Twin Soul Series Omnibus 1: Books 1-5 (Twin Soul Series Book Sets)

by McCaffrey-Winner

  “Reedis, you idiot, we’re going to die,” Ford grumbled.

  “Some day,” Reedis agreed readily. “Can you move? I propose to get you and that balloon out in one piece.”

  “My leg’s broken,” Ford told him. “The balloon pushed me back to the bottom.” Reedis heard him groan in pain as he tried to move. Then Ford said hopelessly, “I don’t think I can get out.”

  “We’ll figure out something,” Reedis said gamely.

  “It’ll have to be quick,” Ford’s voice came back. “I can feel the flames on the door.”

  Reedis realized that he could smell the smoke more strongly and glanced around. Flames had engulfed Spite almost completely. On the very stern of the ship still survived.

  “If we can get the window wide enough, the balloon should pull you out,” Reedis said.

  “And you?”

  “I’ll grab on as you go by,” Reedis said. “The balloon should hold us both.”

  “So all you need is a strong man with an axe,” Ford said grimly.

  “Will this help?” a voice boomed up from over the railing. It was Crown Prince Nestor. Reedis looked up and saw that he had an axe in his hands.

  “Nestor?” Ford cried. “Why are you still here?”

  “I had to get the crew off, sir,” Nestor called back.

  “You? What about Knox?” Reedis asked in surprise.

  Nestor’s face fell and he shook his head grimly. “It was Mr. Knox who gave me the charge. I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”

  “What?”

  “He went over with the last line,” Nestor said with a catch in his voice. “I ordered him.”

  “Good man!” Reedis said, surprised that the prince had shown such mettle.

  “I wish,” Nestor said. “The wind shifted and his line caught fire. He fell without a word.” He hefted his axe. “We’re all that’s left. What do I need to do?”

  “Smash the window, widen it so the balloon can get through,” Reedis told him, moving aside and gesturing the prince toward him.

  Nestor grimly pulled himself over the stern and clambered down to the window. He raised his axe and started hammering away at the wood frame of the window. He struck grimly, quickly, and with more strength than Reedis would have guessed the prince possessed.

  Nestor caught his look and grinned. “Sykes had me working hard,” Nestor told him. “And you’re the last of the crew.”

  “The captain goes down with his ship,” Ford cried feebly.

  “Not this captain,” Nestor said, hacking steadily at the frame. “Your prince commands you to survive.” In an undertone he added, “You can avenge those my father betrayed.”

  The frame grew weaker and weaker, Reedis could see the green balloon bulge through more and more, straining to grab the air and freedom.

  “One more good hit, your highness,” Reedis told him.

  “I agree,” Nestor said. He raised the axe high. “Be ready to grab — urgh!” Crown Prince Nestor cried in alarm, the axe falling from his hand as a pair of strong talons grabbed him and plucked him off the ship.

  Reedis had one glimpse of the wyvern screeching triumphantly and climbing away before the window frame shattered completely and the green balloon burst forth.

  “Grab on!” Ford cried as he flew by. Reedis lurched, leapt and —

  — caught both hands around Ford’s leg, plummeting the length of Ford’s leg to halt, hard, his hands clinging desperately to Ford’s ankle.

  “Oh, gods! That hurts!” Ford cried. “That’s the broken leg!”

  “I don’t know if I can hold on,” Reedis cried, looking down to see Spite, fully engulfed in flames, falling below them. They were falling, too, but not as fast as the dying ship.

  “By all the gods, you’ll hold on!” Ford swore. He glanced down and saw Spite below him. “We need you.”

  “Need me?” Reedis said. “Whatever for?”

  “To build more airships,” Ford told him. “We’re going back to Kingsland.”

  “Kingsland.”

  “To avenge Nestor,” Ford said.

  “Do you know,” Reedis said after a moment, “I think that’s a great idea!”

