Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle)

by Jones, Krystle

  Everyone seemed awed by her beauty. Even Gabriel looked entranced.

  But Lian did not feel jealous, not with the scent of cinnamon still hanging in the air.

  Cinnamon. Why did the air smell like cinnamon? And something sharper, like smoke. She sniffed.

  Is that… sulfur?

  Without warning, several images came to her at once. Stormy blue eyes behind a horned devil mask, a deep voice flowing over her like velvet, and the electric thrill of a man’s fingers gently caressing her face.

  She blinked, and the images cleared. What was that?

  After a moment, the hum of conversation resumed as Merí was circled by courtiers. When she turned around, Gabriel was gone.

  CHAPTER 13Shadows

  MERÍ HAD TO FIGHT the whim to frown when she looked around the room and did not see her prey present.

  Upon her arrival at the palace, Orris had continued to dodge her, and she was growing restless. She was so close. All she had to do was stab him through the heart, and her contract would be fulfilled.

  The sheer thought of that prospect alone made her long to storm through the palace right then and there, not stopping until she had found him and killed him.

  Just be patient. He can’t evade you for much longer. No one escapes Death in the end.

  Memories of a ship full of dead or dying men, women, and children sinking into Mariah’s River lurked dangerously near the surface of her mind, but she quickly pushed them back as she turned to address an elderly gentleman and his lady.

  She had been swarmed the moment her foot left the last step. Auras popped all around her, a surprising amount flecked with blue.

  Just like the members of the death cult.

  Everyone wanted to meet the mysterious stranger who had bravely endured the vicious attack upon her entourage. No doubt the stories had been exaggerated, and she had become famous overnight. Luckily from years of watching people’s habits and customs, she had the social finesse to blend in with the elite. No one ever mistook her to be something other than a lady of the court. Her conversations were engaging; her manner was polite and charming.

  Mid-sentence, her eyes flitted to a corner of the room that was unoccupied save for one person.

  Him.

  Rowan was propped up against the wall with his arms crossed firmly over his chest and a scowl on his face. Though he wore formal attire – a black tunic and a red cape – he still managed to look disheveled.

  It’s his wild hair. It makes him look so much like Draxonus.

  It was like she had been slammed into a wall. Draxonus. She had not thought his name in years. She was not sure she had any memories, or heart, left at all, and that revelation was equally disturbing. It was such a long time ago, and she had been an entirely different person.

  Weaker. Mortal.

  Paling, she excused herself from the conversation.

  She neared the garden doors at nearly the same time as Rowan, who looked so consumed by his own misery that he almost plowed into her. “Oh, I’m sorry, please forgive –” He looked up and growled. “Oh. You – er, I mean, Countess.” He gruffly motioned for her to lead.

  She stared at him, lost in thought. He even acts like him sometimes, with his brusque manner.

  Rowan sighed irritably. “Is there a problem?”

  She shook her head. “No. Nothing at all.” She hastily curtsied and stepped out into the lukewarm night.

  A few couples lingered near the candlelit doorway, but otherwise, it was relatively quiet. She distanced herself from them and took a deep breath, not daring to look as Rowan brushed past her and disappeared into the hedge maze.

  She tilted her head back and stared at the sky, which was black as pitch. The air smelled of flowers, and she inhaled deeply, trying to erase Draxonus from her mind. You must focus. Your prey is close; you cannot lose sight now. He is just a man, nothing more.

  She glanced up just as the clouds parted, exposing a starlit sky. She caught a tiny streak of white tearing across the black expanse before it was swallowed up by the heavens once more. She paused, staring at it, but her childish fancy was gone as quickly as it had come. She shook her head. “What a ridiculous thing to do. Wishes are the dreams of fools, Vishka.”

  She pulled herself away from the wall and descended the stairs into the grass. Choosing a cobblestone path, she walked until the music was but a dim memory and the flirting of a handful of drunken courtiers faded away into the chirps of the evening crickets.

