Princess of souls, p.23
Princess of Souls, page 23
He stares at me, and I wonder if my silence alone conveys all the things I want to hide from him the most.
I look quickly away from him, unable to bear the sudden scrutiny of his gaze.
“What was the vision?” he presses.
I don’t answer. I don’t know how.
Not now, I think.
Not after he’s started to see me as more than a witch.
Not after he kissed my hand and looked into my eyes without flinching.
I will myself to look back at him. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a while,” I say. “The other night, I tried. But I just couldn’t find the words.”
“The other night?”
Nox frowns, and I swallow loudly at the thought of causing him more pain by dredging up the past.
“The other night?” Micah looks between us. “What happened the other night?”
“Your father,” I say to Nox. I hate the feeling of disgust that sinks into me as I force myself to finally reveal the truth. “I want to tell you what really happened that day.”
A sudden gloom twitches onto Nox’s face.
“Wait,” he says. “This is about my father?”
I nod.
The realization washes over him like a storm. “You know how he died.”
It isn’t a question, but when I push my lips together to keep from crying, he can see he has his answer. A curtain pulls across his face, and where a moment ago there was laughter, there is now shock.
His eyes are full of betrayal.
“You lied to me,” he says.
I recoil at the truth of it.
I should have told him two nights ago during our talk, or back on the balloon when he told me how much it pained him not to know about his father, but I was too selfish to risk losing him.
I stand and Nox’s hand twitches by his sword—by Asden’s sword. I wouldn’t blame him if he tried to press that blade against my throat and make me feel the pain that my family has caused him.
But he doesn’t.
“Tell me what happened,” Nox says. Practically pleads.
I steel my breath. He has been waiting years to know this.
“Your father trained me in secret behind the king’s back,” I explain, the truth finally spilling out of me after all this time. “He was my mentor.”
Nox remains silent, his breath shallow.
“Two years ago, the king called him to the throne room. I thought he wanted to punish him because he knew what we’d been doing,” I say. “But it was something else. The king discovered Asden was planning to look for a magic that could hurt him. He made me look into your father’s future and I saw him dying right there in the throne room.”
The words are like acid in my throat. The memory is just as awful to relive for a second time.
“Before I knew it, my mother was siphoning out his soul,” I finish.
“He was still alive?”
Nox looks pained.
I blink.
“When they took his soul,” Nox says slowly, sounding broken at the thought. “Was my father still alive?”
I nod, and I see every nightmare in his eyes suddenly coming true.
Nox must have imagined the moment his father died a thousand times over the years, but to know that his last moments were this terrible must break him.
How could he ever find his solace now?
“You knew my father,” he says in disbelief. “When I told you how much it meant for me to know his final moments, did you not think I deserved that? I thought we were…”
He breaks off and my heart aches to ask: Thought we were what?
“I trusted you,” he says, like an accusation.
“You can still trust me,” I promise him. “We can defeat the king, just like you planned.”
“My plan was to kill you,” Nox admits, not cruelly but as though it’s a simple fact. “When we first met, I thought all witches were evil and you deserved to die alongside your mother. But you changed my mind. You made me think there was such a thing as a good witch.”
I step toward him, but Nox holds up a hand to stop me from getting any closer.
He has never looked at me the way he does now.
“I was wrong,” he says.
I press my lips together to keep from shattering.
“You must not fight,” Eldara says.
She moves toward us like water, gliding across the floor. Her voice is so serene it chafes against the grief ravaging the air.
“You must stay by each other’s side,” she says to Nox. “Selestra must protect you and you must support her rule.”
“I no longer trust her enough for that,” Nox says. “We can defeat the king, but it won’t be by each other’s side.”
Around us, the sunlight sways and flashes through the windows, the breeze from the open arch knocking it back and forth. It turns the tea room from dark to light and then back again, the rising sun still unable to reach its crevices.
The shadows dance across Nox’s face as he stares at me.
“You’ll never be my queen,” he says.
He casts one last look at me and I see the conviction in his eyes. The grief, so similar to the look Asden had that day.
Then Nox turns and leaves me to the shadows.
33
NOX
It’s been a long time since I’ve been stabbed. Or surprised.
Over the years I’ve perfected the art of staying alive and knowing when the blows were going to come. My father trained me every morning to always be my best and do my best. There was no other option.
The Six Isles are not a place for people to be average or forgotten, he used to tell me. The king doesn’t let the unworthy live.
He taught me to be an expert swordsman, so I would always be prepared for a fight, but he never taught me how to prepare for betrayal.
The sound of metal screaming against metal ricochets through the small amphitheater of the Polemistés training grounds, encircled by grassy steps where a crowd gathers.
“This is a bad idea,” Micah says. “At least wear some armor or something. That Polemistés soldier looks like a tin can.”
I shake my head. “I’m not used to it. It’ll weigh me down.”
“It’ll keep you alive,” Micah says in a huff.
I eye the man in the center of the amphitheater.