  Chapter Eight: House of Life and Death

  A screech in the distance alerted Hana to Krea Wymarc’s presence. She waved and started moving in the direction of the wyvern with Angus Franck clutched to her chest.

  Below them, Spite, in her death throes, crashed loudly on the frozen plains. Flames licked at the last of her wood, at the canvas of the twisted propellers at her rear, and soon there was nothing left but fire and ash.

  Krea Wymarc circled the wreck once and then winged back toward the mountain pass.

  “What will happen now?” Angus said to Hana.

  “I suppose you’ll be judged by the gods,” she told him.

  Angus gave her a fearful look then steeled himself. “I’m ready.”

  “No, you’re not,” Hana said, laughing at him, “you’re just trying to be brave.”

  “How long?” Angus asked. He saw her look and added, “Before we get there?”

  “Over the pass and down to the castle,” Hana said, her green eyes glowing into his dark ones.

  He nodded toward the wyvern who was pacing them. “Is that the winter wyvern?”

  “It’s Krea Wymarc,” Hana confirmed. She gave him a look. “She turned human in mid-flight to tell me to rescue you.”

  Angus took this in slowly. “I killed her,” he confessed miserably.

  Hana nodded her head. “I know,” she told him. “She said that you had no choice, that she would have died if you hadn’t.”

  “We were to be married,” Angus said.

  Hana mulled this over. “Do you still want to marry her?”

  Angus looked over at the wyvern, his face a mix of emotions. “I promised her,” he said. “If she still wishes it, I will.”

  Hana said nothing until they reached the pass and she waved at the castle below. “This is the castle.”

  “It’s beautiful!” Angus said. “Have you lived here long?”

  Hana shook her head. “Only two weeks.” She made a face. “And I’m going to have to leave soon.”

  “Leave? Where?” Angus asked with concern.

  Hana shook her head. “Shh! I have to concentrate on landing.”

  “Do you do this often?” Angus asked, as the ground grew closer and closer to them.

  “This is the second time,” Hana admitted.

  “I shall be very quiet,” Angus whispered.

  Hana smiled at him, glancing over his shoulder to see the ground below.

  #

  Krea Wymarc lowered Crown Prince Nestor to the ground before alighting and turning back into her human form.

  Nestor jumped back in surprise. “It’s you!”

  “Both of us, actually,” Wymarc said coldly.

  And then Krea let out a huge cry and sank to the ground. “My arms!” Nestor glanced around for someone and, when he realized they were alone, he rushed over to the girl, picking her up.

  “What is it? What can I do?” he asked her worriedly. But she was unconscious. Nestor turned around, saw the huge doors of the castle, and rushed toward them with the girl in his arms. He kicked the doors, shouting, “Help! Help!”

  When no one came, he turned around and pushed his back against the doors with all his remaining strength. Shivering in the cold, he nearly fell when the doors behind him opened. Inside, he glanced around the huge corridor of white marble, his eyes wide.

  “Help! I’ve got an injured girl here, she needs help!” Nestor cried at the top of his lungs. “For the love of the gods, please help her!”

  “Not so loud, not so loud!” a woman’s voice called back to him. He saw the shadow of a person growing in the distance. “That’s the
trouble with the living, always so loud!”

  “Please,” Nestor said in a more normal voice. “This is Krea Wymarc and she just saved my life. She brought me here and she collapsed. Please can you help her?”

  “She collapsed because she strained every muscle in her body,” the woman replied crossly, as she closed the last of the distance between them.

  “She changed into a human, called to her friend, and then back into a wyvern in time to pluck me off the burning ship,” Nestor explained, his eyes wide with worry and fear. “Please, can you do anything to help her?”

  “Hmph!” the woman snorted, turning back the way she came. She stopped to turn back to the bemused prince long enough to say, “Come along! Follow me if you want to help her.” As she continued briskly back down the corridor, she muttered to herself, “No doubt there’ll be more coming shortly.”

