Unforgiven: A Soulkeepers Novel (The Soulkeepers Book 3)

by Lori Adams

  Instinctively, she knew the road meandered ahead in a labyrinth of steep climbs, cozy courtyards, and arched bridges. Birds chattered from red rooftops. Flocks moved along the gray cobbles in great swells. They scattered in a flurry under wagon wheels and half-moon hooves clopping against stones.

  The recognizable overwhelmed her as she moved along, folding back time with a sleepwalker’s vision. Not this century or the last but long, long ago. A life within a life and many other lives in the cycle.

  It was impossible to separate the city from the hostile emotions rising inside her. She had returned to a place of discord and high passion. Emotions attached themselves to the scenery—leaves clinging to branches like arguments in the streets. Grapes souring in barrels as quarrels among neighbors. The surrounding city-states were in a constant uproar. Two separate ideological factions of an ancient conflict had spread from Florence across the north like a plague. The Guelpho, who championed the pope, were in continuous dispute with the Ghibellines, who supported the Holy Roman Emperor. Sides must be taken, so neighbors became enemies, friends turned into foes.

  Compelled by unseen forces, Ka hurried along the causeway she knew to be Via Cappello, through the arched tunnel and into a small courtyard. She stopped outside the large stone house with its numerous arched windows, stone balcony, and wooden door. A cacophony of voices came with the memory, her mother calling her. Mother. Bianca. An image flashed before her: a dark-haired beauty, moderate temperament, reverent but strong willed at times.

  A deep yearning swept through Ka. She longed to see her mother again! Reaching for the door, she stopped short as her father’s voice rang out through the open window above her. Deep and angry, spouting orders that twisted her stomach into a familiar knot. Conrad Cappelletti, proudly named after Conrad II, one of the four Salian kings, was stubborn, traditional, and loyal to a fault.

  Anxiety had replaced Ka’s sentimentality. Terrible fights awaited on the other side of the door, disagreements with no solutions. Grief she could taste on the tip of her tongue. She could not enter. She would never see her mother again.

  Backing away, her eyes flicked up to the stone balcony. A familiar face stared back. She caught her breath as the ghostly image of herself lifted an arm and pointed in the distance.

  Yes! This was the night she was to run away. This was the night that she and Dante would be together forever.

  Retracing her steps, Ka rushed through the courtyard, out of the tunnel, and along the street with its high, oppressive walls. She veered away from the path that lead to the House of Montecchi, where she was not allowed to visit. Dante’s family supported the pope while her own family sided with the Holy Roman Emperor. Their families had been sworn enemies for two generations. Dante’s father, Lord Giano, had taken a desperate step to keep them apart—an arranged marriage to a family loyal to the pope. Dante had refused.

  The stone streets became opaque in the soft evening light as Ka hurried on. Sounds of the city moved by her with muffled indifference. Nothing mattered but the application of obedience; as before, she followed Dante’s orders precisely.

  She crossed over the Ponte Pietra, its Roman arches rising above the Fiume Adige, to arrive on the east bank.

  Into the woods, we must go.

  Farther on she climbed, across green fields with yellow broom flowers and red poppies. Through rambling estates, the land gave way to a bubbling brook and a waterwheel turning alongside a mill. Inside, she knew she would find Dante waiting.

  It was the blue hour of day when shadows, like torn pieces of night, lay dead in the fields. Ka moved through them as wind through a graveyard. The emotional memory rose with bile in her throat. It had all been arranged but something went wrong.

  Betrayed.

  The word stopped her cold outside the mill. The sound of water lapping at the wooden paddles was the only thing she heard. So clear, it was as though the memory had worn grooves in her mind. What lay ahead was a passion play of two tragedies: one that she had not foreseen, and one that Dante had lived with for centuries. What he had so cleverly devised for them had gone horribly wrong.

  They were to be married, or so she had thought. It was their only hope, and her only reason for agreeing to come. Surely that was Dante’s plan. But she discovered the truth too late. Dante feared his father would find a way to separate them, even after a secret wedding. Those loyal to the pope could undo such arrangements. No, it was into the afterlife he wanted to go. With an elixir to end them and bind them forever.

