“Grenlow,” I sighed, “If you don’t start calling me by my name, I swear I’ll replace you with Harbringer.”
He flicked a look at the man in question, who was now grinning, and then seemed to pale.
“Not the Power Thief.”
“Good. Then cut out the formalities. We both know I didn’t want this. And spread the word. Any person who calls me by that title will be… ahh… in trouble.”
Harbringer coughed, and one of the soldiers snickered.
“They’ll be in trouble with the Power Thief,” I amended.
Grenlow nodded, as if this were a better incentive, and then motioned toward the castle.
“So you’re staying then?”
“Yes. I’ve been framed for the murder of the King,” I stated as matter-of-factly as I possibly could. “I can’t return to the Read Empire until I have proved my innocence.”
Grenlow frowned, a look of confusion passing over his face. Either he was confused as to which king I was referring, or else he, too, was mulling over the fact that both kingdoms had been attacked simultaneously. I wondered if he factored into account my proximity to each attack, and the fact that I had been responsible for at least one of the deaths.
“I suggest we retire to the Council chambers to talk about this in a more private setting,” he said quietly.
All I wanted to do was run as fast and as far as I could, until I crouched in some remote part of the forest. Alone. I wanted to cry until even the tears hurt, and then I wanted to curl into a ball in the dirt and sleep forever. Instead, I looked to Harbringer, who nodded, and then gently eased my fingers from Gretal’s, motioning Grenlow to lead the way. People stared more than usual as we passed through the gates, across the courtyard and into the fountain room. I looked straight ahead, trying not to notice the way that more than a few of them hurried away when they spotted me coming. I was Nareon’s successor, so they probably only assumed that I was just like Nareon. Which of course made me wonder what exactly Nareon did to his own people that had them so afraid of me—a thought that I had to quickly push from my mind.
Thinking such things was dangerous, as I had always been on a ledge where Nareon was concerned. I feared him, and yet I found that his unwavering care for me only inspired a similar care in kind. I fought to protect him, and yet I wasn’t even sure if I liked him. I cried when he died, and yet there were times where I felt I might wish him dead, for the way he had manipulated me.
But it was more than that, because Nareon was now a part of me, however permanently, however dangerously.
The crowds thinned out the higher we climber in the castle, and yet I knew we were still a long way from the top when Grenlow paused beside a door and opened it. He waved us in and then closed the door behind us, moving to sit himself at the large, circular table in the centre of the room. I sat beside him and Harbringer moved to the window, looking down at what section of the grounds was visible below him. I gazed out to the closest town, which was not too far from the northwestern section of the castle wall. Gretal hovered by the door, still uncertain.
“Have a seat,” I coaxed her, trying to make my voice as soft and calm as I could, as if she were some wild and abused animal, about to bolt at the slightest disruption.
“I’m going to bring out Nareon,” I continued, once Gretal had taken a seat, and Grenlow began to nod vigorously as if this were a great idea, but Harbringer moved away from the window and leaned against the back of one of the chairs, frowning down at me.
“You shouldn’t bring him into this world. I suspect it only makes him stronger. It feels wrong.”
“We need him right now. He has answers, and you know it. Besides, he hasn’t been dead for very long, and whatever it is he’s up to, I doubt he’s going to accomplish it in a few days.”
His frown deepened, and I braced myself for Gretal’s reaction. She wasn’t saying anything. I suspected that she had gone straight back into shock.
“When Nareon died, it was technically my doing. He manipulated my power, and used it to kill himself.”
“Why?” she squeaked, wide blue eyes jerking from my face to Harbringer’s, skipping straight over Grenlow.
“When a synfee is killed by a weaker being, a piece of themselves is essentially saved. It latches onto the weaker person, but is enslaved to that person.”
“How could they have died, if they were stronger in the first place?”
“It doesn’t happen often,” Grenlow answered, though Gretal still refused to look at him, “It… almost never happens.”
“So that’s why you are now Queen?” Gretal asked me. “You rule by proxy of the King living on in some way through you?”
“He is no longer King,” both Harbringer and Grenlow said at the same time.
“Do you remember what I said before?” I asked her, ignoring them both. “About Nareon always having a grand plan that none of us are aware of, until it is too late, or he chooses to enlighten us?”
She nodded, and I could see a flicker of understanding pass across her face.
“Whatever the most obvious reason is, it’s probably wrong. Whatever reason I can give you for this happening, it will be wrong.”
Chapter Two
Kinship through Queenship
Nareon appeared as the first syllable of his name was on my lips. He was standing in the middle of the circular table, and seemed surprised to find himself back in the Synfee Empire. He strode across the table and jumped off, landing soundlessly between myself and Grenlow, and then dropped to his knees, his dark golden head lowered.
“Forgive me, my mistress!”
I frowned at his joke, not sure if he were mocking me for banishing him instead of killing the synfee that had been draining Hazen.
“You know I will never willingly use that ability.” I tried to make my gaze solemn, as I looked down at him, but it still felt as if he were the King, and I the lost, half-human girl.
Nareon sprang to his feet, the smile on his face telling me that he had indeed been mocking me, and then he strode part way around the table and seated himself next to Gretal, who was staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. He winked at her, and then turned back to me.
