the palace grounds and royal family. The hour was late but servants scurried back and forth on unknown errands. The purple crests on their brown tunics designated them as employed by the Royal House.
Stopping before the broad stone stairway which led into the palace, Mason dismounted and handed his horse off to the waiting stable boy. He and his father kept their mounts in the palace stables in case of need. The stables for the rest of the army were situated below Low Road.
Mason assisted Rowan from the saddle, feeling responsible for the young man. In any other circumstance, they might have become friends. Unlike his father, he didn't believe in only making friends among those of his own House. He felt every House contributed meaningfully to their society, not only the fighting men. He tried to be more open-minded, or maybe he had a preoccupation with contradicting his father's actions and beliefs.
While attending Rowan, Mason was momentarily distracted by movement in the shadows of the palace walls. He squinted, searching deeper into the black but nothing seemed out of place. He didn't put the anomaly down to a trick of his eyes, though. The Information Exchange spies were always slinking about and he expected them to be present in almost every situation. He was not at all surprised one was watching from the darkness they commandeered. Judging by the man’s skill, he might know which Shadow skulked about the walls.
"Thank you," Rowan murmured as he slid to the ground, his voice pleasant. Mason's father started barking orders, and Rowan used the opportunity to lean closer to Mason. Blind eyes sank into him again, eyes which saw nothing but everything simultaneously. He wondered if Rowan's eyes had once possessed the color of a stormy sky as well.
Rowan's hand gripped Mason's arm with surprising strength. "Take care of my sister," he whispered. The words were so silent Mason wasn't confident he understood them correctly. But Rowan had already retreated, the High Commander's boots approaching them. Mason surreptitiously squeezed the Soul Tender's upper arm in answer before stepping away. He wasn't confident which sister the man referred to, but a moment of selfish weakness had him wishing Kia
rra needed him. He hoped there was no immediate threat to her though, the idea disturbed him. There wasn't any time to question Rowan further. There were too many people present. High Commander's son or not, no citizen spoke to a Soul Tender.
Chapter Five
Kiarra
I watched Rowan's back retreat, his lean form swaying with the movement of the horse as if they were one. My eyes followed until I could no longer ascertain anything but blurry shapes in the pale light of the gas lamps along Fenton Road and still I watched. Before I turned away to return home, a shadow slunk out of the darkness of the Merchant Quarter close to first tier. I knew with a strange certainty that the spy who had assisted me followed them. Such subterfuge was to be expected. The Information Exchange House thrived on knowing everything.
I made my way upstairs with a heavy heart and equally heavy feet. Mum was waiting in the sitting room for me. She offered me a cup of tea, her hands trembling. A sniff revealed the brew was the calming mixture she pushed upon us when we were ill or hurting. My body was undamaged, but there was an ache in my heart and head no herbs could soothe. I accepted the cup nonetheless. Maybe it would help me forget the emptiness in the center of my chest, the void which had always been filled by my brother.
Delia flitted around the kitchen, seemingly unaffected by the motions of the night. I hated her at that moment, wondering if she even cared or if she had ever cared. She was the only child who took after Father. She was helping in her own way, though, clearing away our half eaten dinner, allowing Mum a break. She finished the dishes, kissed Mum on the cheek and went off to bed without a word. She never glanced at me.
When the door closed behind my sister, the tears fell. They poured unchecked down my face, soaking my tunic. Mum enfolded me in the softness of her robes, the scent of flowers surrounding me. She always smelled of lavender. She commissioned the special soap from the herbal Merchant's shop, one of her only luxuries.
Pieces of Her Soul: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Soul Tenders Book 1) Page 4
