Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle)

by Jones, Krystle

  “Liar!” he snarled, ignoring the barb. “The mass murder… it was you, wasn't it? It's been you all along.” His tone rose in volume as he stalked toward her, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. Lian couldn't decide who looked scarier at the moment; Merí, with her eerie stillness, or Rowan, with his unbridled rage.

  She had to intervene, knew she needed to, but she couldn't make her feet move. She watched Rowan circle Merí, studying her.

  Merí made no move to step away from him as he approached her. “Pick your next move carefully,” she said, her face as impassive as stone.

  He ignored her and continued his advance. “There you were, probably taunting me behind my back, while I spent night after sleepless night fussing over this damned murderer who was lurking right under my nose!”

  “Tread carefully, Knight,” she said, voice pitched low. Her eyes followed him, dark slits against her cold face.

  “How dare you!” spat Rowan, coming to stand in front of her.

  Lian looked nervously from one to the other. Just watching them made her stomach churn.

  Merí's eyebrow twitched, and she cocked her head ever so slightly. Then she smirked at Rowan, and that was when he shoved her.

  Lian yelled for them to stop, but it was too late.

  By the time Merí regained her balance, Rowan was swinging the ax madly. They were wild throws, and beastlike sounds came from his mouth as he hacked at her. But Merí kept her calm and managed to evade every throw without so much as a scratch to show for it. She let him swing at her, all the while looking like anything would be more interesting than fighting him, while he fumed and heaved so much that sweat began to soak his jacket.

  Gradually, his attacks slowed in speed, and Merí lunged forward, gouging at his ribcage so hard that he buckled over. She kicked the ax from his hands, seized him by the shoulders, and threw him to the ground as she brought her knee behind his, using his own weight against him. Before he could realize what happened, she had taken his weapon and aimed it at his throat. She dug the blade in for added measure, enough so that a single strain of blood trickled down his neck.

  “Get. Off.” He was breathing so hard it was difficult to make his words out to be more than harsh grunts.

  “No.” She removed the ax, slinging it to the side, and pressed the heel of her boot in its place. “How does it feel to be bested by a woman?” She smiled, showing gleaming white teeth. A single growl escaped his throat before she pushed her boot down harder onto his larynx.

  “Stop it!” Lian shouted. “You'll crush his windpipe!”

  Merí didn't even look up; she looked too content stomping the breath out of Rowan, whose face was turning blue. He clawed at her boot, but no matter how much he pushed against her weight, she would not budge, as if she was made of solid rock. She stood perfectly still, like one of those overbearing stone statues the Arch Duke had thought suitable decorations for the garden.

  “Should I spare him?” Merí said.

  Lian's mouth fell open. “Of course you should! Are you nothing but a killer?”

  Merí's eyes twinkled in the darkness. “I've been many things over the centuries, a killer among them,” she said in a sing-song voice. She looked at Rowan, whose shoulders had slacked. He continued to push weakly at her boot. “Maybe I am only postponing the inevitable,” she murmured, watching him die with wonder. “We all die in the end, or so I've heard.”

  Something flashed across her eyes – regret mingled with sadness – before she lifted her boot. She strode across the small clearing to lean lazily against a tree as if nothing had happened.

  Rowan coughed and sputtered and rubbed his bruising neck as he rolled over into a sitting position. He took big desperate gulps of air, like it might run out and he had better take all he could while he had a chance.

  Lian kneeled by him and gently touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  He brushed her hand off and stood up and dusted off his leggings. “I'm fine,” he grumbled, stomping over to the tree farthest away from Merí. He turned his back to them and firmly crossed his arms, a scowl set on his lean face.

  Lian sighed and climbed to her feet. What hope did Accalia have if its last stronghold was ready to tear each other to pieces? Was this really what her life had come down to? Magic and miracles didn’t exist before this night. She thought of Ana, Gabriel, Alastor, Ursa, and her heart ached. She felt she would cave in on herself with the weight of that loss, and she desperately sought the numbness she had so blissfully felt during those first few hours on the cart. It was the only way she could deal with the pain, a pain brought on by realizing her life had shattered into a million pieces that she couldn't quite figure out how to put back together. And that dark voice inside of her… Could people lose their souls? Would she disappear into nothing when she died if she no longer had a soul to lose? Or would she live forever in despair until she was too old to remember what went wrong?