Lucian Crowe. My opponent.
The very first warrior to threaten my life when we arrived five days previous.
We were pitted against each other just moments ago. Me as the Last Army traitor and him as one of five reigning Polemistés champions. It’s supposed to be a simple sparring match, but Lucian’s sword is at the ready, a zealous gleam in his eyes as he points it at me.
We both agreed to sharp iron instead of blunted fencing gear, as is the Polemistés way. The training ground is at the border of their forest and it seems the warriors make it a point to look tough in the face of the ghosts that roam there.
Staring at me now, Lucian smirks.
No doubt, he’s eager to show some Last Army soldier what it means to be a true champion. Or maybe he just wants to beat one of the king’s men. Either way, he looks eager and arrogant.
And those are two things I can use.
Eager men are too quick to think, and arrogant men don’t think much at all.
“You don’t need to do this,” Micah says.
But I do.
It’s not just that I have something to prove, but I have something to get out of me. After what happened with Selestra, I’ve spent the last three days alone with my anger. I need this fight.
This release.
Micah holds out my sword to me. “You know, if you’re that bothered about Selestra, you could kill her instead of getting yourself killed,” he says.
I snatch the sword from him, not appreciating the bad attempt at a joke.
Just hearing her name sets me on edge.
“She lied to me.”
Micah only rolls his eyes. “You both make a habit of lying to each other every chance you get. You were planning to kill her.”
“That stopped being my plan a long time ago,” I say.
I hadn’t thought about betraying Selestra since we left the castle. Yet she looked me in the eye when I spoke of my father and told me that she knew nothing.
I step into the center of the ring.
The training grounds are filled with a handful of other warriors. I scan them briefly and it only takes a moment before I find what I’m looking for.
On the low steps, above where the other warriors stand to watch, Lady Eldara is perched. She looks down at me, smiling ever so slightly.
Beside her is Selestra.
She’s easy to spot. It’s not just her hair or her eyes making her stand out. It’s more than that.
Sometimes I almost feel like I can sense her.
I grit my teeth.
She’s dressed in a white tunic that goes right up to her chin and I watch as she fidgets nervously with her gloves.
I don’t meet her eyes.
I can’t.
I know it’ll throw me off balance.
“I don’t remember.” Lucian paces in circles around me. “Do Last Army soldiers bleed easily?”
I bite back a smile when I look at him. “I really couldn’t say. Nobody’s managed it in a while.”
“When I cut you, all the warriors of the island will cheer.” Lucian licks his lips. “They’ll be glad to see Seryth’s precious soldier bleed. A failed warrior with a failed army.”
“It’s possible,” I say.
I stick my sword into the orange sand and lean an elbow on the hilt.
I like hearing him talking about the king like he’s a failed peer, rather than a royal. In Polemistés they don’t see Seryth as someone to be feared. To them, he is weak. He couldn’t win their crown and so he tried to take the world instead.
They pity him.
“Don’t worry, little soldier.” Lucian continues circling me. “I won’t spill too much of that precious blood. The Lady Eldara still thinks you have some use left in you.”
“I appreciate that.”
Lucian juts his sword out toward me without warning and I only just slide out of the way in time, rolling onto the sand.
I pick up my own sword and crash it against his, but Lucian blocks it easily.
“Too slow,” he says.
I hit him again by way of response and he stumbles slightly, but easily gets his sword back in the air.
I make to hit him again, slowly and clumsily, but he swerves out of the way.
He grins at me.
Good, I think. Let him smile.
If I pull back enough, he’ll get cocky.
It’s easier sometimes, to let someone think they have the upper hand or to wait until they wear themselves out.
Though Lucian doesn’t look like there’s a possibility of him being worn out any time soon.
The old-fashioned way, then, I think. I’ll beat him by simply being better.
“Again?” asks Lucian.
“Sure.” My voice is breezy. “Whenever you’ve got a minute.”
He lunges toward me, sword aimed for my shoulder, sudden as a rock slide. But what Lucian doesn’t realize—what nobody in this crowd does—is that I’m faster.
I trained every day to be.
Quickly, I bring my sword over my head in a graceful loop, blocking Lucian’s blow.
Furious, he swings again, harder, but I hold my ground, refusing to fall back. I take a step forward and cut my blade through the air, narrowly missing Lucian’s cheek.
I have him on the defense.
Lucian darts backward. His footwork is impressive, but I’m unforgiving, surging forward two steps for every one of his. With a determined breath, Lucian blocks my sword and then uses his free hand to punch me square in the face.
I stumble back a few steps, surprised, and touch my lip.
No blood, thankfully.
The warriors cheer, their expressions joyous. They are savoring each moment, and the more violent and dishonorable things become, the more they smile.
I catch Selestra’s gaze on the steps.
Her eyes are narrowed and I could almost swear there is a look of fury in her eyes.
Fire.
Lady Eldara places a hand on her shoulder.
“Ready for more?” asks Lucian.
