Timeless (Maiden Of Time Book 3)

by Crystal Collier

“Oh no, poppet. You are mine.”

  She twisted, but she couldn’t escape the nearing boot. It slammed into her brow. All went dark.

  She woke in bonds, the air around her damp. Pain sizzled into her neck, through her arms and up her back from the metal locked around her collar and wrists. Stone walls encompassed her. She opened her mouth to call for help, but no voice came. He did, however: a man with thinning hair and a lewd grin. Ulric. He came again and again and again, claiming her every time. At last, when the roundness of her womb demanded it, he had her removed to a tower. Her child was born, but he wouldn’t let her see it. “Not unless you help me find your friends.”

  And she did. Time after time—playing the part of an escapee while reporting her activities to the nobleman who kept her child. She had tried to kill him but couldn’t. It was the bond. Once he was dead, she would be free. Perhaps she would die with him, perhaps not, but at least she would no longer be his slave. He’d taken her against her will, and still she couldn’t put a blade through his heart.

  “There is only one thing you can offer me.” Her voice echoed inside his head. “Kill this man.”

  She released him.

  Leofrik stared at her in horror. What had she done to him? How could she share her history with a touch?

  She pantomimed a stab to the heart and extended a hand to him.

  “I do that, and I am a dead man.”

  She sat back, jaw clenched tight as if to say their negotiations were over.

  Twenty-Nine

  Death Bringer

  Kiren watched from across camp as Alexia stepped into Amos’s hut with the rest of the council. He’d tried his best to comfort her this morning, but her mind was harrowed with more guilt and anxiety than he could ease. The effort resulted in a session of kissing so heated he was still on fire. And then she’d dismissed him with tears in her eyes. Said goodbye. Walked the other way.

  Before Ravia was killed, Alexia had kissed him with a fervor that said she wanted all of him as much as he craved her. Since his suggestion of a future for them—something any woman would be giddy over—she’d changed. Even her kisses this morning, post funeral, had possessed a distance, like she was dreaming of kissing someone else. Someone who wasn’t him. Which drove him crazy with jealousy and stoked the fire.

  He didn’t like being this vulnerable and confused over a woman.

  “You are completely besotted.” Zeph slapped him on the back. “Do not think I missed how you snuck out this morning again after hovering over her all night at the ceremony. And afterward.”

  Kiren grimaced. Perhaps his motives were rather obvious, but he felt peace in her presence—whether arguing or locked in another form of passion…when she wasn’t imagining he was someone else.

  “With what happened, I understand. Have to protect your investment. Your life is literally at risk.”

  “What?” He turned on his friend.

  Zeph rubbed the back of his neck. “You never came back from visiting two nights ago. I assumed you…”

  He scowled. “I am not stupid.”

  Being bonded to her would mean trussing his life to hers. He could easily leap that boundary if things got too heated, and her life hung precariously upon the birthing of a child. Which would mean his life as well.

  Was that why she’d been pushing him away?

  Zeph nodded. “I know you are not stupid, but sometimes you do not think before, say, diving through a sheriff’s window. You have been, well, not yourself. I figured…”

  Not himself? Maybe because Alexia had filled his head with strange thoughts—like how she expected, expected him to take up his father’s mantle. He couldn’t be king. The first three years among the Lost Ones taught him that much. He didn’t have the foresight and good judgment to protect his people, say nothing of leading them to glory. He didn’t possess the eloquence, the restraint, or the strength to bear that burden.

  Their cries echoed in his ears, the injured and suffering who begged for mercy when the only mercy he could give them was a quick death.

  And Kiri was out there—the only family he had, an orphan and lonely soul, his twin sister. She would be fighting for their family heritage, which he’d abandoned with such ease. She’d never give up on him.

  But he could do nothing to reach her. To stop her suffering.

  So of course he wasn’t acting like himself, because he was acting like a prince who’d been running from his responsibilities.

  “It is not what it seems.” He thumped his friend in the chest. “Alexia is teaching me something.”

