Pieces of Her Soul

by Serena Lindahl

  No matter how slowly they walked, the city wasn't that large. They were on Fenton Road now. Mason was about to ask Ian if he intended on accompanying him up the stairs to Kiarra's unit when Ian elbowed Mason in the side. He gestured ahead surreptitiously. Two men sat outside the University in full view of second tier Scholar Housing. One wore a blue tunic and the other green.

  "Those are her other followers?" Mason whispered. Ian nodded, and Mason took a moment to study his friend's face. The spy didn't look jealous, perhaps mildly curious and somewhat amused.

  Mason returned his attention to the men. They were a couple years younger than he and Ian, both shorter and more leanly built, although the Scholar possessed impressive musculature for a man devoted to books. The Planner was a redhead, the other darker. Mason wasn't a good judge of whether a man was handsome or not, Ian was much better at that, but even he determined neither was unpleasant to look at.

  "Should we say something to them?" They were paused outside Scholar House now. The men at the fountain observed them while trying to appear unobtrusive. They were definitely not candidates for spies in the Information Exchange House, Mason mused.

  Ian grinned playfully. "Let's judge their reactions after we return from talking to our lovely girl."

  "We and our?" Mason asked with a raised brow.

  "You didn't think I'd let you have all the fun to yourself, did you?"

  "I hope you're just referring to delivering the message."

  "And if I wasn't?" Ian's voice was quiet.

  Mason reined in his surprise at the question. His footsteps faltered as images chased through his mind. "You may like men like that, but I don't," was the first thing he thought to say.

  Ian chuckled. "If that is your first concern, this might actually work."

  "What might?" Mason asked, baffled. "She's not the type of girl we want to trade between ourselves. She's not a wanton or a one night woman."

  "And I'm not a one night man, unless I have no interest in the woman." Ian shrugged. Clapping a hand a little too forcefully on Mason's shoulder, he motioned to the door. "Come on. Let's deliver this message before we get the guard called on us for lurking."

  Shaking his head at the irony and confusion still dogging his thoughts, Mason followed his friend through the door. They climbed the stairs together. He was thankful he wasn't wearing his armor today. When he clunked through the halls of the housing units in his full armor, he sounded like a pots and pans Merchant drunkenly stumbling into walls.

  Mason stood before Kiarra's unit for the second time in a week, Ian hovering behind his shoulder. He straightened his shoulders and knocked. Through the thin walls of the housing unit, they heard scurrying and shouted arguments concerning who should answer the door. Evidently, the younger sister won the battle because Kiarra flung the door open a moment later. Her mouth dropped open when she registered their appearance outside her door.

  Mason stood in shock for a moment, his own jaw as slack as hers. He had seen Kiarra on two separate occasions and both times she had her hair restrained in a thick braid. The waterfall of wavy locks thrown over one shoulder completely captivated his attention. The jewel tones contrasted beautifully with the light pink cheeks of a woman who appeared like she had just rolled out of bed. The number of colors evident in the tresses that fell to her waist was too innumerable to count. Mason didn't realize a person's hair could boast so many shades. He couldn't shake images of all that lovely, fiery hair wrapped around her naked body and his. Her tunic and breeches were too small on her curvy form and left nothing to the imagination, fueling his desire. He regretted his lack of armor momentarily. Luckily, his long uniform coat mostly hid the evidence of his sudden lust.

  A sharp jab in his kidney brought him to his senses, albeit slowly. He cleared his throat. "I have a message from the King," he said in his most official voice.

  "Who is there, Kee?" an older voice asked from behind the girl still standing wide eyed in her own doorway. Mason recognized the mother from his visit the other night. Although Mistress Walton was a less colorful version of her daughter, she was still an elegant beauty. Mason had a vision of what Kiarra might look like when she was older, and he was not disappointed.

  "Oh," the woman said, noting the two men in the doorway - one in the uniform of the city guard and the other in the gray tunic of the Information House.

  "He says he has a note from the King," Kiarra stated in a choked voice. She pulled her hair further over her shoulder, but it couldn't hide the swell of her breasts in the tunic she had likely thrown on in haste. Mason struggled mightily to keep his eyes higher than that enticing sight.

