Pieces of Her Soul

by Serena Lindahl

  "He told me to take care of his sister before he entered the palace. I'm assuming he meant you."

  My brows rose in surprise. I would bet millions of gold coins I didn't have that he referred to me. "I don't need caring for," I protested. "And why would he say something to you?"

  Mason shrugged. "I am no closer to guessing the answer than you."

  Ian's stiffness next to me hinted at something I was missing as the men exchanged looks I couldn't decipher. I didn't have a lot of experience with males my age except for Rowan and he always spoke his mind. Their hedging irritated me.

  "Well, I'm all right," I said finally.

  "Except you're not in school." Ian's tone was playful, not reprimanding.

  I shrugged and sank to the stone beneath me, uncaring of the dust which covered the top of the wall and would coat my skirt. Both men took a spot on either side of me, surprising me. We sat with our backs to the outside world, our feet stretched out before us. They could touch the opposite wall with their toes while mine were several inches shy. My worn ankle boots looked positively tiny next to their large boots.

  "I am mourning my brother," I grumped into the silence.

  "You have to be of an age to be testing soon." Interest tilted Ian's voice. I didn't blame him. I looked my age, and almost every adult wondered why I wasn't yet sorted.

  "I am eighteen, almost nineteen. I am required to test on the next exam day - sometime next week. If I don’t, I will be in violation of the testing laws." I looked left to right. Pale blue and chocolate brown eyes regarded me with interest.

  For some inexplicable reason, I trusted these men. They had been there, each in their own way, when the most important thing to date happened in my life. I valiantly tried to ignore that I sat only a hairsbreadth from each man. If I shifted an inch to either side, I would rub shoulders with one or the other. The bell of my skirt brushed their breeches. Their nearness clouded my senses, dual scents of spice and leather wafting about me.

  "Why have you waited so long?" Mason asked.

  "My teacher calls me an erratic disaster," I confessed. I refused to be embarrassed about my personality anymore and spoke the words with pride. Just because I did not fit within the city mold did not mean there was something wrong with me. My brother had done everything by the book. He had tested into the House which suited him best and was working his way up the ranks when Fate stole everything without a moment's warning. "Some days I can ace every test. Other days I can't muster the ability to meet fourth tier expectations in any House." I expected the surprise to either side of me without looking at the men.

  "Last night, you knew exactly where I was, and I'm considered one of the stealthiest in my House. Not only that, but you moved like a Shadow yourself as you wound your way through the market."

  "The manner in which you stood up to the High Commander displayed impressive bravery I've witnessed in few others. It also takes a feat of strength to climb the tree and reach the top of the wall."

  "That's the problem, though," I argued. "I didn't sense either of you until you were practically upon me this morning. Some days I am a cowering mess. I can't sustain any ability for any length of time. I can't guess the outcome of my testing because it's a mystery how my brain or body will function on any given day."

  "Hmmm," Ian hummed. The soft burr of his voice matched his eyes, warm and chocolatey smooth. My chest warmed in response.

  "Maybe you need a sanctioned Soul Match to reach your full potential," Mason murmured.

  I snorted in derision. "You sound like my mother." I rose to my feet, no longer interested in continuing the conversation. Looking down at both men, I smiled to soften my frustration. I hadn't intended to aim my angst at them. They had been kind to me in ways most people weren't, especially after learning of my flighty nature. "I appreciate the discussion, but I had best get to school. Master Blevins is already itching to demerit me into a Commoner's role."

  The men stood, their movements graceful. I appreciated their differences and similarities. Their faces were kind, their bodies lean and strong though Mason was larger. Whereas Mason was open and accepting, though, Ian was more difficult to read.

  "I imagine I'll speak with both of you again." I didn't know what else to say as I made my departure. I wasn't certain if my prediction would bear fruit, but I found I rather enjoyed the idea and hoped it did.

  "Do you need help descending?" Mason asked, chivalrous as always. I smirked at him.

