Ian's thoughts whirled. He might not have believed in a Soul Match for himself, but he had seen true soul bonds. He had seen each person happier and more fulfilled after the bond. He couldn't decide which of Jeff's theories to believe, if any. However, Kiarra was extraordinarily strong. He recognized a piece of him within her. She saw him and found him when no one else could.
Maybe Kiarra's soul was broken into six, but maybe each of them only had half a soul and she carried the other half. Bringing them together brought each of them to wholeness. His head spun with the idea. He glanced at Jeff to discuss the theory, but the man had disappeared into the night. He was again alone and cold on the rooftop, Kiarra asleep not far from where he sat.
Chapter Eighteen
Reed
Reed woke early in the morning, his head pounding. He had stayed up too late last night, buried in the book he had essentially stolen from the library. When his mind strayed, he reread the message given to him by the palace courier or dreamt of Kiarra's soft smile. No one would note his absence if he didn't arrive at work but he needed to occupy his mind. If he didn't, he would spend all day pacing and thinking. He woke before dawn, dressing quietly.
A clear line existed down the center of the room he shared with his roommate. The man was fifteen years older than him but had never married, so he remained within the men's third tier dorm rooms. He was dirtier than he was intelligent. Clothes, books, apple cores, trash, crumpled paper, and Saints knew what else was piled on his side of the room. The debris practically buried the bed in which he lay snoring.
Over the last few months, Reed had grown accustomed to the stench. He was fairly sure Barron hadn't washed the sheets on his bed in the two years since he'd been promoted to third tier. So many times he'd regretted not being moved into second tier housing where he belonged. Reed had been working diligently towards making first tier, if only to receive a room away from Barron, but now he had another option.
He slipped from the first floor of the housing building. Although walls and floors separated him from Kiarra, he sometimes swore he felt her or sensed the flare of her emotions. If that didn't prove he was her Soul Match, he couldn't say what would. The message from the palace would have an impact on their soul bond and the relationship with his brother. Neither would fare well and the thoughts nearly made him sick. He kicked a boot against the cobblestones.
"Reed!" a voice whispered from the alleyway between second and third tier, making Reed’s heart pound. The green tunic registered at the same time he recognized Seb's voice. This had been another of his whirling thoughts. He didn't know how to tell his best friend and brother he would be moving to the palace indefinitely. Palace occupants didn't interact often with the residents of the outer city. His heart jumped guiltily when he realized he had been contemplating not telling Seb. The missive had called for discretion, but Seb was his brother and would keep the secret.
"Seb! What are you doing awake at this hour?"
"I could ask the same of you." There was no accusation in Seb's voice despite his words, only weariness. Reed studied his friend curiously. Whereas Reed had managed to sleep a couple hours, Seb didn't appear to have slept at all. His tunic was rumpled, dark circles underlined his eyes. Guilt and sadness aged his face.
Reed frowned. "What's wrong, Seb?"
Seb glanced around furtively before he grabbed Reed's arm, steering him out of the alleyway and down Fenton Street. "Not here," was all he said.
They walked in tense silence until they reached the green that occupied the third and fourth tiers of the Scholar Quarter. Reed had planned on going for a run. He still would if enough time remained after he talked with Seb. They meandered under the budding trees and over the earth decorated with new shoots of grass. The threat of rain hung heavy in the air. After the rains, everything would turn green. It was one of Reed's favorite moments of the year, but he might not see much of the awakening from the palace windows. He'd never passed beyond the inner gates. He wasn't certain any trees grew inside the palace circle.
"What's going on?" Reed asked, running a hand through his hair. Seb was severely agitated, an unusual state for his easy going friend.
Seb looked around again before turning his back on the waking city. They faced a small copse of trees. Seb reached a hand into the pocket of his breeches and pulled out a piece of paper. The message was almost crumpled and lined beyond comprehension, but Reed didn't need to see every letter clearly to know what it said.
"I had to tell you," Seb whispered. "I couldn't just disappear into the palace. Some people that go in there, they never come out."
Seb was speaking of Rowan, but his brother's voice echoed the same concerns that had him tossing and turning the night before. He had scoured the history of the kingdom, both before the country was fractured into Houses and after. The information from before the formation of the Houses was sparse at best. He found that no precedence existed for the summons they had each received, and the lack bothered him. With no knowledge to work with, he felt uninformed and unprepared.
"Reed?" Seb prodded. Reed realized he had been standing motionless for several minutes longer than expected. Rather than reply in words, he pulled his own message from his pocket. The summons read exactly the same as Seb's except for the name of his House, his Advisor, and his own name. His paper also remained pristine despite the many times Reed had read it.
Seb's eyes widened as they flew over the words. His face bloomed slowly, his shoulders drooping as a weight fell from them. He hugged Reed exuberantly and quickly, surprising Reed into a grunted response.
"This makes everything so much better. We'll be going together." A wealth of relief colored Seb's voice, provoking Reed's guilt. Seb had likely lain awake all night agonizing over whether to tell Reed while Reed had his nose in a book, researching the manner of Advisor selections. Neither of their endeavors had been fruitful.