  "Well, let them in," her mother politely prodded. If she noticed her daughter's distress, she didn't mention it. She looked like she had been awake for hours despite the early time. Dressed in her Scholar robes despite it being rest day, her face was lined and tired. "We can't leave them standing in the hallway," Mistress Walton repeated when Kiarra still hadn't moved.

  Good manners overcoming her embarrassment and surprise, Kiarra shifted to the side to let them in. There wasn't much room and he brushed against her arm as he passed. Fire shot through his veins, and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to have the entrancing woman all on her own. It took great effort to turn his mind to his duty.

  Mason loomed huge in the small room, especially next to Ian who was as tall as him and nearly as wide. The younger sister he had met on the first occasion pursed her lips together.

  "Why do men always visit in pairs?" she asked in a brittle tone. Then, she disappeared into the back room. Mason was glad of her leaving. She again reminded him of nearly every other grasping, artificial woman his father pushed upon him. Mistress Walton smiled with amusement at her youngest daughter's proclamation and Kiarra's face burned brighter. Mason would have thought Kiarra's tan would have prevented a full blush, but the color merely burnished her darker skin prettily.

  Mason bowed. "I apologize for the early call. I was sent by the King. I also apologize that I didn't introduce myself the first time I was in your home, Mistress Walton. I am Mason Brantley, and this is my associate Ian Blackburn."

  Mason admired the mother's reserve. Her face showed no surprise even though his last name or Ian's last name typically produced reactions singularly. Together, they caused gasps and whispered words behind tea cups and dainty hands. The males in their lineages were not the most honorable men and their families possessed power and status. As the older Walton woman gave them another studied glance, he hoped she wasn't judging them by their sires. The most notorious Blackburn was Ian's uncle, but both he and his heartless brother had raised Ian so the distinction didn't matter.

  "Please, don't worry yourselves over such trivial matters as missed introductions. Would you like tea?"

  "No, thank you," Mason replied. Kiarra had retreated to the corner of the room and seemed to be contemplating whether to flee or stay. Her mother must have recognized her daughter's uncertainty because she motioned to Kiarra.

  "This is my daughter, Kiarra. Sir Brantley, I believe the two of you have met, but..."

  "Your daughter and I have also had the pleasure of being acquainted," Ian interjected smoothly. He sidled next to Mason, caught Kiarra's hand, and brushed her knuckles lightly with his lips. Her stormy eyes darkened with desire and she shivered slightly. Mason kicked himself for not thinking of greeting her similarly. If he did the same now, he might appear to be copying Ian. By Ian's amused expression, his friend thought the same.

  "Ah," Mistress Walton said, appearing contemplative as she noted the tension between her daughter and Ian. "Well, then, what message do you have?"

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kiarra

  I couldn't dismiss the sensation of Ian's lips from my knuckles. I had woken up less than an hour ago and the vivid dream of the night before still danced in my head. All five of my mystery men had made an appearance while I slept, some in very inappropriate ways. Then I woke to find two at my door. My hair
was unbound and I was wearing a tunic I had outgrown two years prior.

  Although I might be dressed improperly, I couldn't make my feet lead me from the room in the path of my sister. Not only did I not want to lock myself in a room with my ill-mannered sibling, but I had missed these men the last few days. I didn't want to surrender a single moment of their presence.

  At first, I had welcomed the respite from all the confusion. As the days passed, I caught glimpses of Reed disappearing around a corner and Seb sitting in the University Square. We had a clear view of that square from our living room window. I also saw Ian, perhaps thinking he was hidden, as he slunk behind me or above me. Traipsing around on rooftops was clever of him. I wanted to call out to him, revealing my ability to locate him. But then I had horrible visions of scaring him, his body tumbling from the roof and lying broken on the ground. I hadn't seen Mason or Clay, though, and I mourned the loss of them rather than rejoicing in the absence of two sources of confusion. I hadn't been able to bring myself to speak with my mother yet. The time never seemed to be right.