  "I made it up, I can make it down." I swung a leg over the wall, flashing far more leg than appropriate, reaching for the ledge with my toe. With more grace and strength than I had ascended, I found the ground. A quick glance upwards showed them both watching me. I sent them a small wave before making my way to Low Road and the long way around to school. My skin still tingled from the encounter although I hadn't touched either man.

  As I traveled the cobblestoned path which circled the outer portion of the city, three faces swam in and out of my thoughts - Mason, Ian, and Sebastian. Each shared equal time in the forefront of my mind. Fate was indeed laughing at me. Even my relationship prospects and romantic interests were erratic. As I slipped through the neatly manicured rows of apple trees, each a uniform distance apart, I questioned if a place existed for me in this ordered world.

  Chapter Eight

  Ian

  Ian watched the vibrant woman skip down tree limbs like a traveling monkey he had once seen in a gypsy caravan from the Eastern Kingdoms. Her hair had been as amazing in the light as he'd hoped. Mason leaned next to him, observing with similar interest. The two men had only been acquaintances for a couple years. They had bonded over receiving top honors in their classes and possessing awful male role models. A trust had formed effortlessly between them. When faced with a difficult mission, they sought the help of each other.

  "Do you think it's possible?" Mason's gaze turned thoughtful as he looked over the city of Treleaven. The view was beautiful. Each wedge of housing was neatly laid out, bracketed by narrow streets and markets catering to each House. In the center, the palace rose majestically. The view would be the same from the other side, only decorated in different colors. The green and red flags of the Planning and Military Houses fluttered in the light breeze. Citizens moved with purpose, their tunics and crests advertising their status from a distance.

  "Do I think what is possible?" Ian brushed a dark lock of hair off his face. He needed to seek a haircut from his House's personal stewards. If it grew much longer, people would remember him by the length. He strived to remain unknowable.

  "Can a person actually not fit into any House?"

  Ian smirked, gesturing towards the tenement housing the Commoners shared. There was no fifth tier; those that couldn’t test higher than fourth tier were called Commoners. "That's what those houses are for, my friend. The people living there aren't horrible at the tasks they perform; they just aren't better at one thing over another. Some lack motivation and drive, but I do not believe that is our beautiful girl's problem." After his words had escaped, he contemplated his word choice. He'd never referred to a woman in the possessive before. Mason identified the anomaly within seconds.

  The soldier glanced at Ian, his dimples flashing. "I do believe this is the first time you have expressed more than a passing interest in a woman. And I agree, lack of anything is not her problem. You caught the ease with how she swung down the tree, and you mentioned how she slipped through the marketplace last night. What if the only way to reliably tap into her potential is to bond with her Soul Match?"

  Ian's fingers worried a piece of crumbling mortar, dust falling into the orchard below. Kiarra had disappeared from sight, having passed the bend in Low Road. He had observed with no small amount of humor that she walked the long way around instead of cutting through the city.

  "I have only seen a true bond bring out a mate's best qualities once or twice. And yes, there is something about this woman that appeals to me more than other women I've met. 'Appeals' i
sn't quite a strong enough word," he mused, almost to himself.

  Mason clapped a large hand on Ian's shoulder. "I feel the same pull, my friend. I am drawn to protect her and want to spend more time with her. Do you think this is how true bonds are revealed before the Soul Tenders place their spoons in the stew?"

  "Why would we both experience the same attraction then? I think it far more likely that she is a beautiful and unique woman, different from other girls we meet. She speaks to us as equals, not as a woman seeking a husband with the potential to catapult her into the upper echelons of the first tier. She is bold and strong. Speaking of which, her brother might have been referring to her father. He's a drunk."

  "A violent drunk?" Mason asked, his tone deathly serious. Despite Mason's compassionate nature, he would shield those who needed his assistance with ruthless efficiency.

  "I'm not positive. I'll be keeping an eye out." Ian sighed and stretched his long limbs. "On the subject of unknown threats, would you like to hear the latest news from Acclesh?"