  “Seduction?” Zeph lifted a hand. “Oh wait, how to be a woman’s pin cushion? Do not lie to me about lip clapping. This is serious business.”

  Kiren chuckled and nodded toward Silivia. “At least she has never aimed something at my vulnerables.”

  Zeph grunted.

  A metallic scent hit Kiren’s nose. Hairs on his arms prickled, and his senses came fully alive. He was accustomed to smelling blood, but this was more than a nose bleed or minor injury. The tang of danger.

  He waved Zeph off with, “I know what I am doing,” though he had no clue, and hurried away, following the scent. He swerved to the trees that bordered the village limits.

  A body slumped against a tree, sun haloing a head kinked awkwardly to one side. Cedric. One of the members of camp. Kiren strained his ears for a heartbeat.

  Nothing.

  Twigs crunched underfoot as he approached. He knelt next to the body and placed a hand to Cedric’s neck. The skin was still warm. He closed his eyes and focused, searching for the spirit belonging to this cadaver.

  Silence.

  He was gone.

  A year ago Kiren had come across a child with a head wound, one who had been brutally beaten by his father. The lad took his last breath as Kiren laid a hand to his neck, and it wasn’t too late. He pulled the child back. Barely.

  But he couldn’t heal dead.

  The tree behind the body was slick with blood, the back of the head smashed in. Cedric must have died from slamming into the tree with great force. No one among the Lost Ones could throw someone with that power. There was the shadow creature…

  Leaves crinkled under his knee, too much sunlight spilling across the ground. He twisted to view the canopy. Branches above dangled where they’d snapped.

  Thrown from above?

  Zeph or Velia were the only ones who could pull that off, but they wouldn’t. Zeph was the most likeable, friendly member of their band, and Velia was loved by all. She’d been gone for days anyway—likely dipping her toes in the ocean and enjoying the freedom. Like he should be.

  This had just happened. His friend couldn’t have done this without anyone seeing, or more importantly, being in terrible humor afterwards.

  First it looked like Alexia murdered someone, now Zeph? This didn’t make sense. Yet someone had framed him for several pranks. Whatever was going on, he didn’t like it.

  Kiren backed away. After all the blame he’d received, it was likely he’d be accused for the murder if he made this scene known.

  He crossed the village square for Amos’s cottage. Mae answered the door, but Alexia appeared when she heard his voice.

  “Come with me.” He grabbed her hand. Warmth crawled up his skin from the connection, seeping into his chest like liquid gold. His heart sped. She was worse than a draught of the finest wine. He clenched his teeth against the desire to whirl her about and claim her mouth for his own. If not for the uneasiness of his stomach, he might act on that impulse.

  She filled the doorframe blocking out the council. “Will there now be mid-day sessions?” she hissed. “I have important matters to attend.”

  And she was back to being frigid. He cleared his throat. “It would be prudent if we spoke alone.”

  “We will. Later.”

  He ground his teeth and took a deep breath. Stubborn woman. He opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he’d found, and she blurred—fuzzy like his eyes weren’
t adjusted correctly. She shoved a hand against his lips.

  Her palm was rougher than he’d anticipated but smelled of ambrosia, delicious ambrosia. He wanted to nip it with his teeth, just to see her yelp.

  Her eyes widened. She pulled her hand away and dismissed herself from the meeting, following him toward his gruesome discovery.

  “How did he die?” she asked quietly.

  Kiren almost missed a step. “I cannot say—did you read my mind just now?”

  “No.”

  “See my memories?”

  “No.”

  “Observe me in my discovery?”

  “No.”

  “I am confused.” He pulled a hand through his hair.

  “Yes, you are.” Her grin said she liked him that way. “No matter, this must have occurred in daylight and no one witnessed it. What is happening to us?”

  He watched the pebbles passing underfoot, wishing he had an answer for her. Someone was killing the Lost Ones.