  My gaze caressed Mason's face, comparing the smoothness of his cheeks and chin with the stubble covering Ian's. His trim red uniform fit him to perfection, and I found my eyes measuring the width of his shoulders and picturing him without the tunic. I imagined his muscles were extremely impressive. Just the thought had my face heating again. I had never blushed so much in my life. I probably looked like I had a perpetual sunburn.

  I refocused my attention on Mason's words. Both he and Ian's large forms in my living room distracted me to no end. Whereas Seb and Reed had brightened the room, these men sucked the energy into themselves. They were each so big and bold, their personalities like magnets. Ian tried to blend into every surrounding, but I detected him in any crowd. I had asked my sister one day what she thought of the spy following us. She hadn't noticed him and had accused me of having crazy visions like Rowan. I'd had extreme difficulty restraining myself from slapping her in the crowded marketplace. The first time she mentioned our brother since he left she called him crazy. The closer she got to testing, the bitchier she became, as if convinced it would boost her exam scores.

  "The King would like to personally thank you for Rowan's service and sacrifice." I glanced sharply at Mason, brought out of my contemplations. Somehow I was certain the King hadn't used the word sacrifice. His use of the word endeared him to me. The night we met, I had thought I imagined his understanding of my pain but his wording confirmed it. "The King and Queen request your presence at a private dinner. Your entire family is invited and the time is to be tomorrow evening at the 18th hour."

  "Tomorrow evening!" Although Mum's voice didn't rise in volume, I sensed her shock. I could imagine the thoughts trailing through her mind because the same images assaulted me. It was entirely appropriate for us to dress in the robes or tunics of our Houses. Unlike other kingdoms, the King didn't see much point in fashion unless the Queen was holding one of her balls. Fashion didn't concern Mum, Father did. Would he behave? It was too late to send him off to another city to visit a distant relative as she had done on two other occasions. She had used the convenient excuse for a dinner with the Head of Scholar House and her promotion party to second tier.

  As though I'd summoned him, I heard banging from the back room. He'd stayed out longer than usual last night. I was convinced I'd awake to find him sleeping on the floor in the hall. My very first thought when opening the door and seeing the red of Mason's uniform was that my father had broken some law in his drunkenness. I was contemplating how we’d manage the insult to Mum’s name when I’d noticed Ian lurking behind Mason with a crooked smile on his face.

  Mason's attention flew to the back room and I restrained a groan. I dreaded a repeat of Seb and Reed's visit. He would be sober this time, maybe, but he would still be an ass. Master Blevins might call me a disaster, but he'd never met my father.

  Ian's eyes met mine. Understanding sparked in his chocolate depths. He had helped me practically carry the man home that one night after all. Mum's shoulders stiffened. Her mind calculated how to politely push the messengers out the door before Father emerged from the back room.

  "Please tell the King we will be there," Mum told Mason. Of course, there wasn't any doubt. One didn't refuse to have dinner with the King, whether we were happy he had stolen my brother or not.

  A particularly loud crash sounded from the back room, followed by a gruff string of curses. Mason's hand went to the hilt of his sword, most likely just habit. I clutched his forearm anyway, desperate to get them to leave.

  "I'll show you out," I said hurriedly. I couldn't help but enjoy the play of muscles in his forearm as I steered him toward the door. His eyes were glacial, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He allowed me to maneuver him, however, and Ian held the door open for us although he didn't look particularly pleased either.

  We spilled into the corridor and I shut the door behind me, consciously aware of my bare feet on the smooth hall floor. I had a strange sense of deja-vu as I remembered standing in the same spot with Reed and Seb before me.

  "Is your father a harmless drunk, Kiarra?" Ian asked in a low voice, stepping so close to me my skin tingled. What was it with these men and my physical reactions to them? I didn’t think it was normal to tingle and burn so much, even when surrounded by handsome men. Mason's anger still rode him, his eyes far away as he stared down the hallway.

  "What do you mean?" My brow furrowed.

  "Does he hit you, your mother, or your sister?"