  As she rounded a bend, two low voices caught her ear.

  “You weren’t followed?”

  “No.”

  “For your sake, you had better hope not.”

  There was a metallic ching as a blade was drawn and someone took a deep breath. Almost instinctively, she merged, becoming air and shadow.

  Her form moved through the darkness until two figures came into view. She immediately recognized the gold armor, and her pulse quickened as the familiar bloodlust turned her vision red.

  Orris had backed Rowan against a statue, pressing a dagger to his throat.

  She studied Orris’ aura, and her heartbeat quickened. It was barely discernable, as if it was masked somehow, but she could make out a thin line of silver light encasing his crimson aura.

  She watched Orris lean in closer so that the two men were eye to eye.

  “You must obtain it, and your indecision is costing me precious time I don’t have, boy. I don’t care what it takes, even if you have to slit her pretty little throat in her sleep, got it?” He dug the point of the blade in until a single drop of blood trickled down Rowan’s neck.

  Rowan glared at him defiantly. “And if I don’t?”

  “Then you will die along with the rest of them,” Orris hissed. His eyes flashed with fire, and Vishka’s thoughts stopped.

  Did his eyes just –

  The breeze shifted, and Orris’ head jerked to the side, his orange eyes searching the darkness.

  He looked right at her.

  She was so startled she nearly fell out of the form. Orris abruptly released Rowan and vanished so quickly she had trouble wondering what had happened. She did not miss the waft of sulfer on the air in Orris’ absence.

  Rowan sank to the ground unconscious, a thin red line on his neck. She almost ran to him, but she stopped herself. The blade must have been edged in a chemical. Besides, he’s just a mortal, nothing special. Why should I care?

  For reasons she didn’t quite understand, she materialized and kneeled beside him, pressing two fingers to his neck. “Still breathing,” she murmured.

  Relief surged through her, and she was so happy for a moment that she nearly missed the fact she was feeling an emotion at all. Rowan groaned and his eyes fluttered. With a look of sudden terror, she gathered her skirts and merged as Rowan came to.

  ***

  LIAN WASN’T SURE EXACTLY how long she had stood in the ballroom before deciding to look for Gabriel. She knew in her heart where she would find him. Like waking from a dream, she pulled herself from her daze and set off toward the garden. Her slow walk became a frantic sprint as the memory of his hurtful gaze replayed through her mind.

  He looked so shattered. What did I do now?

  She burst through a couple chatting at the garden doors, ignoring their rude comments. Little patches of white blotted her vision as her eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. He was nowhere in sight. With increasing dread, she bounded down the stairs two at a time. On the last step, her heel twisted, and she lost her footing. Throwing her arms in front of her, she yelped and braced herself for the impact. But it never came. When she looked up, two delicate yet very strong arms were supporting her.

  “You seem to be accident prone, Lady Lianora,” Merí said, helping her stand.

  Lian blushed and dropped a low curtsy. “Forgive me, Countess. I didn’t see you.” Merí quirked a brow, and Lian rushed on. “Thank you so much for catching me.”

  Merí waved her off and stepped around her. “I wouldn
’t go into the gardens tonight. You never know what may be lurking in the shadows.” She paused and looked back at Lian thoughtfully, as if really seeing her for the first time. “Tell me, is it safe?”

  Lian’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Is what safe?”

  Merí’s eyes sparkled. “The crystal.”

  Lian’s face paled as she remembered their first encounter. Merí had stared at her as if she could see the necklace, though it had been tucked inside her neckline.

  “Safe enough,” Lian said, narrowing her eyes. “What do you know?”

  The Countess ignored her question. “For your sake, I hope so.” Merí’s voice dropped, and she took a step forward so her face was right beside Lian’s. “Do not trust Rowan.”

  Lian looked at her sharply. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Merí opened her mouth to speak but was cut short when a brilliant flash of orange light erupted just beyond the door.

