Splinter (Trapped Souls Book 1)

by Ricki Delaine

  Looking down to the courtyard below, her smirk turned into a genuine smile. No. Her strange desire to be near the palace wasn’t all that had brought her today.

  The clang of metal against wood rang out, over and over, in the crisp morning air. The bark rough against her skin, Iriana edged out along the branch, trying to get a better view. Finally she dared go no further. The branch was thinning and a warning creak told her she’d tested the limits of the old tree as it was. Carefully pulling against the greenery around her, trying not to let it rustle, she peeked through the leaves to see the morning’s hard won prize. Mamoru. The Protector.

  A near miss with the guards a couple of weeks ago had brought her to this side of the building, to a tree very near this one. She grinned at the memory of how she’d escaped them, particularly the tall bulky one. He’d been so stubborn, huffing and yelling long after she’d outrun him. Too many muscles for long distance running.

  Oh, it had been worth it though.

  Because of that guard, she’d run, quick as a rabbit, almost all the way around the palace. And ended up here, where she had first seen this man practicing his sword work with a smooth and deadly grace. She’d come here many days since, finding him here nearly every day at this time.

  Ria frowned, tilting her head. Normally, he would start with specific movements, obviously long-ingrained. Stretching, and other movements that looked like a dance, his sword a deadly partner slicing the air around him. And after that first day, she typically arrived just before the slide of the wooden door to the courtyard, just before the light tread of his leather-soled shoes on the smooth planed wooden platform. She frowned.

  It seemed that today she was fortunate he was so focused on his task. He might have otherwise easily detected the rustle of leaves as she found her view along the thick branch. She looked at the height of the sun. She might be a few minutes past her usual time, but it was obvious he’d been practicing for a while. He’d cast off his shirt, and his tanned skin held a hint of red across the top of his shoulders. How long had he been out here? The man’s dark hair was damp and she could see sweat dripping down the line of his neck, along the hard muscles of his back. The worn practice dummy showed fresh scars and even now, he hacked mercilessly at it, obsidian eyes sharp and angry.

  Blinking quickly, Ria felt her chest tighten. What was wrong? His fury was palpable, and a cold, hollow feeling fluttered in the pit of her stomach. She’d watched him long enough to know that he must be deadly in combat. He was obviously a warrior. Never during these secret viewings of him though, had Ria been frightened. But seeing this black rage, feeling it ripple in the air around him as he drew his arm back for another blow on the wooden target. That was when it dawned on Ria that she might be in danger. What would happen if he caught her? Oh gods, I shouldn’t be here.

  And then her bracing hand, trembling against the thick branch beneath her, slipped.

  Heart in her throat, Ria froze, hoping against hope that the quick rustle of leaves had escaped his notice. But no. At the sudden sound he stopped, freezing mid-strike. His head snapped around and he looked sharply at the tree where the young woman sat, holding her breath. He slowly scanned the surrounding trees and then his gaze settled finally, unnervingly, once again on the tree in which she perched. His eyes narrowed and Ria wished there were a way to stop her heart from beating, worried that somehow he might hear it.

  Finally, he huffed a breath and looked away, expression still dark and angry. He snatched up a rag and wiped the blade of his weapon before he began the routine of clearing the practice area.

  Ria forced her breathing to slow. She held herself still while he moved around the space below, watching him complete the now familiar tasks.

  Before her days of stolen observation here, it never occurred to the young woman that one does not practice with weapons, slash, hack and then go about your day. It is a process, and a long one, setting up and taking down. Particularly taking down. The man first gathered the blades he’d practiced throwing, cleaning, sharpening and oiling them, along with the blade of his sword. Using the rough straw broom from the corner he swept clear the debris he’d made. Menial work, but it appeared to soothe the emotion he’d apparently had no luck in blunting during his workout. It was when he had nearly completed and Ria expected him to pick up his tunic and leave when he said, “I know you are still there.”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth. Eyes wide, she didn’t respond.