  Ka watched it unfold, unable to undo the same mistake, the same deception that had already occurred.

  Isatou was there under the guise of being a witness to the nuptials. In truth, she had brought the death potion. And Dante, with his green eyes shining with eagerness and stubborn love, had told Lovaria that a priest from Mantua was arriving soon to marry them. While they waited, they would drink sweet wine from the vineyard. It would settle their nerves. Without a defense for the inevitable, she drank as Dante held the cup to her lips. He urged her to drink her fill, and then he finished the last. Holding a steady gaze, he coaxed her to recline upon the ground. The potion moved slowly, allowing them time for soft whispers and talk of love. She spoke of a life beyond Verona walls, places they could go as man and wife. Out of their families’ reaches. As the poison took hold, it brought a sudden rush of fear. She clung to Dante, begging him to find her if they were ever separated. If anything should happen to them. “Never give up, my love. Find me and we will be together.”

  “Always,” Dante whispered back. “No matter how long it takes, I will never stop looking for you, cara mia.” They kissed tenderly until their bodies fell away in mortal slumber.

  Ka blinked back tears. It was too drastic a thing for such an innocent life. How foolish she had been. So in love. So trusting. It was murdering love, but Dante would not have seen it that way; he had been too eager to defeat his father at last.

  Ka remembered the sensation of her young heart slowly fading into its final beat. She had died in Dante’s arms. But it was not the ending he had envisioned. Upon his instructions, Isatou summoned a reaper—a crafty woman called Diavolessa—to Take both of them to Hell. The reaper took Dante to Hell but never returned for Lovaria. Isatou waited while another entity arrived. He was a Grigori, tall and threatening, with frost in his breath. Just as Isatou had hoped, he captured Lovaria’s soul and placed it in the care of a spirit walker. Her Awakening would have to wait until the next cycle.

  In the meantime, Dante arrived in the fifth kingdom without Lovaria.

  Chapter 15

  Yours to Love

  With a promise not to peek, I am smuggled into the barn’s dressing room to prepare for my wedding day. Michael is excited and mysterious about “the matrimonial scenery transformation,” as he described it. He wants to impress me with something special. Poor Dad didn’t get it. To his eyes, the barn is nothing but a typical old heap with outdated gardening implements and empty stalls. Rama took over by gracing Dad with temporary awareness so he could see beyond the human visual spectrum and into our small piece of the world. But it won’t last long, so I’m in a rush.

  I take full advantage of the dressing room’s amenities; it’s more like a chic high-end spa. After a quick shower, I slip on a robe and dry my hair into soft waves. I move among the wedding gowns that Michael has prepared. They adorn the wall in a blinding display of white. Fingers gently tripping over them, I note that every style and designer is available. From the elaborate with a jewel-encrusted bodice, to a satin number with a train as long as a football field. Long sleeves, short sleeves, capped sleeves, no sleeves. I flip through the A-line and the sheath. The puffy ball gown, the regal empire, and the mermaid style that makes me instinctively tighten my abs. My head is swimming. I feel like the audience member entrusted to select just the right card from a magician’s fanned deck of cards.

  Then I stop and smile, imagining what Michael must have gone through to collect all of these. So t
his is what took him away when he claimed to have business with the Halos.

  Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I clear away the chaos of styles and textures and options, coming to rest in a peaceful state. Michael and I may not have arrived at this place in the traditional manner, but when I look beyond the complicated surface of our lives, I see the underside of things. The simplicity of our love.

  My feet carry me to the end of the row, where I reach for a simple white gown and slip it on without a moment’s hesitation. Low in the back, it has long spaghetti straps and a bodice of handmade French lace. The front hem reaches my thighs while the back graduates down to the floor. Layered on top are long, sheer panels of white silk chiffon that flow when I move. It’s perfection. Dreamy. Simple.