I meet his smirk with one of my own.
So he’s playing dirty, then.
Dirty, I can do. I have ample practice in that.
When the champion’s sword meets mine again, I use my left hand to grab his wrist and yank his guard down. I twist it, hard, and Lucian yelps in pain.
Then, with little grace, I slam the hilt of my sword into his nose.
His hand flies up to his face as blood gushes from his nostrils.
“Well,” I tell him. “I didn’t promise not to spill any of your blood.”
“Just like a Last Army soldier to play dirty,” Lucian says.
“Not to sound like a child, but you started it.”
Lucian wipes the blood onto his sleeve. “Are you trying to impress Lady Selestra with those moves?”
I grip my father’s sword tighter, letting it tether me to the world. Without it, I feel like I might just keel over at the sound of her name.
“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” I say.
“Then what is it you want?” Lucian asks. He’s goading me, I know it. “I’m sure it isn’t to help us in this fight.”
I don’t know the answer.
For two years my only goal has been to avenge my father. I’ve thought of nothing else and dreamed of nothing else. The only certainty I’ve had in my life is that I won’t find peace until I kill the king.
It has been my everything.
Then Selestra came along and I found that every now and again I forgot. For a few moments out of the day, I let the very thing that consumed me for years fade.
Or at least, I wanted it to.
She made me consider that when this was all over I could be more than just a soldier with a mission.
“She watches you now,” Lucian says.
He cocks his head up to where Selestra is sat. It takes everything I have not to look at her.
“Her warrior,” Lucian says.
“I’m not hers.” I grit my teeth together. “Witches can’t be trusted.”
“Can you?” he asks.
I try to respond, but the words stick in the back of my throat.
No. I can’t be trusted either. That’s the nature of the Six Isles: betrayal and selfishness. Everyone wants what they want and will screw over whoever they can to get it.
“Let’s go again,” I say to Lucian.
He doesn’t hesitate.
He charges forward, sword in the air. The sound of our metal meeting reverberates through the stadium, above the deafening cries of the other warriors.
But there’s nothing Lucian can do now.
He set the rules by making sure there were none. He allowed me to fight like I would if I weren’t dueling an ally.
Like a Last Army soldier.
When Lucian raises his sword once more, I use my own to knock it to the ground. With no mercy I raise my knee and kick him in the chest.
The champion stumbles back, breathless and gasping, then falls to the floor. I walk slowly toward him and bring the tip of my father’s sword to his throat.
“Do you yield?”
Lucian glares up at me. At least, it looks like a glare. It can just as easily be a wince, since moments later he begins coughing and grasping at his chest.
“Really, Lucian.” I roll my eyes. “I can’t let you up until you say you’re done. As you pointed out, people can’t be trusted.”
He coughs again. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
This time, he does glare. Louder, Lucian says, “I yield.”
I sheathe my sword. “Perfect.” I hold out a hand to pull him up.
Once Lucian is back on his feet, the warriors around us grow silent, watching me with what I can only hope is a look of respect and not one where they’re planning to kill me in my sleep.
Above them, Lady Eldara remains tight-lipped, nothing but an unsurprised smile on her face.
And Selestra.
She bites her lip as she stares over at me, letting her gloved hands fall to her sides as though she can finally relax.
“How did you do that?” asks Lucian between breaths, drawing my attention from Selestra.
The absence of her leaves me cold.
“I’ve never known anyone to move so fast,” Lucian says.
I regard him for a moment. Lucian doesn’t look bitter at the loss. He simply looks curious.
A true champion to the end.
“My father taught me.”
Lucian claps me on the arm, his hand clasping around me. “He would be proud,” he says. “Even if you are Last Army scum.”
I snort a laugh.
“Come,” he insists. “I will introduce you to the other champions. No doubt they will want to test you next.”
He leads me toward where a relieved-looking Micah stands. But before he’s able to give me an earful, someone steps into our path.
“Robin!” Lucian says to the warrior, as tall as an ancient oak tree. “Come join us to see the others. We must celebrate my great whooping.”
The warrior shakes his head. “Another time, Lucian.” He looks at me, face severe. “The Lady Eldara and her niece wish to see you.”
“Her niece,” I say.
I turn quickly back to the stadium and see that while the rest of the warriors stand, waiting for the next duel to begin, Selestra has disappeared.
The steps that housed her and Eldara are now empty.
“By all means,” I say. “Lead me to them.”
34
SELESTRA
Nox arrives at the small outpost on the forest’s edge, looking every bit the victor.
He’s dressed in a loose white shirt, cuffed in black lace up to his elbows and parted by his chest. A long belt is wrapped around his waist three times over—securing knives and what looks like a small whip—only to stretch across his shoulder and act as a hold for his sword. A jacket is slung over his shoulder, the same color as his tree-bark eyes.
His dark hair is ruffled every which way from the fight, but there is a smile on his face, almost hidden to anyone who isn’t looking.