“You should have killed him, Spitfire.”
I opened my mouth to reply, and then locked up, a terrible, nauseating feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. I pushed out of the chair and fumbled with the ties that still held the bloodied dagger attached to my belt. I pulled it up before my face, my lips moving wordlessly as I re-read the words carved into the handle.
You should have killed me.
“God no…” I moaned, as Nareon floated out of his seat and tried to pluck the dagger from my fingers.
The only problem was, Nareon was no longer real—or at least, no longer as tangible as the rest of us. His fingers glided right through the handle, and my own fingers. A shock of cold passed down to my wrist, and I dropped the dagger. Harbringer, who had been standing behind me, jerked forward and caught the hilt, and then gave Nareon a warning look. Though we all knew Nareon couldn’t be harmed in this world. Not anymore.
“Let me try again,” he said, holding out his hand to Harbringer.
The smile had melted away as soon as I brought out the dagger, but now there was annoyance in his expression as well. I wasn’t sure if it was our mental bond, forged by Nareon’s hold over my mind, or if I had just gotten better at reading him, but I felt that he was growing frustrated with his ghostly state. Perhaps he expected to have achieved something by now. Harbringer stared at his hand, clearly not willing to hand the knife over, but I nudged him gently with my elbow. He glanced down at me, and for a moment, I thought that he would still refuse. Harbringer wasn’t on a ledge about Nareon. Harbringer didn’t like Nareon; he hadn’t liked my involvement with Nareon right from the start, and I suspected this new arrangement had his dislike sliding into something more resembling hatred.
“If he knows something about it, I want to find out,” I said as my
eyes met Harbringer’s.
I was still holding my grief at bay, but Harbringer’s mind ability was matched only by Hazen’s, and I was sure that he could see how much I needed Nareon’s input at this moment. As if spurred on by the thought, he nodded and tossed the knife to Nareon, who caught it successfully this time.
I watched Nareon turn the blade over between his fingers, raising an eyebrow at the blood before reading the inscription. His face was unreadable, but he only looked at it long enough to read what it said before he placed it aside.
“Who did they kill?” His voice had lowered, and while I wouldn’t have said that he sounded hesitant, I could tell that he was bracing himself for something bad.
“My father.”
Something passed across his expression, and I looked away, trying not to read anything into it.
“I’m so sorry, Spitfire.”
“Me too.”
He looked as if he wanted to wrap me in his arms, cradle me while I wept, as he had done before. But I didn’t want to be reminded of that, so I sat back down and locked eyes with Gretal across the table. A year ago, I would have completely broken down at that moment. Even a month ago, I might have reacted differently. But I had cried enough over the last day that I no longer felt the grief that should have been tearing through me. It hovered at the edges of my mind, but it didn’t swallow me whole. Not yet.
“Who was it?” I asked Nareon, still not looking away from Gretal, who was the only one here who might really understand how terrible it was to lose a man like John Harrow.
“Nobody important, a foot soldier, a lackey, an assassin. Someone doing the dirty work of the person behind the attack here yesterday.”
“Do you think they killed the King as well?”
“The King was killed?”
“Yes. Harbringer turned up, and then when we left, the King was still breathing.”
“That’s why you’re here?”
“They think I did it. Or we.” I gestured to Harbringer, and Nareon looked at him too, grey eyes glinting.
“You’re going to need to send out an ambassador to the renegades. Something big is happening, and if it isn’t contained just within this kingdom, then the renegades will most likely have information. Send someone to their base camp. It’s a few days journey to the northwest, our scouts know the path well.”
Grenlow—who had been silent until now—stood. “The renegades are unreliable, if their allegiance has already been acquired, they could feed us misinformation which could be dangerous. We are already in a precarious position.”
“Yes,” answered Nareon. “Which is why Beatrice must take the throne test as soon as possible.”
I frowned, but Nareon held up a hand before I could object.
“You need to present a strong face. The weaker you appear, the weaker the entire kingdom appears, and it will incite attack or disobedience. For now, the people will be afraid of you, because they are afraid of the unknown. But very soon, your true nature will become a thing of gossip—if not ridicule—and if you are not secure in your seat by then, you will be looking at an uprising.”
“If it will cause an uprising now, what’s to stop one later, even if I do take the throne test?”
“The throne test is a public event. You are many things that a synfee ruler traditionally is not, but you are very powerful, Spitfire. They need to see that.”
I nodded hesitantly. Since Nareon’s death, I had been transferred a good portion of his power, which had far surpassed my own. While I might have always been considered powerful by human standards, it was now possible that I would also be considered powerful by synfee standards.
“Alright, I’ll do the throne test.”
“And I think you should get rid of the Power Thief,” Nareon added.
Harbringer didn’t bat an eyelid, and I cringed, because he had probably sensed the flash of rage that had spearheaded through me at the suggestion. I took a deep breath and met Nareon’s gaze head-on, which was easier now than it had been before.
“Harbringer isn’t going anywhere.”
Nareon frowned, and I felt another tinge of anger, though I had a suspicion that this one was not my own.