  “The air girl and Angus, at the least,” Nestor called in agreement even as he hurried to catch up with the woman. The girl, Krea, weighed no more than an average girl in his arms. Before his trip to the bitter north on Spite, Nestor would never have considered carrying another body — it being both beneath his royal stature and outside the abilities of his body. But the weeks in the air and his time with Sykes had done much to change both his attitude and his endurance. Krea Wymarc felt as light as a feather in his arms. He glanced down at her, taking in her white skin, white hair — she was an albino, that much was obvious. But he saw the way her nostrils flared ever so lightly and she drew breath and exhaled. The curves of her lips were gentle, the shape of her arms beautiful, the —

  “Stop ogling her and hurry along!” the woman in front chided him.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as beautiful,” Nestor said softly, surprising himself.

  “That, young man, is because you never looked,” the woman snapped. She pushed open a door, walked inside and held it for him. “There’s a bed, lay her there.”

  The room was all white. The bed was white with white linens and blankets. Beside it was a white marble table, and a white rocking chair.

  “Lay her down — no! Let me move the sheets first!” the woman told him. “Now put her in bed.”

  Nestor did as he was told and pulled the sheets and blankets up over the unconscious form.

  “Turn away, there’s a good lad,” the woman said. Nestor did as he was told. He felt something — he couldn’t describe it — rush behind him and a moment later the woman said, “You may turn back again.”

  Krea Wymarc was dressed in a nightgown, her clothes laid neatly on a bench at the end of the bed.

  “Magic?” Nestor breathed, eyes wide in awe, as he gestured to the nightgown and the clothes.

  “One should hope, dear,” the woman said, “one should hope.” She pressed a hand to Krea’s forehead and straightened up again briskly, looking at Nestor. “Now, what about you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “What are you going to do, now?” the woman demanded.

  Nestor gulped and gestured to the chair. “Can I stay with her? Until she wakes? I’d come tell you —”

  “Stay,” the woman said, pointing to the chair. “I’ll be back in a moment with some herbals and then she’ll need rest.” She glared up at the young man. “You can keep quiet, can’t you?”

  Nestor nodded, moving to the chair and rocking it back and forth vigorously, all the while staring at the sleeping girl in the bed beside him.

  “How can I thank you, lady…?”

  “Avice,” the woman said, smiling at him. “Why would you want to thank me?”

  Nestor pointed to the sleeping girl. “For her,” he said. “If you hadn’t come, I don’t what I would have done.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt you would have thought of something,” Avice replied with a quirk of her lips. She moved toward the door.

  “Avice…” Nestor said, his brows furrowing. She glanced back toward him, one eyebrow arched. “I remember the shaman telling me…” He fought to recall a dim memory and then, slowly, all the color drained from his face. “Are you the god?”

  “Goddess, dear,” Avice corrected cheerfully. “I am the goddess of life.” She watched with glee as Nestor struggled to form words before adding, “And, yes, this is the House of Life and Death.”

  Before he could react, she opened the door and closed it behind her, walking briskly away.

  #

  “You’re going to need to carry her,” a woman’s voice said as soon as Angus touched the ground.

  “Pardon?” Angus asked, glancing around in search of the woman. He had just enough time to glance toward Hana before he saw her eyes roll back into her head and she slipped toward the ground. Reflexively, he caught her and picked her up in his arms.

  “I said,” the woman repeated tersely, “you’re going to need to carry her.” Angus caught sight of a woman at the front of the double doors, turning to push them open. “Really! Things would have gone much better if you’d just listened to me!”

  Angus followed the woman who held the door opened for them as they entered and closed it quietly when they were inside. Without a word, the woman turned and began walking off briskly down the corridor to the left, muttering to herself, “I’m going to need a nap after all this excitement!”

  “Is she all right?”

  “She just fainted,” the woman replied. “She over-exerted herself carrying you.”

  Angus looked down at the young girl guiltily and held her tighter in his arms. “It’s only right, then.”

