The Soulstoy Inheritance (Beatrice Harrow Series Book 2)

by Jane Washington

  “We have the time,” I told her, though my eyes were on someone else. “Ashen was just about to tell us a story.”

  He had been returning my stare with one of reluctance, a sentiment that deepened upon my words.

  “What kind of story would you have, Lady Queen?”

  “The story of the Soulstoys. All of it.”

  He deflated before my eyes; a man of upright pride, now slumped and falling onto a mildewed wooden bench that had been haphazardly constructed against the opposite wall, mirroring my own support.

  “Elias was the eldest, groomed for rule since his birth. Our family has held the rule for generations, each forefather able to influence the scroll’s choice upon their death. Nareon had grand plans though, plans that I foolishly encouraged. Elias was a child rich in pride and savagery; he would sit in his place by our father’s side, pitting one servant off against another. He would give them butter knives and order them to fight each other, offering substantial rewards to the winner, whom he would always kill to ensure word of his games never reached our parents. They knew of course, but he was too far gone, far too evil. I think they feared him.”

  Ashen’s head rolled back, his eyes alighting upon the dimly lit, crude rock ceiling. There was such an expression of agony on his face—I couldn’t help but wonder how he had become this person who was slumped before me. That he had become so in the face of his brothers’ deterioration endeared him to me more than ever.

  “Dear Ashen.” Compassion squeezed within my chest. “Dear friend. Have you done something so terrible?”

  His head raised, eyes resting on me. “Yes. I helped Nareon kill him. I told myself that I believed Nareon would only teach him a lesson; cripple him, force him to partake of his own cruelty, if only for a moment. Beneath it all, I think I must have known. Elias was not a child to be chastised, of course he fought back, and of course Nareon won. Nareon was never the cruelest, but he was the smartest, and has always had a great talent for self-preservation. You are a living example of that.”

  I didn’t realise that the woman had finished with my shoulder until I rose and walked to Ashen, pulling him into my arms. He held me tightly, the silent grief of his countenance lifting with each second longer that I forced him to be there with me.

  “You are not one of them,” I whispered to him. “That flag—Elias’s symbol—I suppose he believes the tallest leaf a portrayal of himself, with his brothers falling around him, but it isn’t. That is you, striving toward the life-giving light of this world, while they fall into death-dealing darkness. You will be the only Soulstoy survivor this night, and I need you to be ready.”

  He tightened his hold on me until it was bruising, and I was of half a mind to caution him—lest I need a healer again—but his words stilled me.

  “We didn’t deserve you then, but we deserve you even less now.”

  “Hear, hear!” The exclamation rose up over my shoulder, breaking us apart and merging our barricaded existence into being with those around us, as if a veil had been lifted, allowing us all to interact.

  Ashen pulled me up suddenly, forcing me to stand on the bench beside him, and then pumped my arm into the air: a physical statement.

  “Behold,” his voice resonated, though he didn’t shout. “Saviour of our people, our hearts, our blackened souls! May she rid us of the ungodly rule of my family once and for all!”

  The room did not erupt in cheers, but the gathered people—some of whom I began to recognise—reached to each other, linking hands and glaring at me in a way that screamed their fierce approval. Ashen’s words were the fire in their eyes, igniting a burn within me to fulfill them.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Queen of the People

  I was utterly weaponless but for the knife that had killed my father, the knife that I had worn in decoration at the bidding of Grenlow-cum-Elias. I no longer wondered why he had made the harness for me; I had seen the origin of his actions: a poetic, cruel insanity, as when he had lovingly caressed Ayleth into death. He liked to heighten his cruelty by coating it in kindness. I gripped the hilt between my teeth as we climbed upwards, having abandoned the harness back in the tunnels. I brandished it again in my palm as we crept along the interior framework of the castle. Passaged nooks and narrow, creaking staircases covered in layers upon layers of dust—which served to mute our footsteps—led us into the inner walls of the room, which an accompanying soldier declared was our destination.

