Reaper of Souls

by Rena Barron

  “My opponents didn’t take me seriously from the start,” Rudjek says. “Between the two of them, they had some thirty years of experience. One had fought in an incursion on our east bank in his youth. They thought that their impressive résumés would intimidate me, I suppose. Their mistake.”

  “How could they not take you seriously?” Princess Veeka laughs. “You’re so imposing.”

  I’m not surprised that Rudjek’s parents arranged for me to sit as far from him as possible. But it still hurts to see Princess Veeka at his side. The mood is more somber among the Sukkaras and their Omari cousins on this end of the long table. Queen Estelle has left an empty seat next to her to mourn her husband and son.

  Prince Derane sits next to me, his breath reeking of onion. “You’ve hardly touched your meal, young Priestess. Shall I have the attendants fetch something more to your taste?”

  “The food is fine,” I say.

  “I wish you would reconsider your position about the Temple.” He doesn’t bother hiding that he’s been talking to Emere. “We need a strong leader—someone who can keep Suran in check.”

  “I’m a bit young to be a seer, don’t you think?” I ask, lacing my voice with sarcasm.

  “Your mother was nineteen when she apprenticed to Ka-Priest Ren Eké,” says Prince Derane.

  “Look what that got her,” I reply, trying to keep my emotions under control.

  Prince Derane’s rings clank against his glass as he gulps down wine. “You have a biting tongue, Arrah. We need that fire to restore the Almighty Temple to its true glory.”

  The Galkian princess’s shrill voice drags my attention away from our conversation. “I’ve been dying to see more of Tamar.”

  Rudjek clears his throat and casts a glance in my direction. “I thought my father gave you a tour yesterday.”

  “I wasn’t able to attend.” Princess Veeka pouts. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “I’m sure my son can give your highness a proper tour,” Suran says before Rudjek can refuse.

  Prince Derane snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Where’s your mind, girl?”

  Princess Veeka brushes her hand against Rudjek’s, and his body tenses. She smiles up at him as he reaches for his wine. “What are you hiding beneath those gloves, Prince Rudjek?” she asks, a shy grin on her lips. “It’s much too warm in the Kingdom for such extra clothing.”

  He takes a sip of wine and coughs. “I thought gloves were fashionable in the Northern states.”

  “Quite,” Princess Veeka says, “but what would I see if I took off yours?”

  My magic writhes in irritation underneath my skin as the people closest to Rudjek and the princess share secret glances. I bite down on my lip, doing my best to ignore them and utterly failing.

  Rudjek quirks an eyebrow. “Some things are best left to the imagination, don’t you think?”

  Is she flirting with him, and, more important, is he flirting back? I curse under my breath as Suran looks between his son and Princess Veeka, his eyes calculating. I’m a fool not to have seen this coming. Wasn’t this his plan all those months ago—to pair Rudjek with a princess from the North?

  Princess Veeka scoops up her glass. “I wager ten gold coins that one of your hands is disfigured.”

  Prefect Clopa gasps, and Serre looks mortified. I don’t need to understand Northern etiquette to know the princess has overstepped. She only smiles and lifts her wine to her lips, quite pleased with herself. My fingers twitch, and her glass shatters, spraying wine on her face and purple sheath.

  Princess Veeka lurches to her feet so fast that her chair hits the floor—the sound echoing in the room. The conversations at the table fall silent as people turn to stare at the princess. Tears fill her eyes, and I sink back in my seat, my face hot with shame.

  “Are you okay?” Rudjek stands, too, and takes her shaking hands to calm her.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “You must think me quite clumsy.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Suran Omari assures her. “The fault is our own for serving you with flawed glassware. You have my sincerest apology. I will personally ensure that the attendant who served you will be severely punished.”

  I sink even lower in my chair. I can’t let someone else take the blame for my mistake. I’ll have to tell Rudjek the truth, if he hasn’t already guessed what happened. I shouldn’t have lost control like that.

  “That is kind of you,” Prefect Clopa says, coming to her feet. “If you will excuse us—we shall retire for the night.”

  “Until tomorrow.” Princess Veeka smiles at Rudjek. “Don’t forget my tour.”