  “It is useless to hide. You may as well come down.” He didn’t really turn to look at her, merely glanced up toward the branch where she sat, but it was unerringly accurate and ruefully, Ria realized he could likely pin her with one of his throwing knives without any effort at all.

  Almost as if hearing the thought, he pulled one of the slim and wicked little blades from his belt, hefting it thoughtfully. One side of his mouth curved up. He lifted his arm. Mouth in an “o” of panic, she said, “Wait! Wait. I’ll come down.”

  Ria didn’t see the way his eyes widened slightly at the sound of her voice. She was backing along the branch until her rump struck the trunk of the weathered old tree. Climbing down was as easy as scrambling up. The young woman had spent a good part of her youth in and out of the Eiji Forest, climbing anything that could be scaled. Moments later found her crouched uncertainly on the foot-wide capstone of the wall surrounding the courtyard.

  The man below looked her over, frowning (she assumed over her appearance, her clothing cobbled together less for fashion and more for practicality. Freedom of movement was important to Iriana). As the silence stretched and Ria began to grow restless, he asked, “How did you get past the guards?”

  She couldn’t help it. She smiled. A flash of knowing irritation crossed the man’s face before he shook his head. “What is your name?”

  She debated not answering. She could be down off the wall before he could take two steps towards her. But then she thought of the long run across the grounds to the safety of the Emperor’s woods. The chance that she might be seen by the patrolling guards and her eyes fell again to the slim blade of metal that he still held in his hand.

  “Iriana. Ria, my lord.”

  “I’m not a lord. Don’t call me that.” The words came quickly, but his voice had lost some of its edge. “You’ve been coming here to watch me for a while, haven’t you. Why?”

  Anxious to be gone and not really wanting to answer any more questions, Ria asked one of her own, almost completely without thinking. “What has made you so angry?” His expression darkened and the young woman realized her mistake. He looked away from her, wiping his hands roughly with the rag.

  When he looked up again, she was gone.

  ˜ ˜ ˜

  Theron knew if he troubled to, he could chase her down before she reached the Emperor’s woods, Eiji Forest. He wasn’t in the mood to do so. Let the guards do their job. For once. Frowning, Theron gathered his things and entered the palace. He wondered if she would be back. It had been several days ago when he had heard the telltale rustle in the tree above the courtyard wall, and knew someone was watching. When another rustle also brought an unconscious oath with it, some quality in the voice told him the watcher was young. He figured it was a curious youth from the village. He hadn’t been far wrong, but a girl? He would never have suspected that. He wasn’t sure what to think, all he knew was it had been a shock to discover.

  His eyes narrowed at the memory of the tremor in the soft voice at the threat he’d given her. He almost felt badly for it … until the smirk on her lips over her (most likely) easy duping of the guards to sneak on grounds.

  He’d have to speak with the head of the ground’s security. They shouldn’t have allowed that to happen, much less continue. That kind of breach was unacceptable.

  Of course, if he did that, she’d be caught the next time.

  Theron hadn’t been to the dungeon in a long time, but it wasn’t the type of place you forgot. The image of that girl – complete with mussed hair, amber
eyes and mischievous smile, in that place, was stark and unwelcome. He told himself the sudden chill he felt was from the breeze sweeping down the hall from the courtyard entrance.

  Reaching his quarters, he opened the shoji door more roughly than he needed to, piled his gear near the base of his bed and headed down the quiet hallway to the bath. Huffing his frustration, he stretched gingerly, feeling the pull of tightness across his shoulders. He’d been out there too long today. The sunburn had settled into his skin and the acid ache of muscles told him he’d worked them too hard. That had been stupid, he’d pay for that later.

  She probably won’t be back. Certainly anyone else would be caught, especially with the added presence of the guards for the wedding. There wasn’t really a need to trouble the head of security.

  He sighed, looking at the steaming water. His overused muscles would appreciate a soak, but he had other things on his mind. Cleaning up quickly and slipping on a clean linen shirt, pants and minimal leather armor. Hardened leather chest plate, vambraces, spaulders. Not for the first time, he was thankful he didn’t share the Imperial Guards’ uniform. His position, his duties as Mamoru, gave him latitude, as long as what armor he did wear bore the Imperial seal. If he had to wear their heavier armor, he’d barely be able to turn his head. He wouldn’t be able to protect himself, let alone the lady.