  “What?” the woman asked, not turning back but opening a door to the right of the corridor.

  “It’s only right that I carry her now,” Angus said, following the woman into the room. It was all white, with a white bed and white linen, a white side table, a white bench set at the end of the bed and a white rocking chair. Without prompting, he laid the girl in the bed after the woman had pulled back the sheets.

  “She’ll be too hot in those clothes,” Angus said worriedly.

  “Turn around and I’ll fix that,” the woman said. Angus turned around. He felt a flash of magic and, when the woman told him to turn back, found that Hana was in a nightgown under the covers, her clothes neatly piled on the bench. Angus gave the woman a look of surprise. The woman said, “I’m getting rather good at this.”

  “Can you help her?” Angus asked.

  “I already did,” the woman replied. “She’ll sleep and wake, rested.”

  “Can I stay with her?” Angus asked. He saw the woman’s look and shook his head quickly. “Just to keep watch.”

  “Indeed,” the woman replied. She smiled a moment later and nodded him toward the chair at the far side of the bed. “I would expect no less from Krea’s killer.”

  “You know Krea?” Angus said quickly. He glanced around. “Is she here? Is she all right?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes,” the woman replied. She pointed to the door. “She’s in the room across from yours.” She gave him a wry look. “Someone is keeping an eye on her, you can see her when she recovers.”

  “She’s not hurt, is she?” Angus asked, turning to the door with worry.

  “No more than Hana here,” the woman said lightly. She gestured Angus to the chair. “Sit with her, she’ll appreciate the company.”

  “She saved my life,” Angus said.

  “Yes,” the woman agreed, “there’s a lot of that going around today.” She turned to the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve things to prepare.”

  “My lady?” Angus asked.

  The woman stopped, sighed. “My name is Avice. I’m the goddess of life. This is the House of Life and Death.” She waved a hand at him. “Now rest. You’re going to need your strength.”

  Chapter Nine: Crown Prince Nestor

  “Rest, you’re going to need your strength,” Reedis said as he lowered Captain Ford t
o the snowy ground.

  “Pfah!” Ford said, making a face. “We’re leagues from anywhere, we’re going to freeze before the dawn.”

  “We won’t freeze until our fire dies,” Reedis said, surprising Ford by throwing a bunch of broken wood onto the ground and setting it alight with his magic.

  “You should leave me here,” Ford said. He pointed to his splinted leg. “There’s no way I can walk far. You could, though.”

  “I didn’t come back for you to leave you here,” Reedis said testily.

  “The fire’s warm,” Ford said thoughtfully. He glanced to Reedis. “I’d be safe here. You could go on, maybe find some help —”

  “Richard, that’s enough!” Reedis snapped. “We are either going to get through this together or we’re going to die together!”

  “Why —” Ford’s brow creased. “Do you know, mage Reedis, I don’t think I ever learned your first name.”

  “That’s because I don’t like it,” Reedis said sharply. “It was my father’s, I think —”

  “Think?” Ford interrupted. An awkward silence grew between them and then Ford waved a hand at the mage. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “No reason you should,” Reedis said. He stared at the fire for a moment before looking up. “It’s Karol.”

  “Karol?”

  “My first name,” Reedis said.

  “Oh,” Ford said. He glanced to the fire. “It’s not a bad name, all thing considered.”

  “I go by Reedis,” the mage said curtly.

  “Very well,” Ford said. He raised his eyes to meet the mage’s, saying, “It has been a pleasure working with you, mage.”

  “So what’s next?” Reedis said. “You said we should avenge Nestor, I believe.”

  “We should,” Ford said. He roused himself, leaning up on an arm, wincing as the movement jerked his broken leg. “I have no respect for a King who wants me to commit the murder of his own son.”

  “His son?” Reedis asked mildly.

  “I’ve heard the rumors,” Ford said with a wave of his hand. “If the prince is a bastard, I guarantee this — he’s Markel’s bastard.”