Soulbinder

by Sebastien de Castell

  It’s morning here on the Gitabrian border. Been sitting here a while now, waiting for the sun to rise up over those hills. Waiting for the girl to stop crying. Funny how tough she is on the outside, how soft on the inside. Gotta teach her how to switch that around. Person’s got to be weak in the skin and strong in the bone. Like you.

  Bet you’re shaking your head right now, telling yourself how bad you are at everything, how scared you are of everyone. That’s okay. It’s your way, I guess. I’ve been Argosi a long time now, and we learn not to mess with another’s ways. Still, though, there’s one more trick I reckon I should’ve taught you. One lesson I can still give that maybe won’t pull you off your path.

  It goes like this:

  Since the moment I watched you leave (you didn’t think you really snuck out on old Ferius, did you?), I’ve been waiting for your absence to hit me. You and me, we’ve travelled a long while together (by Argosi standards anyway), and, well, I ain’t shy to say it. I love you, kid. Don’t know when it happened. You ain’t my kin and there ain’t nothing about us that’s alike. Somewhere on those long roads we rode together, though, you became something I never had and probably never will have again. Don’t rightly know what the word is for it, but it’s something special all right.

  So how come I ain’t missing you yet? How come I ain’t shedding tears like rainwater the way the girl keeps doing? Hopping up and down about how you could be in trouble, and maybe we could catch up to you, and maybe there’s some nonsense Jan’Tep tracking spell that’ll let us find you? How come I don’t feel that knife of loneliness—that feeling I didn’t even have a word for until I got used to you being around—slipping through my ribs?

  Maybe it’s because I’m still hearing your voice in my head. Complaining. Questioning. Arguing. I take out a smoking reed from my waistcoat and I can feel your eyes on it, wondering if I smoke too much but not saying it. I watch that sun rising and I feel that hope you always get that maybe today we won’t have to fight our way out of another mess. You know what’s funny? The Argosi don’t have hope. First thing we learn is to get rid of hope, same as we rid ourselves of grief. An Argosi has to be sharp. See things true, not the way we want them to be or the way we fear they might become. Gotta stay clear.

  Well, I guess I can’t be that way no more. Got you in my head. It’s early hours yet, maybe you’ll fade away, but somehow I don’t think so. I think maybe you’re a part of me now, and maybe I’m a part of you. Maybe you’re out there, looking for some nonsense cure for those marks around your eye, and you’ve run into a little trouble (nothing you can’t handle, of course), and you’ll feel me there with you, reminding you to dance, not fight. Play music instead of talking. Listen with your eyes instead of staring. Maybe, if I keep hearing you talk to me, it means you’re hearing me talk to you too, giving you what advice I have to give, but maybe more often just reminding you of what you already know in that great big messed-up heart of yours.

  That’s the lesson, Kellen. Those who know love, even for a little while, are never really alone.

  That’s the thought I’ll be holding on to. Like I said, the Argosi don’t waste time on hope.

  But I sure hope I see you again some day, kid.

  Ferius Parfax

  Three parts gambler, two parts Argosi, and one part Kellen of the House of Ke.

  I folded the two letters and put them in my pocket, not trusting its safety in my pack given Reichis’s lack of sentimentality about such things.

  “Ugh,” he groaned, sniffing at my face. “You cryin’ again?”

  “I’m not crying,” I lied.

  He sniffed again. “Yes, you are. You’re blubbing like a little skinbag baby begging for his mama’s milk because he’s too weak and whiny to go kill a rabbit. Matter of fact, I think you cry even more than skinbag babies. I mean, if I were to count the number of times I’ve watched you whimper, Kellen, why it’s more than all the rabbits in the whole …”

  He went on like that, not at all concerned about hurting my feelings or even if I were paying attention. I suppose it was inevitable. We’d been apart for far too long, and then our bond was broken and I couldn’t understand his insults. So now he was making up for lost time.

  An idea came to me then. Not a world-changing, grand-destiny sort of idea, but the kind that would make the next few hours of walking go by a lot smoother. “Oh, the crying,” I said, interrupting him, “that’s just the shadowblack.”