  I twisted my hair in my hands, the door behind me propping my unsteady legs. The question was intensely personal. I was ashamed of my father's drunkenness and angry about the reasons behind it. If the Saints-damned Soul Tenders hadn't matched my parents in the first place, none of us would have to deal with his bad habits. He'd be doing inventory for some hapless Merchant, not living high in second tier housing and pissing away every coin my mother gave him.

  "Not anymore," I replied honestly. "Rowan stopped that a couple years ago."

  "And now with Rowan gone?" Mason's voice tightened with anger. I shrunk against the door. His ire wasn't directed at me, but I glimpsed traces of the High Commander in him when he was mad. Ian rested a hand on the larger man's shoulder. The comfortable gesture revealed how close these men were. Maybe not as close as Seb and Reed, but they relied on and took cues from each other. I observed none of the usual posturing and competition I saw among most men.

  "I'm sorry if I seem angry," Mason said in a more relaxed voice. He dropped his chin, running a hand over his head. The short bristly hair appeared soft and my fingers twitched to follow his motion, although I'd need to stand on tiptoes to reach. "I only want to help." He lowered his voice, stepping up close. I couldn't move with the solid door behind me so I was again caged between two men. Although I didn't feel threatened, they were taller than Seb and Reed. My neck tilted uncomfortably to study their faces.

  "Both Ian and I have experienced something similar," Mason confided and my eyes flew between their faces in surprise. "My father doesn't need the excuse of a drink to become violent."

  "Neither did the men who raised me," Ian added in a voice just as understanding. His dark brown eyes were directed at me, but I could see the ghosts chasing across his memories. I had a sudden urge to hug him, both of them, but I knew how inappropriate such an action would be. Thoughts of impropriety didn't make the urge any less compelling, however.

  I shrugged, trying to focus on Mason's original question. The task was difficult. I wanted to learn their stories, I wanted to share their pain and soothe it away, and I wanted to touch them. I tried to content myself with answering their questions. "Rowan has been gone for a couple years, living in the Planning dorms since he tested out. My father hasn't returned to violence in that time. I doubt he even knows Rowan is in the palace." I said the words with apparent contempt. He hadn't asked and we hadn't told him. If he hadn't cared enough to say goodbye, he didn't deserve to know.

 
Some, my sister included, judged me for not caring for my father. She said no matter his faults he was still my father. I didn't care what she thought. He was a horse’s ass and I couldn't wait to test out of my household, even if I ended up in Commoner or fourth tier housing. A small part of me didn't want to leave my mother, though. Since my sister's heart seemed to be made of ice, Mum needed me.

  "If he ever raises a hand again or threatens to do so, come find me," Mason directed. His voice was like steel and I shivered at the threat in his tone. His callused fingers raised my chin, icy blue eyes meeting mine. They heated as he spoke. "I only want you to be safe, Kiarra, and not just because your brother asked me to." His voice caressed my name, turning warmer, and I couldn't hide the longing that speared through me. Since my tunic was too tight, the evidence of my desire wasn't well hidden.

  Women whispered that men had a more difficult time concealing their passions; such women didn't have my traitorous body or greet tempting men in too small tunics. I nodded, swallowing convulsively. My shaking hands pulled on my hair, utilizing its unbound state to hide the outlines of my pebbled nipples. I fear I just pulled their attention to the wrong place because both men's eyes slid downward. The air practically crackled with their intensity. Mason stepped away with a cleared throat and Ian followed his lead, though both appeared reluctant. My fingers twitched to draw them back to me.

  "We will see you soon, Lass," Ian's velvety voice slid through me, further enhancing my desire. The smirk on his face told me he knew every thought running through my mind and every impulse firing through my body. His knowledge made me burn in more ways than one.

  They stepped in unison towards the stairwell and I partially regained my wits. "I shall see you as well," I countered. "Please don't fall off any roofs while you're stalking me." Ian's smile slipped minutely. I couldn't hide the triumphant arch of my own lips. If he could hint at my apparent desire, I could point out that he was a terrible spy, at least to me. The door to the stairwell closed behind their broad bodies and I slipped back into the unit.