  Rudjek waits until she and her delegation depart to sit down again. It isn’t my imagination that he avoids looking in my direction.

  “I love a petty quarrel.” Prince Derane adjusts the rings on his left hand. His accusation is apparent. He knows that I broke the princess’s glass. “Like mother, like daughter.”

  “Excuse me.” I push my chair back. “I need some fresh air.”

  I don’t wait for a reply from Prince Derane as I rush pass attendants pouring fresh rounds of wine. I don’t know if I’m angrier at what I did or the fact that he compared me to my mother.

  I stumble down the corridor and stop to rest in an alcove with a window overlooking the courtyard. Princess Veeka’s giggles echo against the stone walls. “He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?” she says. “A little aloof, but I think that adds to his appeal.”

  “Princess, control yourself,” Prefect Clopa chides her, their voices growing distant. “Your mother would be quite disappointed in your behavior tonight.”

  “My mother is a third wife,” the princess says, her voice sharp, “and I don’t intend to be.”

  Not wanting to hear more, I slip out of the alcove and head back to the salon where I left Essnai and Kira. But they’re entwined in a passionate kiss, and I dare not interrupt them. Oh, but how it makes me ache for a moment of my own with Rudjek, a moment I will never have.

  With my luck, I’ll run into Majka next, entangled with some new lover in another room. I push ahead until I find a set of doors to the gardens. The warm night air smells of lilac and jasmine, and I’m relieved to find that the courtyard is empty. I slump on a bench and close my eyes. But whatever peace I’d hoped for whisks away with the sting of approaching anti-magic.

  “Tell me you didn’t break Princess Veeka’s glass,” Rudjek demands.

  He steps into the garden with his arms crossed, keeping his distance. The shadows from the trees hide his expression, but his anger rolls off his body in waves. When I don’t answer, he groans and sits on the bench, leaving a wide space between us.

  I glance down at my hands. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “You almost killed those soldiers earlier.” Rudjek sighs, deflating beside me. “My father will use that as another tool to discredit magic. You’re making it easy for him.”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow.” My words tumble out without preamble, nothing to soften the blow. Even if Sukar and Essnai can’t leave immediately, I’ll go ahead without them. I can’t wait to find the tribal people—not with the Demon King still in my head. I can’t risk what could happen if our connection grows stronger.

  “What?” Rudjek splutters, surprised. “What do you mean leaving?”

  I dig my elbows into my knees, fighting back tears. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Arrah,” Rudjek says, “look at me, please.”

  I don’t—I can’t look him in the eye with this secret weighing on my chest. “Essnai, Sukar, and I are going to the tribal lands for a little while. We think there may be survivors.”

  “There aren’t any survivors,” he says, his voice apprehensive. “The cravens searched for days.”

  I want to tell him about the Zu mask and the vision, but it’s not my only reason for wanting to leave the city. I spring to my feet and pace in circles. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “What are
you not telling me?” He inhales a sharp breath, shifting his position on the bench. When I don’t answer, he stares out into the dark, his expression resigned.

  “Prince Derane compared me to my mother tonight.” I wrap my arms around my shoulders. “He was right. I am like her.”

  Rudjek stands, too, and I hate how his anti-magic is always so suffocating. “You made a mistake,” he argues. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  “Was it a mistake?” I ask, the truth clear before my eyes for the first time. “All the little mistakes will add up until one day I’m no different from her. You don’t understand. . . . I wanted to hurt Princess Veeka. I was jealous and being petty.”

  Rudjek touches my arm—his glove and the fabric of my sheath the only barrier between his anti-magic and my magic. “Arrah.” My name is a plea in his deep timbre, an offering. “You have no reason to be jealous of her. You must know how I feel about you.”

  I close my eyes and imagine myself leaning against his chest—him kissing my neck, his teeth teasing my ear. Instead, I go still and his arm falls limp to his sides. His eyes are darker than the shadows pooling in the gardens.

  “What happens if we can never find a way to be together?” I don’t mean to come off so hostile, but I’m tired of pretending that things will work themselves out. “What then?”