  He tilted his fuzzy head and looked at me. “The what now?”

  “The shadowblack. It makes you cry.”

  “Cry?”

  I nodded. “Like, constantly.”

  “I’m not crying,” he growled. “I never cry.”

  “Oh, not at first. But you’ll feel it soon enough. Come tomorrow you’ll be crying all the time.”

  “What? But I’m a squirrel cat! My kind don’t—”

  “Just over some things,” I said, lending my voice a tone of reassurance. “Like, getting punched or stabbed won’t make you cry.”

  “Of course not. I never—”

  “Mostly things like sunsets.”

  “Sunsets?”

  I nodded. “Don’t watch sunsets. Especially if they’re beautiful. You’ll start tearing up right away. Oh, and pretty flowers can set you off too.”

  “Pretty flowers?”

  “And rabbits.”

  “Wait … Rabbits?”

  “Yep. Rabbits are worst of all. I can’t see a thing when there’s a rabbit around on account of my eyes are so watery. It’s not so bad though.”

  “Not so bad? I eat rabbits, Kellen. I kill rabbits. I murder rabbits.”

  I paused a moment, allowing Reichis’s growing discomfort to build to almost fever pitch. “Well, maybe you wouldn’t have to kill them any more,” I suggested. “Maybe you could make friends with them instead.”

  “Make friends with rabbits?”

  “Yeah, like, you know, be nice to them. Snuggle them. Petting rabbits always makes me feel better.”

  I could practically feel his fur grow cold against my cheek as he sat there on my shoulder, speechless for once. I resumed my march through the boggy ground towards the nearest village.

  “Kellen?” he asked a little while later as the sun was coming up over the horizon.

  “Yes, Reichis?”

  “We gotta find a cure for the shadowblack. I mean, like, really gods-damned fast.”

  “You sure? I mean, it’s a big world, and we may have to travel all of it before we find a cure.”

  A low growl started in his belly and worked its way up his throat until he snarled in my ear, “Then walk faster, arsehole.”

  Yeah, this was going to be a fun trip.

  The story continues in …

  QUEENSLAYER

  Book FIVE of the Spellslinger series

  Keep reading for a sneak peek!

  Acknowledgements

  The Ways of Shadow

  I make it a rule not to explain all the details of magic systems within the books themselves, because doing so is a bit like listing the names of every street in a city or what foods the characters ate each day. However I do get asked about the various systems of magic in the Spellslinger series, so I thought I’d share a few notes on shadowcasting here, along with some rather important practitioners of those darkest of arts who helped bring Soulbinder to you.

  Enigmatists: Unravellers of Secrets

  We think of mysteries as ideas without form, yet still such enigmas cast shadows upon the world. Enigmatists like Kellen must find the right questions to ask, and in so doing infuse those questions with their shadows, giving them a momentary connection to the secrets they seek to unravel. Unlike alacratists, who perceive that which is or was, enigmatists peer into that which might be.

  The wonderful and patient Felicity “Fliss” Johnston spent countless hours venturing into shadow with me as we searched for the essence of Soulbinder. Kim Tough read the earliest draft, chapter by chapter, al
ways coming back with her masterful blend of insight, honesty and supportiveness. Eric Torin, as he has for every single one of my books, cast a light on those areas of the story where I’d failed to explore deeply enough. Christina de Castell, with her unique insight, helped me escape from the shadowy bands into which I’d gotten myself knotted.

  Alacratists: Witnesses of the Past and Present

  The etheric planes from which the shadowblack emerges have no rules of space or time, and thus alacratists can use their markings to perceive the shadows of people and places from a distance or even in the past, and then project them for others to see.

  Talya Baker brought her unparalleled copy editor’s eye to the novel, not only helping me improve the prose. but also scrutinising everything from the castradazi coins to which arm each Jan’Tep band should be on. Melissa Hyder once again proofread the novel, hunting down typos and inconsistencies that would otherwise have gone by unnoticed.