  Mason sighed, scrubbing a hand over his freshly shaven chin. The gold buttons on his red uniform gleamed in the early morning light, blindingly bright. With his size and cultivated good looks, there was no chance his friend would go unnoticed in the crowd; that was Ian's job.

  The trade of a soldier was more public than that of a Shadow. Soldiers were meant to be obvious. In a less ordered city, they were intended to strike fear. The soldiers employed in Sheldrake Port, specifically in the dock areas, utilized their combat training far more than the soldiers of Treleaven. Abilon's soldiers, accustomed to subduing drunkards or handling disputes between citizens, now faced much different threats.

  "I am not certain I want to hear the latest," Mason admitted. His voice sounded weary. "My father speaks of nothing else. He's bloodthirsty and doesn't want to retire his post until he's experienced real battle. It won't matter how inconsequential the reasons are. I fear he will create reasons soon enough."

  "The rumors are not inconsequential, but I don't think they necessitate war, at least not at the moment. The word is Accleshians want access to our mines and don't want to pay for finished ore like we've been trading to them and other countries. Our intelligence is sparse, but I worry they are constructing new, dangerous weapons."

  Mason frowned. "New weapons? I don't like the sound of that. What exists within our mines that they don't possess in their own kingdom? They have mountains as well. I imagine those mountains have veins of ore similar to ours."

  Ian shrugged. "We are still researching the reason. And as always, brother, this news stays between us."

  Mason grunted in response. "Of course, my friend. Keep me updated. We may encounter each other as we both pursue Kiarra."

  Ian didn't respond. He wasn't certain he wanted to pursue Kiarra. He wasn't ready to settle down or commit to anyone, and Kiarra wasn't the kind of girl to entertain for only a night. She had burrowed under his skin in the short time he'd spent with her. A more involved interaction would test his good intentions and his desire to remain unattached.

  "You can't tell me you can stay away," Mason argued, picking up on Ian's conflicted thoughts in the protracted silence.

  "My brain says I need to, but there is something about her which challenges that intention," Ian admitted. There were few men he would trust with his thoughts on the subject. Mason happened to be one.

  "Just don't hurt her, my friend, or we may have to come to blows."

  "We should spar again, Mason, but it will not be because I have hurt her. You realize I should give you the same lecture. You are more popular with the ladies than I." The observation was an understatement. Women were attracted to Mason like flies were attracted to trash. To his credit, he didn't take advantage of their regard. Many lesser men would.

  "She seemed not to prefer one of us over the other." Mason's words were thoughtful, and Ian went over their short interaction. His friend was right. Kiarra had seemed equally interested, or disinterested, in both of them. He was surprised and pleased. Not many women were attracted to him, especially when Mason accompanied him. More than likely, she was simply disinterested. He refused to examine why the thought disappointed him; it would be better for all of them if she were.

  Chapter Nine

  Clay

  Clay was convinced his current assignment served as punishment. The Merchant House, with its ambitious and sometimes vindictive superiors, didn't approve of a Commoner upstart testing directly into second tier. Instead of interning at the counting house like other new trainees, he was relegated to secondary school duty. His supposed task was to weed out Merchant House potentials from the riff-raff. However, with the way these students were testing his resolve, Clay believed he might be happier returning to the slums and docks of Sheldrake Port to manage the import and export accounts. His second highest testing score had been for Scholar House. At that moment in time, he would have preferred to sit in a dusty library with no windows. The misery he currently endured might not be worth his freedom.

  "Master Jackson." A high voice roused him from his musings. One of the girls in his mentoring group simpered and batted her long eyelashes, darkened with cosmetics.

  "Call me Clay," he reminded the small group of students. It was customary to call a teacher, or anyone above third tier, by the term of Master, but the title made him feel disingenuous in this setting. Unfortunately, the girl in question considered this a request for further intimacy. She fingered the soft gold threaded tunic of Merchant House which covered his thick forearms. He extricated himself from her touch, careful not to give insult.