  He looked out the bathhouse window. Judging by the amount of light in the sky, he’d better move quickly. He was running late.

  The hallways weren’t nearly as empty as they had been earlier. Numerous staff passed him on his way to the lady’s dining area. Some he knew, but others had recently been brought in to handle the extra strain the wedding preparations were creating for the existing household staff. They were temporary help and they made him nervous. That thought came before he could stop it, reminding him all over again why his stomach was churning.

  Everything would be over in two weeks.

  The guard who stood at the entrance to the eating room looked up, almost flinching as he straightened respectfully at the other man’s arrival. “Mamoru. Is something wrong?”

  Theron forced himself to relax, flashing a half-smile to reassure the guard. “No, Juro-san. Sorry to be late.”

  The other man returned the smile, bowing his head in acknowledgment. “Not to worry. It was a pleasure to be allowed to serve the lady, if even for a short time.” Almost as he finished saying the words, Juro winced.

  Theron knew the man hadn’t meant to be cruel, so instead of putting a fist through the wall, he said, “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.” He gave the man a half-bow and turning, rapped three times on the frame of the door.

  At the soft response of “Come,” he opened the door, entering. He missed the envious look Juro threw his way before heading to his next assignment.

  Lynea looked up from her mid-morning meal as Theron entered, her face lighting up in a smile. “I was beginning to wonder what was keeping you.”

  He forced a smile and bowed his head, keeping his eyes down. “I apologize my lady. I lost track of the time during my workout this morning.”

  He glanced up in time to see a look of mischief pass quickly across her features. “Ah. Was it the workout, my Protector, or was it the swooning servant girls who delayed you?” Even as he gave her a rueful look and shook his head, he felt his eyes widen, thoughts jumping back to the young woman he’d caught spying on him earlier. But no, Lynea couldn’t know about that. A life as closely scripted as the Emerald Lady’s would never allow her to the far side of the palace, to the servants’ quarters.

  So scripted that she’d follow it, unsuspecting, all the way to the final act.

  He brought his attention back to the lady in question and saw that she was frowning, delicate brows drawn down over soft green eyes. “You don’t seem yourself. Are you all right?”

  She obviously had seen his grim expression, so he shook himself, making the effort to place a smile on his face that would reach his eyes. “I am fine, my lady, and I hate to disappoint you, but I had only myself for company this morning,” he ignored the twinge of guilt at the lie. “I overexerted myself. That is all.”

  Concern for him was still a shadow in her eyes. Not trusting himself to speak, he just smiled tightly again. One more piercing look came his way, but finally Lynea seemed to realize he wasn’t going to say anything more.

  After a moment of silence, she offered, “Well, I’m afraid there is a busy day planned. You will suffer with me through a ridiculous number of visits.” For the seeming complaint, he heard the excitement in her voice. “The seamstress is coming to measure once again. Apparently I must have new dresses, and all of them must be perfect.” With a soft chuckle and a quick movement to smooth raven hair away from her shoulders, she made a show of lifting her arms, glancing over the wide sleeved gown she wore. One side of her mouth quirked up. “They seem to be worried I’ve grown five inches and expanded by feet in the past month.”

  She lowered her arms, a flash of anxiety fluttering across her features. He watched her finger the comb in her hair, a gift from the Emperor. Unconsciously, she felt for any stray strands of hair that had fallen, obscuring the small onyx-carved dragon secured to the lavender jade. Its eyes were as green as hers. Theron quelled the urge to take those nervous hands in his. She sent him a wry look. “The monks have asked that we go to the monastery. They are going to review the ceremony with me. Again.” Her eyes were hopeful and fearful all at once. “I don’t mind, really,” she said, laughing softly. “It will give us a chance to visit Master Kino on the way back.”

  She paused a moment before saying, “I know how tedious this must be for you,” she continued, and it hurt to hear the apology there. “I want to be the perfect bride, don’t I?”