  Praemandors: Wielders of Shadow Bands

  The markings on a shadowblack’s body can become deadly weapons in the hands of a praemandor, for only they can control the twisting black ribbons and turn them into deadly lashes. Every writer needs a few praemandors to keep them in line …

  Wil Arndt and Brad Denhert read early versions of the opening and whacked me with shadow ribbons until I spotted the places where more depth was needed. Jim Hull of narrativefirst.com kindly pushed me to face some of the structural inconsistencies of Kellen’s journey. I breathed a sigh of relief when Simone Hay informed me that Soulbinder was her second-favourite book of the series. As promised, Simone, Kellen got a lousy shadowblack ability. Nazia Khatun gave the book the squirrel cat seal of approval, without which the book would surely have been cursed to linger in shadow forever.

  Inspiritors: Awakeners of Sentience

  The shadowblack isn’t simply a form of energy; it is potential life devoid of consciousness. Inspiritors like Diadera infuse shadow with fragments of their own spirit, lending them form and purpose. A talented inspiritor can literally bring an idea to life. Of course, Diadera could only do this in the form of her firefly freckles, but I’ve met a number of other inspiritors who create remarkable wonders.

  One of my favourite parts of the publishing process is witnessing the cover design process unfold. My editor Nivia puts together a brief and Lauren Panepinto transforms it into a compelling new image. My thanks as well to Gleni Bartels for transmuting the text into the beautifully finished book you hold in your hands.

  Perplexors: Concoctors of Confusion

  Sometimes called “foggers,” those like Ghilla have the ability to bind shadow to their very breath, summoning a fog of pure shadow that can confuse their enemies, or even tear them apart. Of course, they only do it for the very best of reasons …

  Someone has to mesmerise publishers into believing in my books, and no one could do it better than superstar agents Heather Adams and Mike Bryan. Without their faith and determination, Spellslinger would never have seen print. Of course, then someone has to convince people to read it, and I’m grateful to Tina Mories, Nicola Chapman and Felice McKeown for their efforts to spellbind readers into giving the series a try.

  Imperiasters: Architects of Shadow Forms

  Only a very few can transmute the stuff of shadow into pure physical form the way the abbot could. Imperiasters bring their unfathomable will to bear as they bring to life permanent structures that could never have existed otherwise.

  One of the scarier things authors have to worry about these days is the strength, durability and commitment of publishers. Mark Smith turned Bonnier Zaffre into a powerhouse, and Jane Harris leads its children’s and YA division to one success after another. Yet with all that going on, they’ve always been willing to meet with me, to discuss books and my career. Best of all, they tolerate my entirely inappropriate sense of humour.

  Iterantors: Travellers of the Onyx Roads

  Shadows can stretch any distance yet require no physical mass. For this reason, iterantors can create roads through shadow that enable them to travel across continents in mere hours. Of course, the vaster the distance, the greater the chance of getting lost. It is for this reason that the true talent of iterantors is not simply the creation of paths, but the ability to safely navigate infinite avenues of confusion and danger to the one true destination.

  The fabulous Bonnier Zaffre sales team—Angie Willocks, Nico Poilblanc, Victoria Hart and Vincent Kelleher—have travelled through countless shadowy realms to bring Soulbinder to bookstores everywhere. Of course, Ruth Logan and Ilaria Tarasconi travel even further afield to get the Spellslinger series to countries all over the world. When they do, it’s the incredible translators who perform the most amazing spell of all: taking a story, with all its idioms and stylistic quirks, and making it enchanting in a completely different language. At last count, Spellslinger is published in thirteen languages, which is just about the most amazing thing that can ever happen to an author.

  Lamentarists: Trackers of the Shadowblack

  Shadows in the presence of strong emotions create echoes of those sorrows, fears or joys. Lamentarists like Butelios have the rare ability to pick up those emotions even across great distances, to experience them and then to weep shadow tears that will lead to their source.