  I stand before the full-length mirror and take a moment to contemplate my hair. Slowly, I begin separating sections along the crown, working them into a waterfall braid. Although I’ve never created this braid myself, my fingers move deftly as if they know the pattern. In and around, I pull and twist, plaiting my dreads into the sections across the back of my head. Within moments, a pleasant, familiar sensation shimmies through me, and I close my eyes to keep things inside.

  I feel her standing behind me with her long hair the color of lightning. Mom’s presence perfumes the air and fills my lungs, bringing about a lethargic smile. She has never been one to ignore, and I enjoy the sensation of her while I can. With featherlight touches, the waterfall braid grows in increments, Mom’s fingers guiding the way. She perfects my mistakes now just as she did in life, her dreams forever busy supporting me.

  “I love him so much, Mom,” I murmur, my eyes closed and my head nodding back with each tug. “Michael is what follows every thought, every breath. My soul’s mate.”

  I know I have fallen through everything meant to contain me: hands, realms, rules that govern. But I no longer feel disconnected or left to meander aimlessly through life. I am more than the air that Mom breathed.

  “I hope I’m not disappointing you. I hope you approve.”

  A soft kiss on my cheek and Mom graces me with the truth: We are free and never owned.

  I turn quickly, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but the room is empty of love all over again, and I am alone.

  —

  A wave of panic hits me. In our rush to get married, we have forgotten the bouquet and the rings. I don’t even know if Dad is waiting outside to walk me down the aisle. Or where the aisle might be.

  Quick, deep breaths.

  I can do this.

  My palms are sweaty and my high heels too tight and too high. Impulsively, I flip each foot and send the beautiful white wedding shoes sailing across the room. All better.

  The door opens easily when I push. Feeling a bit timid, I step out and gaze around. Dad is nowhere to be seen, but the barn has transformed from the bright, glorious meadow that I’m accustomed to. It’s sunset on the edge of a sprawling forest, with green, leafy plants and fat vines clustering around towering trees. The sky is a watercolor of dark blue, orange, and yellow. Spectacular.

  Rain-slick grass edges a host of colorful flowers: stunning blue orchids so delicate among the broad-leafed bird-of-paradise and soothing calla lilies. Bees hover around tall lavender, not yet resigned to give up the day. Fireflies want their turn as they spark and sputter into existence among the orange bougainvillea draped over sturdy branches. Moving among their soft light, my bare feet find a lone pathway, lush and dark. The forest floor is cool beneath my pink toes. The towering trees make a loose canopy as I stroll quietly, trying not to intrude on nature. Here and there, I pluck a tiny flower—yellow, white, pink—and slip them into my waterfall braid. A gentle rush of water brings me around where I glimpse the waterfall spilling into the pool off to the right. It is the only familiar thing that Michael left from the original landscape.

  Padding over a tiny wooden bridge, I hear the soft drone of a single cello rise among the foliage. It’s a pleasing sound that comes from deep within the forest, resonating everywhere at once as though made by nature itself. My second heartbeat thrums gently, and up ahead I see Michael standing on a pathway. He is barefoot like me and wearing dark pants rolled up to the ankles, a white collared shirt, and a smile. In his hand is a vibrant bouquet of wildflowers.

  I catch my breath and come to a stop to enjoy him; Michael is a vision I’ll never grow tired of. He gives so much with a simple smile, and I have no choice but to smile back.

  The soothing cello coaxes us along, so Michael and I follow our individual paths toward each other. The music swells with Alison Krauss singing “Simple Gifts” and I feel myself choking up. The sweet lyrics convey the perfect expression of our love.

  We meet in the middle, where Michael offers me the lovely bouquet. We don’t speak. When the eyes do all the talking, words aren’t necessary. Michael offers his arm and I slip my hand through. Turning, we continue slowly up a new path, where a thousand fireflies have gathered on an archway of vines. Everywhere now, the fireflies adorn the trees, creating a shimmering glow against the blazing sky. As we pass under the sparkling archway, I see Rama and Dad waiting in the distance. I hold my breath, forcing myself not to cry. Rama is on the verge, and Dad is wiping his eyes.