  A pile of sticks fell at her feet, and she spooked. She hadn't heard Merí approach. “Arrange these,” Merí said. Then she was gone again.

  Lian was grateful for the distraction and began sorting through the branches as best she could. She had never arranged sticks for a fire before; the servants took care of that sort of thing. But there were no servants now, no one to bring her meals and tend to her fires.

  By the time Merí returned, Lian had a decent stack arranged, with the biggest sticks on the ground and forming a point with the smaller sticks. Merí kneeled down, and Lian watched her hopefully.

  Merí said nothing and began throwing on the additional branches.

  Her carefully arranged bonfire became no more than a pile of wood. Lian scowled, crawling away from Merí, and plopped down on the grass. She crossed her arms and peered through the darkness at Rowan, who was still pouting by the tree.

  What an exceptionally cheerful lot we make.

  “It’s terrible, isn't it?” Lian said, watching as Merí produced two stones from her vest pocket and began striking them together. Crickets started warming up for their nightly performance, and the air began to cool as the moon rose over the horizon, blanketing them in silver light.

  “‘Terrible’ is a constant state of being for some,” Merí said. “Eventually, they think of it as normal.” She continued to hit the stones together without looking at Lian, face hard with concentration.

  Lian faltered. “I've never thought of it like that.” She piddled with her fingernails, which were rimmed in dirt. “I just thought after all that's happened, all that was lost...”

  Merí's head snapped up. “You know nothing of loss.”

  Lian abruptly closed her mouth and went rigid under the weight of that cold stare.

  Merí broke her gaze and resumed trying to ignite the kindling. Her stones shot out tiny sparks, but no fire yet.

  Lian mutely watched her, afraid to say something else that might offend her. Her stomach gurgled, and she blushed, squirming while it protested loudly between stone strikes.

  The sounds of the night pressed on them, occasionally interrupted by the persistent gurgling of Lian's stomach. She drew her legs to her chest, hoping to squeeze it silent, but to no avail. It grew increasingly louder, setting her already raw nerves on edge. She hadn’t realized how famished she was; it had been nearly half a day since she had last eaten. It almost made her want to go back for some of the jerky the murdels had left behind. Almost. She remembered the stench of the meat and changed her mind. She wasn’t quite that desperate yet.

  Heavy footsteps grew nearer, and when Lian turned her head, Rowan deposited the lifeless body of a rabbit at her side. Even in death, it looked innocent, and she felt sorry it had to die.

  Rowan looked away. “It was all I could find.” He folded his arms squarely across his chest.

  “It will do,” Merí said.

  A small flame lit on one of the branches, and Merí immediately cupped her hands around it, blowing on it gently to encourage it to grow. A thin column of
smoke rose from the increasing fire, burning Lian's nose with its sharp scent.

  Merí rose to her feet and tucked the stones back into her hidden pocket.

  Lian momentarily wondered what other secrets she kept hidden there, but then she remembered the blood across Merí's saber and the feral joy on her face as she slaughtered murdel after murdel. Lian gulped.

  Merí looked up at her, and Lian took a sharp breath of smoke and gagged on it as she stared, blushing, at the ground. Merí chuckled.

  Lian watched as Merí put together a spit while Rowan skinned and gutted the rabbit. He handed it off to Merí, not looking at her as he did so, and she produced a thin strand of strange metallic rope from her vest to tie its shiny pink body above the roaring fire.

  “Won’t that rope burn?” Lian asked.

  “No,” replied Merí, “it’s… immune to fire. Besides, even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be close enough to catch fire. Haven’t you ever cooked by campfire before?”

  Lian blushed and shook her head.

  Merí gave her a tight smile. “No, I don’t suppose you have.”