  Butelios is probably my favourite new character of the series. (Ouch! Damn it, Reichis, I said new character!) I’ve had occasion in my life to encounter people with that otherworldly generosity of spirit—people driven to seek out things they love and share them with others rather than aggrandising themselves. It’s why I enjoy meeting book bloggers, librarians, booksellers and readers of the series. You make being a novelist the best job in the world.

  You can reach me at www.decastell.com and @decastell on Twitter. I’ll always be happy to hear from you.

  Sebastien de Castell

  August 2018

  Vancouver, Canada

  extras

  meet the author

  Photo Credit: Pink Monkey Studios

  SEBASTIEN DE CASTELL is the author of the acclaimed swashbuckling fantasy series, the Greatcoats, and the Carnegie Medal–nominated Spellslinger. His debut novel, Traitor’s Blade, was shortlisted for the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Fantasy, the Gemmell Morningstar Award, the Prix Imaginales for best foreign work, and the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer. He spends his time writing, traveling, and going on adventures. Visit him at www.decastell.com.

  if you enjoyed

  SOULBINDER

  look out for

  QUEENSLAYER

  Spellslinger: Book Five

  by

  Sebastien de Castell

  Kellen and Reichis have just finished fighting a duel in the desert when Kellen inadvertently smears blood on the Daroman flag—an act of treason for which the marshals have no choice but to arrest him.

  Just before he’s put before the queen to be executed, Kellen is given a strange piece of advice from one of his fellow prisoners: kill the Queen and he’ll be given clemency by those who take power. But when Kellen comes face to face with the eleven-year-old monarch, he realizes she’s vastly smarter than he expected—and in a great deal more danger.

  1

  Snow and Copper

  Shush, shush, shush, whispered the snow, soothing as a man holding his hand over your mouth while he sticks a knife in your liver in the middle of a crowded street.

  There were seven of us in this particular crowd, shivering on this frigid plateau high up in the border mountains. Merrell of Betrian, the man I’d planned to kill stood behind Arke’tan, the mage he’d hired to kill me first. A few yards away stood two bored Daroman marshals we’d found on guard near the border. They’d graciously offered to oversee the duel (which is to say, threatened to arrest us unless we paid the overseeing fee). That just left the tall, graceful eagle that was Arke’tan’s familiar and the short, nasty squirrel cat who passed for mine. Oh, and me, of course.

  “You’re gonna get it now,
Kellen!” Merrell hooted at me from across the fifty yards stretch of snow-dusted ground that separated us. “Arke’tan here’s a real mage. Ain’t no fool, neither, so your little spellslinger tricks ain’t gonna work on him.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, Merrell,” I shouted back. “My tricks only work on fools.”

  Merrell swore, Arke’tan smirked, and the two marshals chuckled. Neither the bird nor the squirrel cat paid any attention. They were focused on each other. Me, I was thinking that maybe Merrell wasn’t the biggest sucker shuffling about trying to keep his toes from freezing off that day.

  I thought I’d been running him down. I thought I’d been racing after him to keep him from crossing the border into the Zhuban territories where he knew I wouldn’t follow. I thought I’d been chasing after a dumb, pug-ugly wife beater who’d tried to cheat me at cards. Turns out that was all wrong.

  Merrell was a lot wealthier than he’d let on. He was also a lot better connected, too, because however much money I thought he had, I was surprised it was enough to hire himself a full-on war-mage. My people don’t usually do contract work for borderland hicks.

  Looking at Arke’tan was like staring into a distorted mirror of myself. I was a few days shy of my eighteenth birthday and unlikely to see twenty. Arke’tan looked to be in his early thirties, head of a notable Jan’Tep house with wealth, power, and a long, glorious future in front of him. My hair is what’s politely referred to as “manure coloured,” his gleamed like platinum and gold in the sunlight. I was lean from hard living and a life on the run, he had the muscular build of a soldier.

  “I like your armour,” I shouted across the swirling patch of snow that lay between us. Shining, form-fitting plates linked by silk threads guarded his chest, arms, and legs. “It’s very … golden. Matches your bird.”