  “What on Eresea…” Lian muttered. She stepped past Merí, whose face had turned grim.

  A weird sound came from the ballroom. It was a bizarre crackling, like everybody was unwrapping gift paper all at the same time. She looked around the edge of the entrance, and her jaw dropped.

  Half of the ballroom was entirely consumed in flames.

  CHAPTER 14Seige

  FIRE CREPT ALONG THE ceiling, picking up speed as it grew.

  How had this happened? It was well away from any torches or candles that might have been the culprit.

  Her body was as immobile as a statue, like maybe if she stood there long enough and blinked enough times it would all disappear, like another one of her visions. Part of her refused to believe it was real.

  But it was real, and that realization hit her like a blow to the stomach. Her fingers trembled as she watched her world be consumed by beautiful, terrible flames.

  The enchanting music turned into a mass of ugly chords as the musicians realized what was happening. Screams filled the ballroom in a cacophony as people stampeded for the exits. Flames climbed the walls, engulfing the decorations that had been hung with such care in a matter of seconds.

  Above her, the fresco turned to ash.

  It was all happening so quickly, and her past and her present blurred together by smoke and fire.

  She stared at the fresco. The gods stared back at her as the fire erupted through their bodies of paint and sealant. In the center was Dreaka, the oldest of the Immortals, her arms spread benevolently in the air as if she were welcoming her destruction with an embrace. As the fire swept over her fair face, her eyes flared to orange and then a pale blue, like ice.

  Like ice. Ana-Elise. Lord Feron. Prince Alastor.

  My family.

  She craned her neck, straining to see the dais over the sea of bobbing heads rushing past her.

  Her stomach heaved, and she gritted her teeth against the rising spiritual onslaught. “Leave them,” commanded the dark voice. “What have they ever done for you?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, seeing their faces behind her lids. The dark feeling stirred in her heart, and she imagined trapping it behind a cage of pure, white light.

  “No,” she said. “You’re not winning this time.”

  She shuddered, and the voice, along with the dark feeling, faded into submission, though it never truly vanished. It was like it had let her win.

  Standing on her tiptoes, she saw Alastor wrap a protective arm around Ana-Elise, guiding her toward the door while her father spoke to Gabriel. She lost sight of them as a man careened into her, nearly knocking her down. People running past jostled her around so violently her bones rattled. She fought the crowd, elbowing her way through, until she was finally upon the dais.

  Ana-Elise and her father were gone. Alastor shifted restlessly with a fretful look on his face and his hands cupped around his mouth as he called Ana’s name. Behind him, Gabriel shouted orders to the knights and guards nearby.

  She ran to Alastor, grabbed his shoulders, and wheeled him around to face her. “Alastor, where is my sister? Where’s the Duke?”

  He shook his head, his breathing ragged. “I – I don’t know. I think…” He fixed his wild, pale eyes on her. “I think she went to look for you.”

  She froze, unsure what to make of that. A few days ago, she had been certain Ana cared no more for her than she did a cockroach. Now she had raced headlong into a fire to search for her?

  “What about the Duke? Where’s Feron?” she pressed.

  “I don’t know. He just… vanished. When I first saw the fire, I tried to get them out of here. I swear I turned my head for only a second, and they were gone. Ana. Oh, gods! Ana. Oh, gods…” He covered his mouth as pain spread over his face, at last swaying and collapsing into her arms. Gently, she lowered him to the dais. “What have I done? What have I done?” He kept shaking his head, clutching at his temples like a madman as he spoke the phrase over and over, staring at the floor for answers.

  Her heart sank to her stomach as she held him. Without a second thought, she shouted, “I’ll find them! Get yourself out of here!”

  She released him, and after a second’s hesitation to make sure he could sit up on his own, she bounded off the dais into the crowd.

  “No, Lianora, stop!”

  Alastor’s protests died away as she tore down the hall, her eyes searching frantically for her father and sister. As she cleared the ballroom, more screams rang out, mixing with the terrible rumble of what sounded like low growls and wing beats.