  None of them said any more, though the air still crackled with the earlier tension. Lian watched Merí in growing fascination as she worked; no movement she made was awkward or ugly. She was smooth grace, almost as if every movement had been planned out before she did it.

  Lian sighed, wishing she had that kind of poise and elegance. My sister had. The image of Ana in her golden gown, the last time she had ever seen her, flashed through her mind, and her eyes brimmed with tears. She furiously swatted at them, hoping no one would notice.

  Merí folded herself upon the grass while Rowan stood and manned the rabbit, chancing steely looks at Merí. The aroma of roasting meat permeated the clearing, and Lian's mouth began watering as Rowan gingerly removed the rabbit and began cutting off equal slices of meat. As soon as he handed her a share, she eagerly bit into it.

  It was exquisite, far fresher than anything she remembered eating at the fortress. She gulped it all down in a few mouthfuls, and though she was not full, her stomach quieted to a low, inaudible rumble.

  Rowan sat down next to Lian and chewed slowly on his portion, his eyes locked on Merí, who sat with her head tipped back gazing at the stars.

  If she was aware of him watching her, she didn't acknowledge it.

  Rowan cleared his throat. “Why were you following us?”

  Merí blinked, her eyes fixated on the sky. Lian didn't think she was going to answer when she finally said, “I had intentions of following another, but the trail ran cold after the fire. You were my next best option.”

  “Why did you kill all those people?” he hissed. “They were thugs, thieves, murderers, sure, but you’re no different from them.”

  “I did what had to be done!” Merí shouted. “When my informant grew suspicious and ordered me dead, I did what it took to survive. You would have done the same had you been in my position. I am also bound by my Oath. Leave none alive. It’s easier that way.”

  Lian risked asking the one question she was afraid to hear the answer to. “Why haven’t you killed us? Everyone else seems to be expendable.”

  ***

  A FAIR QUESTION, THOUGHT Vishka. Why didn’t I kill them?

  You know why.

  She looked at the girl’s aura once more. Something about it wasn’t quite right; she had sensed it the moment she had first laid eyes on her. It was a bright, warm green, but the lining kept shifting in and out. Blue to silver then back again. She had never seen anything like it. The crystal she wore emitted the same type of energy, like it was tied to her soul. It was the only reason she hadn’t tried taking the crystal yet.

  Keep the girl around. At least until you know what she is. The boy, however…

  Vishka wanted nothing more than to wring the life from the insubordinate whelp. And yet, she knew in doing so she would lose favor with the girl, for he had rescued her, and she might be of use later.

  She eyed Rowan. Something stirred deep inside her, a feeling she had not felt in over one thousand years. Those eyes, that hair, and even the same discontented set to his mouth. Could I bring myself to kill him when he looks so much like Draxonus?

  “Your name isn't Merí.” Rowan said it without question, interrupting her thoughts. “What’s your real name?”

  “…Vishka.”

  Her brow furrowed. What are you doing? You haven’t told anyone your real name in ten centuries. Why are you starting now?

  “And I suppose that red-headed flop wasn’t actually your maid, either, right? What happened to her?”

  Vishka shrugged. “What became of her is of no consequence to me. She served her purpose.”

  His jaw dropped, and he squinted. “Red,” he murmured. “I thought I kept seeing a pair of red eyes following us. It was you, wasn't it?”

  Vishka nodded, taking another bite. Why do I feel compelled to talk to these people, two mere flickers of life in my entire existence?

  Lian's brow creased. “Red eyes?” She looked at Vishka, the firelight flickering off her face. Her eyes widened. “They are red, like the petals of a yeullis. I never noticed before.” She reached up and touched the skin below her eyes as she said it.

  Vishka rubbed her chin, slowly smiling. “A yeullis… I think it’s closer to the stain of fresh blood.” Her smile widened as she watched the girl’s skin break out into goose bumps. Amused, she turned her meat back and forth, studying it. “They're only red at night,” she said. “My eyes are actually brown. The... change brought on some unusual side effects to my body.”

  “Change?” Rowan prompted. He glared at her, his arms flexing around his knees as his hand instinctively trailed to the empty spot at his hip where his sword would have been. “What are you exactly?”