  Our plan had been worked over as we progressed through the tunnels, and now we were quiet. We positioned ourselves deftly, quickly. I stood before the panel that my Force would propel inward into an unsuspecting Leif on the other side—there were six soldiers gathered behind me. They had been specifically selected to await me in the underground tunnels, as they had the strongest resistance to mental powers. I gave them a quick nod and then released my own hold on my mind, simultaneously unleashing my Force on the panel, storming forward as it ripped apart from the wall and flew inward, crashing against its mark. It was colourful mayhem, each of us hunting down our predetermined opponents as the very last soldier began to usher Leif’s captives into the wall that we had just torn through.

  I didn’t look at them, I couldn’t. Leif had managed to pull himself out from beneath the panel and was struggling to his feet. I ran at him, aiming my foot at the center of his back before he was fully standing, but he had sensed me coming this time. He turned and grabbed my ankle, using my momentum to fling me behind him into the door. I softened the blow as much as I could, but the blast of Force whipped my head forward, and I missed him coming toward me. He slammed me back again, but I leveraged my legs between us and managed to kick him off. Instead of rushing at him again, I concentrated my power enough to lift him into the air. His shadowed face turned to me, inky glare focused on the arm that I had raised unconsciously, stretching between us. He copied the gesture, his fingers unfurling in supposed supplication, but it seemed that he was only channeling his own power, for my vision suddenly began to blur. The reality that I knew to be, shifted into something else. I stood in Red Ridge again, but not the Red Ridge that I had last seen; this one was covered in a fine wave of fresh life. Tiny blue flowers dotted the green-and-brown landscape, vines beginning to creep over the ruins of destroyed homes.

  “Hello, Spitfire.”

  I spun around. “Nareon, what… what happened to you?”

  His hair had begun to thin, the skin over his face stretching delicately over his bones, his eyes hidden behind a film of suffering.

  “This is how I exist inside of you. That’s where Elias sent you, inside yourself.”

  “No.” I shook my head, matching his step toward me with a step backward. “That can’t be right. He can’t do that. It’s another dream, like the one he trapped me in for my Throne Test.”

  “Dear, sweet, silly girl.” Nareon gave me a pitying look, taking another step toward me. “Those dreams can only add to your reality, they cannot change it completely. Look around you.” He gestured towards the ruined village. “You put a lot of yourself into this village, it is where the largest concentrated amount of your power exists, it is a part of you.”

  “How is this possible?”

  “This is what happens to all mind-partners, after a time. It happened to mine, it would have happened to Cale. Elias, unfortunately, chose you as his new mind partner, after the death of Grenlow.”

  “You know about Cale?”

  I had stopped stepping away from him, and he reached me now, his hand hovering by the side of my face. “I know everything that you know, I see everything that you see. I exist in here.” He tapped my forehead and I shivered at the coldness of his touch, a finger of ice, itching its way across my skin.

  “You’re not fighting then?” I looked behind him, half expecting to see a shadow-battle taking place among the vine-strewn ruins.

  “I am.” He also glanced backward. “I can exist in more than one place now, isn’t that wonderful? Once my man had r
etreated into himself, as you have now, he was easy to control, to exist in.”

  “Is that what happened to Harbringer’s wife?”

  “He doesn’t realise it was him, but yes, it was. He shared too much with her. A mind-partner, once made, is doomed to that particular fate. It is inevitable.”

  “But it was done so easily, how can Leif do it like that? One second I’m fighting, the next, I’m… whatever this is called.”

  “It might help you to know that, while yes—you are right now facing one of the only men in the Noveland with this particular ability, the only other two who can match his power are standing by your side.”

  “Hazen and Harbringer?”

  “Would you like to see?”