  ***

  Fires had been lit for the funeral rites at the peak right outside the village. People trudged silently forward. The second death in three days… It was enough to make Alexia nervous.

  Men and women had begun talking, examining the manner of the deaths and turning wary looks on one another. Thankfully none of them knew the part her dagger had played in Ravia’s death, but many watched Kiren and Zephaniah suspiciously. She’d even heard one or two low mumbles about a Soul Eater.

  A shriek broke the quiet. Alexia shoved through the crowd, catching Mae’s eye as they both hurried.

  The crowd parted and Alexia stopped dead in her tracks.

  The funeral pyre roared heartily, like a great mocking mouth. Posts stood to either side of the flames, erected in case of rain and the need for a canopy.

  Now they were bloody totems.

  A body dangled from each of the pikes: Perrin and Murial—the two who had been sent to prepare the funeral site. Their heads twisted the wrong direction like mangled marionettes.

  Cold hung in the air, the winds stilled, despair clamping Alexia’s windpipe shut.

  Her fists trembled. Why? Who was doing this? How could they—?

  Her breath caught.

  Between the two drooping bodies hung a great inky haze, the blackness that had haunted their village. It swelled outward, an enveloping cloud of anguish.

  She glared at it, teeth grinding.

  In the murk, crimson eyes flashed.

  Ice sliced through Alexia.

  This was no longer a game of scaring people. This was the beginning of the Soulless.

  Thirty

  The Soul Eater

  Alexia backed away.

  The black cloud faded and wind cut through her dress. Kiren slid an arm around her as she shivered, and she met his eyes. She pushed him away and turned for Amos, dread weighting her veins and fueling her brain. This was happening. It was here—whatever nightmare would birth her greatest fear.

  Regin, Mae, and Deamus followed her.

  Amos nodded at her, Lucian at his side, and they all disappeared into his hut.

  “I should have recognized the signs.” She paced out her rage. “Can you not feel the entity’s malevolence? It has been watching us and waiting for us to feel safe, all while feeding on our unease and ill feeling. Now it is…is…”

  Regin’s fists balled. “We all saw it, but there be nothin’ there. Nothin’ what we can cage or fight. Leastwise we know we still have a traitor in our midst. Mayhaps—”

  “This was no traitor.”

  Mae cleared her throat. “If I say something will I be laughed to scorn?” They all looked at her. “The Soul Eater.”

  No one let out a single chuckle.

  Alexia stopped moving. “We need to leave this mountain. Now.”

  Silence.

  Amos stepped forward, his hands pressed together in supplication. “Tell us why, Alexia. How will it happen?”

  She looked right at Lucian. “Can you see what is coming?”

  The monk tucked his hands into his robe. “We should leave this place.”

  They all turned on Lucian.

  “What have you seen?” Amos asked.

  “Trouble.”

  No need for a vote. They would relocate and hope the thing could not follow. Decision made, people began packing, but no matter how thoroughly they searched the village, Velia could not be found.

  Thirty-One

  Sealed

  “I bear no love for this man,” Leofrik admitted over the morning meal. All night he’d mulled on what he’d seen and the bargain Velia had demanded.

  She ignored him.

  “But he is a lord and my superior. If I slay him, my life is ended.”

  She picked at her food. There would be no compromise, and he understood. She wanted one thing and one thing only.

  He ground his teeth. “Lady, I believe your kind are dangerous—far more than this world can withstand. It is best they be kept under the guard of the Holy Church for everyone’s safety. This is a cause I would stake my life on.”

  She glanced at him.

  “I could make his death look the accident, but in exchange you must give me your people.”

  Her gaze flitted across the dewy greens, the pulse ticking in her neck as her fingers twitched.

  “Do we have an agreement?”

  No reply.

  Leofrik didn’t waste time waiting. He went about his morning routine, gathering food and wood for another fire. He returned to a solemn-faced woman. She met his eyes and offered her hand. He took it.

  “How can I know you are a man of your word?”