  The perfect bride. A voice, quietly curious, echoed in his memory. “What has made you so angry?”

  Trying not to let what he was feeling show, he nodded. “Yes,” he said softly. “And you will be, my lady.”

  ˜ ˜ ˜

  “I am hungry.”

  The statement clearly expected an answer. Still, Eiji Tatsuo, the Emperor and undying ruler of Midorihiro, didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his head to look out the large-paned window fronting his private study, overlooking the palace grounds.

  A tension built in the air the longer he remained silent. He savored it, relishing in the petty defiance.

  Tatsuo breathed deep against the weight of the robes he wore, the brush of silk brocade barely noticed against the side of his neck. The intricate embroidery was a traditional part of the Emperor’s kimono. The entire outfit was made of the finest material available and wrapped around him. Each elegantly patterned layer was another color, in shades of blue, black and green. So many, in fact, that he felt smothered.

  Idly, his gaze followed the movements of the men pacing the grounds, noting the uniforms of his Imperial Guard. It had been trimmed over the centuries he had ruled, from the intimidating, large-framed Samurai armor to more form-fitting pieces. The outfit today still allowed for protection with a greater range of movement. He raised his arms slightly, resting his palms against the frame of the window, feeling the pull of layered silk. Looking at the men below, a flash of emotion burned through him, one that he distantly recognized as jealousy.

  They were his people and he did not have the freedom they had. As though a fog were lifting, a thought flickered into existence. But you are the Emperor. Of everyone, you have freedom to do as you wish.

  “Do you have an answer for me?”

  The Emperor continued his observation of the grounds. He watched the East gate open, near the nobles’ quarters. The Emerald Lady and her guardian passed through, walking toward their horses. They were speaking to each other, the young man smiling at something the Emperor’s betrothed said. The Emperor frowned. The Mamoru. Theron Hayashi, his mind supplied. The name meant “Forest Hunter.” He huffed a laugh. Ill-fitting, when there wasn’t much to hunt, here. But the boy’s duty was more importan
t than his name, and allowing the young man to take the role of Protector had turned out well enough.

  When the Isao clan’s sole heir had fled Destiny’s call, it had nearly been disaster. Old Master Kino was still head of the Isao clan, but could no longer serve. When his son disappeared, it looked as though there would be none to take his place.

  That would not have served the Emperor’s plans. Bound as he was, he had to ensure control of the people. Without a Protector to guard the lady, the people would protest such a break in tradition. It would be seen as weakness. “Tradition” was as much of a tool for control as fear. The people must not think that things might (could) change. With the dark one’s power ebbing so close to the ceremony, Tatsuo needed every advantage.

  So it was helpful that this outsider, this “hunter,” had been there to step forward, when it looked like the Isao clan’s chain of service would be broken.

  Tatsuo wondered if Destiny’s hand played a part in the boy’s adoption by the Isao. Even without the blood borne gift of the Mamoru, the young man had served admirably, almost miraculously. Successfully navigating everything from the Emerald Lady’s tedious lessons to thwarting an attempt (or more) on her life.

  Now the boy’s service was ending, and that was good.

  Because a suspicion about Theron Hayashi had grown from the moment they’d met. The young man was nearing adulthood now, and more and more he looked like him. The Emperor had seen the resemblance immediately, of course, but it hadn’t been so noticeable before, when the newly appointed Mamoru was thin and lanky and just growing into his frame.

  Now, six short years later, Theron moved with the confidence of one who’d fought real opponents and won. His hair had darkened from a lighter brown in youth to midnight black. He was of “middle” height and that meant Emperor Tatsuo was still taller, but that was no surprise. At two fingers over six foot, the ruler was taller than most. More importantly, though it may be coincidence that the Protector was almost exactly as tall as that other man, there were moments. Hints. The way he set himself when he trained, or the turn of phrase when he provided status reports. Hints that stretched coincidence, that drew out memory. The memory of that other man, snarling and defiant, willing to face down demons if it was what was right. Yes, the two were very alike.