  The headmaster of the class was nowhere to be seen. He had left the students with their individual tutors in preparation for the upcoming testing and likely enjoyed a nap in his office down the hall.

  "Clay," the girl continued in a sickly sweet voice, "what will be tested more? Problem solving or calculation?"

  For the life of him, Clay couldn't remember the girl's name. He thought it started with a D but he didn't want to call her Debra or Daisy and incur her wrath if he were mistaken. This girl obviously belonged in Merchant House. Her ambition was outstripped only by her artifice. Clay didn't match the typical mold of his House. He lacked the greed, ambition, and selfishness that the majority of Merchants employed in spades. His brain worked like an abacus, however. Calculations and problem solving were unbelievably simple for him. He didn't even need paper to determine the correct answer.

  "The test will build upon both skills," Clay responded. He had described everything on the test more than once already and had no more to offer, but his time with the class wasn't yet finished. He might die of boredom if he had to spend the rest of the day here, though.

  When he had graduated secondary school, he had hoped to never return. It was one of the reasons he preferred Merchant House to Scholar House. He had hated school, although the reasons more often involved his schoolmates than the work involved.

  A commotion near the front door of the classroom echoed down the hall. Clay welcomed the interruption from the monotony and shameless flirting, even if the disturbance happened to be an invading army. The students in his test group turned in their seats to view the drama. The flirting girl next to him screwed her face up in such a way, her classically beautiful features tightened with ugliness.

  A girl, nay a woman, blew into the room like a warm summer breeze. Her skirt swayed on shapely hips and her cheeks were flushed with the kiss of sun and exertion.

  Clay's mouth dropped open, oblivious to the presence of Master Blevins trailing after her. The teacher's face was tight and red, set in an ugly scowl. His ridiculous mustache quivered. "Kiarra Walton, this is the second time this week you have been tardy. You have missed half the day."

  The newcomer looked around, absorbing the colors of each of the Houses and the older mentors with their potential test groups circled around them. She scanned the room, looking not the least bit chagrined as she was chastised in front of her entire class.


  "Well, surely it's not a day I have much cause for participation in anyway? What group were you going to place me in? Who is the mentor for erratic disasters?"

  Students twittered even as Master Blevins's face reddened further. He sputtered before pointing straight at Clay. Clay's face paled with the embarrassment of being singled out. "Join the Merchant group with your sister," the teacher directed before stomping from the room. The girl's name, the same one who had been flirting with him all morning, popped into his head - Delia. She scowled, huffing loudly and rearranging her orderly skirts in irritation.

  Clay's eyes traveled back and forth between the two females. Besides the base color of their hair and the shape of their faces, they looked nothing alike. While Clay's counterparts in the Merchant House might swoon over Delia, they wouldn't even consider wooing the woman named Kiarra. He found her differences made her all the more attractive to him.

  Kiarra settled on the edge of the group, plopping into the empty wooden chair closest to his desk. A puff of dust arose when she did so, causing her sister to cough delicately. Clay pondered where she might have been to have accumulated such a layer of road dirt. The other students moved aside to let her into their small circle but none offered any greetings or questions. Clay questioned their indifference.

  "Good morning. I'm Clay Jackson, an advocate from the Merchant House."

  "Kiarra," the woman responded with a genuine grin Clay couldn't help returning. Her braid flopped over the surface of his desk, and he absently extracted a tiny twig from the thick coil. Her eyes widened and his cheeks flushed. He wasn't accustomed to taking such liberties with a stranger, especially not a woman. The reaction had been automatic, perhaps because her personality was so genuine as to invite such attention. He didn't believe she would interpret the action in the wrong way as many other young women might. She intrigued him and called to some base part of his body as well. He had never experienced anything similar. His wonder morphed into a familiar disappointment as he imagined her disgust when he rose to stand. Until she saw him in the whole, though, he would enjoy the interaction. He held up the tiny twig.