  Vishka shrugged. “I'm still human, or at least I used to be. I'm not quite sure what I am anymore.”

  Lian chewed on her lip. “Where did you come from?”

  “Stradvär.”

  Rowan choked on his meat, and Lian gaped at her like she had lost her mind. Rowan, hiding a smirk, hammered on his chest and said, “Stradvär… was destroyed… over a thousand years ago,” he said between coughs. “Everyone… knows that. Unless… you've lived in a hut… or a cave all these years, which I wouldn't have a hard time believing.” He tried not to laugh, and Lian elbowed him hard in the ribs.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Your rude mouth,” she snapped, glaring at him. She turned to Vishka, whose body had gone eerily still.

  Vishka eyed Lian and Rowan with uncertainty. I can’t trust them… and yet, I so very badly want to.

  “You know,” Lian said, “you look a bit like this painting I once saw in a book. It was part of a ballad about Stradvär and how it was cursed by the gods.”

  “It was all my fault.”

  Vishka’s voice was so quiet. It startled her; the words had slipped out before she could stop them. She was sure of it now, could feel the invisible pull like a rope tied around her heart. It’s that crystal. It’s altering my moods, making me trust them and relax around them. It’s telling me to open up.

  Neither Lian nor Rowan breathed or moved. The fire hissed and crackled as Vishka’s eyes grew distant.

  “I didn’t understand, still don’t understand, what was so wrong in loving him.”

  Lian glanced at Rowan, who shrugged. They waited. When Vishka didn’t continue and only stared sadly into the fire, Rowan cleared his throat. “You think you’re the reason Stradvär fell?”

  “I know I am. And for it, I am cursed. My soul might as well be damned.

  “I am no longer what you would call human,” she said softly. “I am immortal, walking somewhere along the fringe of Light and Shadow, the Living Realm and Hesperides.”

  “Hesperides,” Lian said. “You mean the Land of the Dead? Where all human souls supposedly go after we die?”

  Vishka nodded.

  Rowan snorted, and both Vishka and Lian s
hot him a hard look.

  “That’s why you didn’t die earlier,” Lian said, “when the murdel stabbed you. It’s because you cannot be killed.”

  Vishka nodded once, never removing her eyes from Lian’s. “Far as I know.”

  Lian leaned forward. “Please tell me what’s happened to you. I want to know it all. I want to know everything.”

  Vishka intently held her gaze before at last sighing. “It all fell apart the night before the Winter Solstice, though our problems had started long before then. In hindsight, I should’ve read the signs better. Maybe I could’ve done something to stop it…”

  Her voice trailed off, tinged with regret. She blinked and cleared her throat. “As you’ve no doubt heard, Stradvär was a prosperous and mighty nation, the largest empire in the Western Realm. Its citizens were both wealthy and gifted with unique abilities; they could draw upon the very essence of the gods, some being able to predict the hour of one’s death while others could make a flower bloom before your very eyes.”

  “What was your gift?” Lian asked.

  Vishka didn’t answer at first and simply stared at her.

  Tell them, whispered a voice, soft and gentle. “I can see auras, the color of people’s souls, as it were.”

  Rowan smirked. “Mine’s black as night, I take it?”

  Lian scowled at him, but to her surprise, Vishka laughed, clear as a bell. “Hardly,” she said. “I think it’s safe to say neither of you are all bad.”

  Vishka watched Rowan’s aura flare up around him, a rich orange. Bravery, integrity, and passion. Just like Draxonus’ had been.

  “There was a young man whom I deeply loved. My general and closest advisor. Draxonus.” She half-whispered his name, eyes growing misty. “As Empress, I wasn’t supposed to love anyone over the gods, but I was young and didn’t care. So, they attacked our temple, destroying it and my race along with it. We tried to flee using the ships, but it was too late. They were too strong, too fast….”

  Lian and Rowan glanced at each other. “They?” Rowan said.

  Vishka’s face darkened. “The Dracor,” she said, sending a chill down the back of Lian’s neck. “Terrible winged monsters with eyes like fire.”