"But we have no idea why we're going," Reed protested. They exchanged messages again. The similar slips of white parchment disappeared into their pockets.
"Well, I suppose we shall learn tonight." Seb sank to the grass and Reed followed him. He winced at the dew that seeped through his breeches and chilled his bottom.
"There is no precedence for this," Reed persisted, trying to impose the gravity of the situation on his easy going friend. "Advisors aren't trained before a new King is appointed. And why us? We might be intelligent, but we're young and inexperienced."
"I don't care anymore. We'll face it together," Seb answered. Reed wished he could feel as secure and carefree as his brother. Seb was not naïve but he dealt with matters as they happened and possessed more than a normal level of optimism. Reed was a forward thinker and a realist. He liked to be prepared for every possible situation and he relied on research to prepare himself. If it hadn't been for Seb's existence in his childhood, though, he might have grown into a rigid bore. Sometimes, his nature indicated that tendency but his personality wasn't as stodgy as it appeared.
They sat in silence, watching the sunlight crest the outer wall. A lovely orange glow moved across the top of the stone edifice separating them from the countryside. Reed shivered. Sitting still on wet grass moved the lingering chill of the night into his bones.
"What about Kiarra?" Seb asked quietly.
Reed snatched up a twig at his feet, snapping it in two. "What about her?"
"Well, we won't have a chance with her anymore. We'll be stuck in the palace."
"I'll ask the King who her Soul Match is."
"What?" Seb's voice rose in disbelief. "You're just going to ask the King? That's not done."
"Neither is inviting a couple of second and third tier nobodies into the palace to train as the next Advisors," Reed whispered vehemently. "This is the easiest way. We'll discover who her match is and if she's meant to be with one of us, we can court her. We won't have to worry about her being wooed by one of the men who remain in the city with her." Reed didn't mention that he was one hundred percent certain
Kiarra was meant to be his wife. The certainty surprised him as he wasn't one to take anything on faith. But, he had grown up with a very firm belief regarding Soul Matches. The time since he'd met her had been filled with fantasies of discussing scientific theories, researching, and more fulfilling, less scholarly pursuits. He hadn't been able to imagine too much, however. His body had been in a constant state of yearning.
"The King may have no clue. The Soul Tenders can't just call up visions."
Reed shrugged. "If it's meant to be, it will be." The prospect of Kiarra was far less worrying than the conundrum of the advisory positions. He had faith in the draw between him and Kiarra. Seb groaned, resting his head on the arms he had crossed over his knees. Reed poked him. "Come on, let's go for a run."
Seb looked at him through bleary eyes. "Man, I didn't sleep at all last night."
"Do you think your teacher will punish you for not attending class today?"
Seb deliberated. "Probably not. I'll be in the palace by tonight."
"So, run with me and then go back to your room and rest. We'll meet up at the 18th hour and go to the palace together." Seb rose slowly, his sleepless night weighing on him. Reed persisted. "Come on, the activity will help you sleep and stop you from thinking."
They began slowly, stretching until they reached Low Road and then took off. Reed ran slower than he usually did, allowing Seb to keep pace with him. They didn't encounter many others at the early hour, just a few people heading into work early and the Masters preparing school for the day. Guardsmen passed by but didn't bother them. They were simply two young men going for a run before their work day began.
Reed let the rhythm of his feet hitting the packed dirt, occasional cobblestone or brick path lull him into not thinking. Seb followed close behind. The worries faded from his friend's shoulders and eased his own fears. Whatever they faced, they would face it together, as brothers.
Chapter Nineteen
Kiarra
I contemplated begging off school for the day, my mind and body wrapped up in nerves regarding the dinner with the royal family that evening, but Delia beat me to it.
"Mother," she whined, "I need to prepare."
"You have three hours between the hour school ends and when we are expected at the gates. You're wearing your school uniform. You can't possibly need more than three hours to do your hair," Mum said impatiently.
Delia huffed all the way from the unit, but I remained to give Mum a much-needed hug. Her face was creased and weary. She was fretting about the evening and what Father would do to embarrass us. At worst, he would say something treasonous and get us all thrown into the dungeon.
My head still whirled with the words she had shared with me the day before, about Father not being her Soul Match and that my five different men might be the five Rowan had mentioned. I didn't understand why Rowan told me to trust five men, but the command comforted me, settling within that space in my chest where the Saints swore my soul lived. I did trust them, I realized with surprise, even though I barely knew them.
School passed quickly anyway. The teachers blathered on about the upcoming tests while I stared out the windows at the scuttling clouds and swaying trees which bracketed the schoolhouse. Rain hovered in the atmosphere and I imagined us arriving at the palace sopping wet like bedraggled cats. Maybe the King would send one of those covered, horse led carts. I only saw them in the worst weather being used by the Heads or the Advisors on the rare occasions they deigned to pass beyond the palace gates. A wooden ruler slapped harshly against the surface of my desk, eliciting a surprised squeak and making me jump. The class twittered.