  He tugged at her bracelet prison. “I believe you want this man dead with everything inside you but have not the power or means. Give me your vow, and I will set you free. We work on trust from this moment forward.”

  Her silver eyes flashed. They had an agreement.

  ***

  Leofrik worried that the demand he’d placed upon Velia was too great, transporting himself and an entire force of men—which she did, one at a time—but though she wearied, she did not shrink from their agreement. The instant she had delivered the last of his fighters, she disappeared. For good.

  Why should that sadden him?

  Thirty-Two

  Tides of War

  Early morning mist curled off the mountain peaks and obscured the rising sun. Alexia faced the dawn, wishing it could warm away her dream: the clashing steel and fire in her veins. Sickness at the spilling blood. Shouts and the jarring of bones. It had been far too vivid, one of her prophetic dreams.

  She gripped and loosened her hold on the dagger as she watched the fog. She hadn’t meant to sleep, but fell into it while packing. The dream was a blessing. A terrible blessing.

  Let it be a lie.

  Regin sidled up next to her, along with Mae, Sarlic, and Amos. She nodded at each. Speed, sleep, death, pain, and darkness. They made a formidable force. A force she hoped would not be needed, but the nightmare felt too real not to heed.

  Willem dropped into a crouch next to them, ready to shake the earth. Beatrice, who would wreak fear and confusion on the enemy, hung in his shadow. Ilberd, Hammond, and Silivia arrived, broadening their defensive line. Wind swirled around them and Zephaniah swooped into position. Lucian and Deamus would be leading the young and helpless to the safety of the next rise, and she hoped Kiren would remain in the background to heal wounds. Velia had more work than she could handle—if she ever appeared.

  Shadows reared in the mist, silhouettes of men.

  Alexia exhaled a pent up breath. It was reality. So be it.

  She froze time and stepped into the fog, drawing on the necklace for strength.

  Men. Weapons. Armor. A whole force. Sixty souls with drawn blades or taut bows. Just like in her dream.

  Frustration bubbled through her. Why could they not be left alone?

  Darkness slithered through the vegetation and disembodied crimson eyes cut through the gloom.

/>   Alexia stopped. This battle was hopeless. Their enemy was too numerous, too strong…

  She gritted her teeth and glared at the cloud entity, fighting the imposed despair. The thing swirled into a cyclone of movement and dove into the open mouth of a man wearing a white tunic with the red cross. The man’s eyes glowed red.

  She swallowed.

  The thing didn’t yield to time. It traveled without boundaries. And it could inhabit bodies.

  Her memory flashed back to the night Ravia died—how Regin had entered her hut because of Mae’s move. Or that was what she’d assumed. He could have taken her dagger. And then she’d passed Willem on the way to Ravia’s hut. If this creature could possess men to do its bidding, it would not have been difficult to enter Regin and pass her dagger to the boy. Anyone could become an enemy.

  Had this monster brought the enemy here?

  Her blood pumped with a need to protect her people, to defeat the thing, to escape this enemy and keep her people from becoming Soulless. What had Grandfather called the darkness outside of time? Chaos?

  She resumed her place in the line of allies, stilling her heart for battle. Only the ice of control remained.

  Alexia released time.

  Not a word escaped them as they waited. She wanted to see the enemies’ faces, see their surprise at the force waiting for them. Mist cleared and their foe halted.

  Alexia lifted her eyes to the sky, readying for the hiss of arrows. “Amos, now!”

  Pitch hurled before them, a blinding wall of black.

  “Beatrice!” she commanded.

  Shrieks of terror broke from the warriors on the other side of night.

  “Regin and Sarlic!” The two men swept into the fray.

  Swords swooped through the murk. Alexia lifted her dagger and slowed time. She pressed her blade against the weapon nearest to her with enough force that it would fly from the man’s grip the second she freed time. The next one she pressed downward forcing it into the ground. The third she simply tore from the man’s hand. She turned her head up and forced herself to breathe. There it was—the slow hiss of arrows.