  Michael and I come to stand on a step below them. Rama, who has donned a new Hawaiian shirt for the occasion, has no book and no greeting for us. He puts on his reverent face and looks down at us. With a fist clenched over his heart, he begins at the beginning of things.

  “On this, the first day of your lives joined together…”

  My mind wanders from Rama’s voice to Dad’s heartfelt expression. I wish I could let him know that I felt Mom’s presence in the dressing room; that she was with me on my wedding day. But I can’t bear to look at the tears pooling in his eyes and risk losing my composure. So I let my eyes roam, deciding instantly that no finer cathedral could be found than nature’s own: Green vines crown the far-reaching branches and display their white trumpet flowers like wedding bells, the heavenly choir of water dances over rocks, and the succulent aroma of the earth purifies the air.

  Peeking through the trees is the stained-glass sky, its sunset colors deepening into a soft velvet tapestry with billions of glimmering white stars. So close, it seems to drape over the treetops like a thick mantle, making me feel small beneath the lofty trees. Humble and unsure. Nature never worries the way I do; it knows from the start what’s to come. But what is to come? Here, everything is perfect and still. Wind doesn’t have permission yet. Bees come to a rest. Time hesitates. Everything…perfectly…still.

  Michael shifts beside me, a gesture to pull me out of my thoughts. Rama has given some instruction that I haven’t heard. Dad reaches down for my bouquet and I look at him in panic. He doesn’t have a ring to give me.

  Michael and I turn to face each other. His eyes are wide and solemn with unbreakable love. Emotions gather inside me, pooling at the base of my throat where they thump for my attention, insistent and demanding. I can’t remember what I knew before Michael. How I lived. Incomplete, for sure. With an unquenchable sense of longing. All I had was faith in the invisible, those ripples through the air between a man and a woman. Only they can feel it. Only they know for certain.

  Only Michael and I know for certain.

  Reaching out, Michael takes my left hand with his left hand and kneels on one knee. He gazes up at me with a serene smile. “Sophia, by the grace of my Light and all the love within me, I join myself to you. I am yours to love. Forever.”

  I blink back tears and feel myself trembling, my whole body humming with love and desire for this man. In the deepest part of me, I know that Michael and I were made to be together. We were never meant to be apart.

  “Michael, with all the love I possess, I join myself to you. I am yours to love. Forever.”

  Bringing my hand to his lips, Michael tenderly places a warm kiss on my finger where a ring should be. A blue spark circles around my finger three times before traveling acro
ss his hand and swirling around his finger. A tickling sensation along my skin and then it’s done. Michael has given us sigils of marriage, silvery blue lace runes of wedding bands.

  I raise my hand, staring in sheer wonder. Michael never fails to surprise me. “It’s beautiful,” I gush out. A sudden breeze picks up then, rustling our hair and clothes. Michael stands and I look quickly at him. I catch my breath in alarm. His beautiful face is alight with happiness but something is wrong. “Michael, your eyes! One has turned completely brown.”

  Michael’s face drops and he steps back. He looks at Rama, who has gone pale with fear. His mouth is hanging open and he’s shaking his head.

  “The Grigori,” Rama stammers, and Michael stiffens.

  “What’s Grigori?” I ask with rising fear. I’ve never heard the word but I think of Armaros, the frosty dude that is forever intruding on my life, first in the library basement, then at the Borderlands with Mom, and then again at Dante’s mansion when I failed to defeat the graveyard demons. Armaros had one blue eye and one brown eye, just like Michael does now.

  The wind is building into a storm, pulling at our clothes and turning the tree branches into great waving beasts. The white trumpet flowers roll and crash like a frothy shoreline. The fireflies scatter in collected fear, their light making dappled shadows in the air. Overhead, the sky has come alive, the stars heating up and pulsating in bright colors of red, orange, yellow, and blue. They seem to move closer as though they’ll drop on our heads.

  I cling to Michael and try to shout through the roaring wind. “Michael! What’s happening?” He grips my hands, his face full of torment and heartbreak. Speaking quietly, I can’t hear him but I know what he says. I love you, Sophia. I will always love you.