“You don’t need a human watch dog anymore, Bea. You’re queen now, you have an entire synfee army at your disposal.”
“It’s not all about power, Nareon.”
He seemed shocked at my answer, and I didn’t realise until his winged brows lowered over his eyes and his fists clenched at his sides, that what I had said might have been misconstrued. Or was it a misconstrual? I had kissed Harbringer after all; my first kiss devoid of synfee hunger or compulsion, my first real kiss. But that wasn’t the reason I wanted him to stay. He was in danger just as much as I was, and I trusted him.
Sighing, I let my head fall into my hands, and a silence stretched out that nobody seemed inclined to break, until Grenlow cleared his throat.
“There is no real harm in the Power Thief staying. His kind of strength could be a real asset to us.”
“It will help once everyone knows he’s fucking the Queen.”
I shot out of my chair. “Nareon, that’s enough!”
Harbringer’s eyebrows shot up, and I could tell that he was surprised at the direction Nareon’s thoughts had taken, which meant that Nareon must have been guarding his mind carefully. Or perhaps it wasn’t even possible to read the mind of a dead man. Those grey eyes were blazing down at me now, his jaw set, and a savageness to his expression that I had begun to associate with the tales of the old synfee King; the dangerous, insane and cruel one.
“That’s enough,” I said again, a little softer now. Soothing him.
For a moment, I was terribly afraid that my hold over Nareon might have slipped, but after a moment, the brutal edge seemed to fade away, and I no longer felt that I held a live grenade in my hand. I reached out, brushing my fingers across where his arm hung beside his torso, feeling the air drop in temperature where I should have scraped skin. There it was again, our bond. He smiled slightly, and then touched his head, looking behind him at something that I couldn’t see.
“I need to do something,” he muttered.
“Thank you for your help, Nareon.”
He turned back to me, nodded, and with the faintest of smiles, disappeared.
Grenlow let out a loud breath, and I slumped back into my seat, rubbing at my temples.
“I think I need to get some sleep. We all probably do.”
“I’ll get a servant to show you to your chambers, they should be ready by now. Wait here,” Grenlow said, already moving for the door, seemingly glad to leave the room.
We sat in silence until he returned, and on the walk to our rooms, I only paused to ensure that we had been given connecting chambers. I didn’t want to be separated from either of them, Gretal especially. We went into our rooms and I barely spared a glance for the richly decorated bedchamber, the brocaded window seats, and the heavy, woven carpets. I stumbled straight for the bed, struggled out of my destroyed clothes, and as soon as I slid beneath the sheets, I fell into a deep sleep filled with gut-wrenching sorrow and blurred faces.
When I awoke, it was late afternoon, and someone had already been in my room to clear away my dirty clothes and lay out new ones. There was an assortment of court dresses that I immediately overlooked, along with a few tunic dresses in my usual style, which I assumed some astute person had noticed in the few times that I had visited Nareon.
I bypassed all of them and chose a shirt and tights combination that made me feel less fragile. The tights were black, and the shirt was white, both without adornment, which I immediately liked. I slipped on a pair of riding boots next, and re-attached the dagger that had killed my father before leaving the room. I knocked on Gretal’s door first. When there was no answer, I cracked the door open an inch, and found her fast asleep, buried beneath a pile of blankets, on a large four-poster bed similar to my own.
I closed the door softly and moved to Harbrin
ger’s room. The door opened just as my hand was raised to knock, and Harbringer ushered me in. He had bathed and changed, and looked as fresh and alert as I wished I looked.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as I moved to a chaise against the wall and sank onto it, not waiting for him to offer me a seat.
“Terrible. I don’t think any of it has sunk in yet.”
He frowned and moved to sit next to me, but seemed to change his mind, and stepped back to the bed, propping himself on the edge of it to face me. I wondered if Nareon’s words had changed his mind.
“Hazen is the king now. He knows you haven’t done anything wrong, and I’m sure he is working to clear your name. You just need to wait until he sends word.”
“But him and Rose… It was their father, and I’m just hiding out here like a coward while they do all the work, and face it all on their own.”
“Going back there will only cause more harm to them than good right now. You saved Hazen’s life. You did all that you could. Now you have to do what you can from here.”
“Do you think I should take the throne test?”
“I think the idea has its merits.”
“I’m sorry about what Nareon said.”
He didn’t respond, and for a moment he didn’t even look at me. Then he let out a breath and stood, moving to sit beside me.
“I can’t pretend to understand how you feel about Nareon. In your head, every line connecting to him is muddled, tangled. It’s something I just don’t understand. It seems a farcical thing to ask, but are you in love with him?”
“What?” I laughed, the sound foreign and humourless. “No, I don’t love Nareon, at least not in that way. I feel connected to him, and I don’t think I could explain it anymore than you could. But no, I’m not in love with him.”
“I thought as much.”
“I’m sorry that you’re in this with me.”
“I’m not. Your father and Fenrel both trusted me to look after you, and now both of them are gone. The way I see it, my orders remain until the new King declares otherwise.” His voice was flat, not smoothing over the harsh realities of the situation.
The Soulstoy Inheritance (Beatrice Harrow Series Book 2) Page 2