  She didn’t have time to think what it all meant. Finding her family and getting out of there came first. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling of déjà vu, like she had been through this before, long ago in a time when the stars still shone bright.

  She called their names, ducking in and out of a herd of terrified servants as they plowed by her. The smoke was getting thicker, and the hot air scalded her throat each time she inhaled. She covered her mouth with her glove, doubling over in a fit of rough coughs. The orange glow of the fire had caught up to her, and she knew if she did not act now she might not be able to escape with her own life. I can’t give up. I promised Alastor.

  Suddenly, a man screamed in agony in a room up ahead, and she took off running, using the wall for support. Her head was spinning from the lack of oxygen, but she kept going. Someone must be trapped, she thought, as she rounded the corner, imagining a whole slew of nightmarish scenarios.

  Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

  Feron lay motionless in the middle of the floor while a man wrapped in dark robes hovered above him. A pale hand touched his neck, feeling for a pulse. After a moment, it dropped, and he bowed his head.

  She watched from the door as the screams, fire, and sounds of battle died away, leaving just her and the Duke. “Father?” she asked in a broken whisper.

  The robed figure’s head jerked up. She pried her eyes off her father’s body long enough to see his face.

  A dance… the memory of a devil horned mask on a charismatic angel with eyes as blue as the Jasper Sea. The fog clouding her mind lifted as a white light pushed it away.

  “I know you,” she said.

  It was the tall, dark stranger who had stolen a dance earlier, only now there was no mask. His face was flawless, just as beautiful as any of the statues of the gods in the garden.

  “Who are you? What have you done?” she demanded.

  He slowly stood, never taking his eyes off hers. He moved like water, graceful and fluid. Something about it was unnatural, and the first twinge of fear grappled with her nerves.

  “My Lady,” he said in that deep, melodious voice, “I am bound by my Oath. Know that I am truly sorry. It was for the best.” Regret and shame shone in his eyes as he looked at the body and then to her.

  She blinked, and he was suddenly in front of her. She started as he reached for her hand and pressed it to his heart. “You know me,” he said earnestly. “See with your heart and not your eyes. Only then will you di
scern the truth.”

  And then he vanished as if he had never been there at all. Her eyes scanned the room, but she was alone with the immobile body of the Arch Duke.

  Slowly, as if in a dream, she walked over to him. This isn’t real. It can’t be. Please, Gods, if you exist, let this be a dream. Her thoughts tumbled over themselves, making her head start to hurt. Her face felt hot, and her windpipe was surely shrinking in diameter. There was a ringing in her ears that refused to go away.

  She found herself kneeling beside him and didn’t remember how she got there. Blood pooled around his torso where he had been stabbed. The knife lay not far away, its blade still gleaming red. It looked like he had been gutted with a butcher knife, its jagged teeth crusted with rust and dried blood.

  Fighting the urge to vomit, she fixed her blurry gaze on his face as she fought back the hot tears threatening to spill at any moment. His eyes were closed, like he was sleeping. It would have looked peaceful if he had not opened his eyes and rasped, “Help me!”

  All the hurtful words and missed birthdays did not matter anymore.

  She clutched his limp hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Yes, I’m here, Father,” she said as strongly as she could, though she was scared out of her mind.

  Feron’s eyes widened in terror, and when he spoke his voice made a strange gurgling sound. “Spare me, wretched specter!”

  She shook his hand as he flailed his arm, trying to break her grasp. “Father, it’s me. Lianora!”

  “Damn you!” He reached for her throat with his free hand and began squeezing.

  “No! What are you doing?” She tried to pry his fingers off, but he was too strong, his power strengthened by a wild desperation.

  “Stop haunting me! I’m done with you!”

  Her lungs burned with pressure, and she choked. She released her hold and frantically clawed at his hand, but she was quickly growing dizzy. The room began to swirl.