  I nodded and he tapped my forehead again, a brief image replaced Nareon’s haggard face before me: a scene back in the dark, tiled room. There were only four people left standing, including myself. I was as unmoving as Grenlow had been, my eyes blank. Grenlow—I noticed now—was where he had stood before, except that he had crumpled to the ground. I assumed he was dead. Harbringer and Hazen stood on either side of me, each looking ready to collapse, locked in an unmoving struggle, communicated only by the way they stared at each other.

  The image flickered and disappeared.

  “I need to get back there!” I grabbed hold of Nareon’s arm, recoiling at the shock of cold that shot through me. “Send me back!”

  “I can’t send you back, I didn’t summon you here. You were banished here.” His eyes became unfocused, wandering to a spot on the ground, his face contorting into a wince.

  “Nareon?” I reached out to him again, but this time it was him that recoiled.

  His eyes slid back to me. “You must return.” His mouth moved with the words, but it was Hazen’s voice that I heard. “We need you.”

  “Wait!” I reached for Nareon, remembering that his token had saved my life, but he was already slipping away.

  Suddenly, I was standing again in the tiled room with Leif, Hazen and Harbringer, the bodies of Elias’s soldiers scattered around us. Leif had lost the battle, it seemed, for he was on his hands and knees, though Harbringer also seemed to be unconscious. Leif fell back as I strode forward, his hood slipping. I didn’t pause, didn’t take the time to recognise the man who had cleared me at the trial of Fenrel’s murder, I placed my hand against his chest and used my Force to draw the air from his lungs. It was a cruel way to kill, perhaps, but I was still unwilling to use my death ability.

  He began to suffocate before my eyes, his body shuddering and convulsing with the need to draw upon the air that I denied him. Just when I felt the end drawing near, he began to fight back in earnest, assaulting me with images of screaming people rushing at me with murderous, rabid expressions, weapons brandished before them. Wave after wave of seemingly solid apparitions washed through me, causing me to falter and stumble, and then it was over. I opened my eyes to find Hazen standing over Leif, my dagger in his grip. I hadn’t even felt him take it from me.

  I ran to him, and he welcomed me into his arms with a grunt of pain, reminding me that I needed to get them both down to the healer. I began to draw away from him but he tightened his hold.

  “It’s not over,” he whispered in my ear. “It might never be over. Even if we live through today, we could be at war tomorrow.”

  “If war is to come to us, we will meet it. Together. United.”

  “In more way than one.” He slipped from my arms, falling to his knees.

  I crouched before him in a panic, thinking that he had lost what remained of his strength, but he laughed humourlessly and captured my hands, procuring a small silver ring.

  “My mother gave it to me after the arena challenge. I’ve been carrying it around since.”

  I stared at it, disbelieving.

  “This will be our lives now.” He motioned to the discarded bodies that decorated the room. “For as far into the future as I can see. We cannot wait for the right moment; it will never come. I love you, Beatrice Harrow. I’ve tried not to…” He laughed again. “God help me, I’ve tried so hard. My feelings will no longer consent to being repressed. I could leave this room today and not live to see the night again, but that is what I will do, for you. I will stand before every knife leveled at you, drink from every poisoned cup meant for you and fight every one of your battles, if only you would let me. I will make sure that you, above all of us, are the one who lives on. You were meant to live, to lead these people out of the darkness that has permeated this kingdom until, like a disease, it infected the hearts of the people too.”

  His thumb brushed across my cheek, catching the tears I hadn’t realised were falling. I was laughing, absurdly, and his lips silenced me.

  “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. “It’s why I stayed away for so long. I could never deserve you. I failed to protect you so many times, in so many ways…”

  This time, I silenced him. I kissed him quickly and gave him my hand. His was shaking as he slipped the ring onto my finger, but his expression was darkly radiant; as close to euphoria as I could have hoped to see amidst a roomful of corpses. He pulled me into his lap, heedless of whatever injuries he boasted, and his lips found mine again, a whispered supplication to transcendence, delivering us beyond the carnage of what our lives had become. I willingly exalted in the shifting of my universe, as it settled in re-alignment around this new hope.