"Miss Walton, I realize you are a lost case where testing is concerned, but you do not have cause to ignore my lessons."
Anger rose in me. Master Blevins, with all his pompous self-appointed importance, had no right to be so cruel. His words reminded me of the ones my father used when he was sober enough to recognize my face. I glared at the beady-eyed man, gathered my books, and swept from the room. I didn't even stop to consider the implications. I didn't care what he thought, what my sister thought, or what Mum would think when my sister told her I left at midday. Students stared at me with slack jaws and disbelieving expressions. One didn't just exit school without permission. If I were a lost cause, though, it didn't matter. My fate would be decided next week whether I stayed in class another day or not.
Outside, the humid air clung to each breath. Electricity tingled on my skin and I wondered if the storm might arrive sooner than tonight. I raised my eyes to the sky. I couldn't see much of the horizon past the looming walls, but I also couldn't yet see the ominous gray clouds that foretold a torrential downpour. I still had time before the heavens let loose.
I wandered without a destination, surprised when my feet led me to the Low Road's line of shops in the Merchant Quarter. I didn't frequent these stores often. The line of sorry shacks was situated at this junction for the Commoners and the lowest tiers. I might soon join them, however. I didn't feel out of place.
One particular building caught my attention, the awning painted every color of the rainbow. It flapped in the breeze. The shop catered to Performers, I realized with a thrill of excitement. Performers were allowed to wear whatever color they wanted because they belonged to no House. A dark skinned woman stood propped against one of the posts of the porch, masticating some dark substance. She opened her lips to spit black juice on the ground, revealing several missing teeth. Her dark eyes lit upon me and held, unnerving in their intensity. An unrecognizable emotion settled onto her face and her thin lips curved upward. The smile sent a shiver down my spine. She wasn't a native of Megreria, there weren't enough dark skinned people in Megreria to multiply and produce skin as dark as hers.
"Come inside, child," the woman rasped, her voice like sheaves of dry paper rustling together.
I clutched the strap of my satchel, not realizing how tight until my knuckles began to ache. I wasn't easily frightened, but her persona spoke of so much wisdom and power, a shiver of fear coursed down my spine. The shop drew me, though. I wanted, more than anything, to see all the colors we weren't allowed to wear.
The old woman nodded to something behind me. "Bring your Shadow if you must, but come inside."
I whirled, not surprised to see Ian behind me. He always seemed to be around these days. I would have been more shocked if he hadn't been following me. My senses automatically heightened at his presence, the tingles on my flesh multiplied, the sensation not attributed to the oncoming weather. He flashed his crooked smile, easing my stress and worry. I felt safe around him, this man I didn't know, who dealt in secrets and possibly in death. His tunic clung to his lean muscles. My fingers twitched to brush aside the fringe of hair dipping towards his eyes. He nodded toward the shop with a shrug, drawing me out of my contemplation of his appearance. It took me a second to realize he was encouraging me to enter the store.
The woman grinned and cackled, spitting more dark juice into a tarnished urn on the porch. The door opened with a spritely tinkle of bells. Her hunched form was draped in the muddy brown of a Commoner but the rainbow sash around her waist, a twisted braid of several differently colored scarves, marked her as a Performer. I wonder which Merchant trusted her enough to man his shop.
I refused to look inside the stinking urn as I entered the shop. She chewed the betel nut, like many Commoners. The bitter plant from the southeastern part of the continent lent them stamina for their demanding manual labor occupations. The habit was disgusting, but I didn't begrudge them their vices. It was no better or worse than the ale my father consumed by the barrel. Ian was a solid, reassuring presence at my back. I experienced no fear when he was close to me.
My breath caught as I entered the store, excitement swamping any lingering apprehension. Setting my satchel with my school books by the door, I danced about the room like a bird jumping from branch to branch. I wanted to see and touch everything. The different cuts and fabrics, shelves of breeches, tunics
, dresses, skirts, shirtwaists, vests, and scarves were daunting. And the colors! I hadn't known such colors existed in clothing. A rainbow lived within the shop. Performers wore every color conceivable, but their clothes were often covered with a layer of dust from hours of sitting in squares or faded by the sun.
Ian watched me as I skipped among the shelves, an amused look on his face. His presence reminded me of reality, though. The colors and clothes might be pretty, but I couldn't purchase or wear any of them. I turned back to the door, but the old woman hummed behind me. I had almost forgotten she watched as well.
"Why do you leave, pretty one?"
I turned around, trying to absorb everything one more time so I could store the spectacular sight in my memory. My eyes snagged on a particularly beautiful dress of lavender. The scooped neckline was edged in frothy black lace. Another strip of sheer black lace at the bottom of the skirt was decorated with flowers. The delicate sprigs of green were topped with blooms of red and blue. Veins of gold wound through the twining green ivy, glittering brightly in the dim lighting of the shop. Every House was represented, but none of the colors dominated any other, except the pale lavender. Lavender was considered a sister shade of royal purple yet not dark enough to claim the color.
"I can't wear any of this," I explained wistfully, motioning to the entire store even though my eyes remained glued to the beautiful dress.
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