  “This is all very touching,” a gruff voice said from behind me, breaking me from the kiss, “but I could have been dead over here.”

  Hazen growled, setting me aside and struggling to his feet, the effort bringing about a paleness in his complexion that had me rushing both him and Harbringer out through the wall and back to the underground chamber.

  Miriam rushed to her son, kissing both of his cheeks and leading him to the healer, where Harbringer was already being treated, as his condition seemed to be the worst. I had only just reached Rose when I found myself tangled between her and Miriam.

  “You’re alive.” Rose sounded relieved, but there was a tightness to her mouth, a hardness to her eyes. “I don’t think I could have lost you too, Bea.”

  I pulled from their arms, taking Rose’s face in my hand, forcing her eyes to mine. There was a deadness in her eyes that had never been there before. The reminder of Cale almost tore a hole right through my chest, and my grip on her chin tightened fractionally.

  “Someone get Rose a weapon,” I decided, catching the grim smile that curved her lips. “She is coming to the surface with us.”

  Miriam gripped my arm, her nails biting into my skin. “Bea, you can’t. She’s just a girl.”

  I eased her grip a little, my heart breaking even more at the panic, the predetermined loss etched into her features. It never even occurred to me as strange that the Queen of the human kingdom was pleading with me to change my decision about her daughter. Leif had been right, Miriam had never been built for this.

  “She’s not a girl anymore. The darkness has reached her, a darkness that permeates our kingdoms, and the entire Noveland. That darkness will soon morph into war, and Rose needs to be ready.”

  “No harm will come to her,” Harbringer ground out from the bench he sat upon. “I will make sure of it.”

  I nodded to him, and his eyes shifted for the slightest moment, encouraging me that we might be friends again, some day. A man had appeared before Rose, holding a sword and a crossbow. Rose picked up the crossbow, weighing it in her palm, and turned to Harbringer.

  “When you’re ready.” She sounded determined, but I couldn’t help the momentary spark of doubt that suspended me.

  What if something happens to her? I almost changed my mind then and there, but Hazen’s voice filled my head.

  You’re right. There is a poison in her heart, and how we choose to channel it now will shape how it transforms her. She has lost the one she loves, the life she knows. We must give her something to fight for, or I fear she will lose herself.

 
My eyes sought him, slumped beside Harbringer, and I touched the ring he had given me, drawing his eyes to the movement.

  I love you, I thought to him, I never said it, but I do. With all my heart, and to my very last breath.

  Harbringer let out a string of swear words, jerking off the bench and almost toppling the healer to the floor.

  “Let’s go already.” He picked up a holstered sword leaning against the wall of the chamber and secured it deftly around his hips. “Tend to the King—” he waved dismissively at Hazen— “so that we can join the battle before it has ended.”

  The healer scrambled to obey, but her movements were sluggish, and I moved to crouch beside her, placing a hand over hers, which had reached for Hazen. She froze, frightened eyes finding mine.

  “Relax.” I took her other hand as well, securing her fingers between mine so that she could not escape. “Take my energy.”

  Her eyes widened, a look of pure fear descending upon her.

  “Only what you need,” I warned her. “Or you will find the side-effects less than desirable, I promise you.”

  I tightened my grip on her hands, which seemed to spur her into action. Her eyes closed, proving to me that it was possible to draw life force through means other than those that Nareon had taught me. I felt a tentative tug on my chest, an immediate depletion of the savage energy of my Force, which was a constant, agitated cloud over my consciousness. I cut her off almost immediately, knowing that any more would see her drastically altered, and jerked away from her. Her eyes were bright, her hands trembling, and everyone in the room was staring at her as if she might grow an extra head.

  Just in time, Hazen muttered internally, managing to sound chastising and approving all at once.

  I turned and smirked at him and he shook his head, allowing the newly invigorated Healer to take hold of him.

  “You got lucky,” Harbringer said from across the room. “I wouldn’t try that again.”

  “With any luck,” I answered, “I won’t need to.”