  Rudjek stares across my shoulder. “I . . . I don’t have the answer to that.” He grimaces and meets my gaze again. “But I don’t want to give up on us, okay?”

  “I don’t want to give up, either,” I say, the fire burning out of me. Does he hear the doubt in my voice? We may not have a choice. I ease out a breath, bracing myself for my next words. “I can hear him now.”

  Rudjek takes a step back, shaking his head, his beautiful face transformed by anguish. “I don’t understand.”

  I force a bitter laugh. “What is there not to understand?”

  “Is the Demon King free of his prison?” Rudjek asks, reaching to rest his hands on shotels that aren’t there. He settles for his hips. “Is he in the Kingdom—in the city?”

  I massage the dull ache between my eyes. “I don’t think so. He wouldn’t be trying to reach my mind if he were free. That’s why he needs me—I’m the only one left with enough magic to release him from Koré’s box.”

  “But you won’t,” Rudjek says, his voice hopeful.

  Arti told me that she served the Demon King because she wanted revenge on Suran Omari and Jerek Sukkara. But would the results be the same if she hadn’t wanted to go along with his agenda? Would he have controlled her anyway, like Efiya did Tyrek? Could I keep him out my entire life, or would he destroy charm after charm until I succumbed to him?

  Rudjek glances away, and he looks like there’s something on the tip of his tongue. “I can’t come with you to the tribal lands.” He pauses, weighing his words. “I didn’t want to worry you, but there are demons still in the city . . . nothing I can’t handle with my guardians.”

  “Is that it?” Not that a few demons are easy, but it’s better than the likes of what we’ve had to face in recent months.

  Rudjek laughs, but he’s holding something back. “Isn’t it enough?”

  “Do you need my—”

  “Given your current situation,” Rudjek remarks, “I think we should keep you far away from the demons.”

  My current situation. “Right.”

  He flashes me a pained smile. “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

  I smile back. “Only if you promise me that you won’t run off and marry Princess Veeka.”

  “Of that, you can be sure,” Rudjek says, a twinkle in his eyes.

  We settle on the bench in the garden again, our shoulders close but never touching. It’s our last night together for the foreseeable future, and the moment guts me. Is this all we can ever have of each other, while I’m stuck spending the rest of my life fighting the Demon King in my head? Silent tears slip down my cheeks as we watch the moths driven by instinct to the torch flames hanging about the garden. Rudjek inches his fingers closer to my hand, but I draw away from him. It will never be enough.

  Fifteen

  Rudjek

  My dagger pierces the heart of the Serpent River on the map against the wall. I have an urge to pound my fist into the hilt and drive it deeper, but that’ll do nothing to assuage my frustration. I pace the salon, eyeballing the map from north to south, east to west. I keep thinking there’s something I’m missing—some small detail hidden beneath the ink. “I can’t accept that there’s no way to figure out where Shezmu will open the gate or when,” I say. “He must have some plan.”

  “Hmm.” Re’Mec lounges on a couch with his legs crossed at the ankles. “Now that you’ve had that ridiculous gossamer ripped down, this room isn’t half bad. Still, I’d suggest you get a decorator to give it some flair.”

  I glare at the sun god, who’s staring up at the ceiling while wrapping a frilly tassel around his finger. “Why are you here, Re’Mec, if you’re not helping?”

  “I am helping,” he says, his voice a long drawl. “I’m here for moral support while my brethren keep an eye out for any suspicious demon activity.”

  “Isn’t any demon activity suspicious?” Majka asks.

  Re’Mec yawns, stretching his arms over his head. “True.”

  Kira hunches over a table with scrolls splayed out in front of her. Majka is next to her, spearing a candied apple with a dagger. Fadyi sits cross-legged against a wall, avoiding the couches altogether. At Re’Mec’s request, Raëke has left for the Dark Forest to warn the cravens about the gate, and Jahla is out prowling the city for signs of more demons.

  “We don’t have time to speculate about Shezmu’s next move. We need to find him and put an end to whatever it is he’s planning.” I bite my tongue as I turn back to the map. I haven’t told anyone about my last conversation with Arrah three nights ago. I don’t trust Re’Mec not to kill her if he thinks she’s a threat. No one needs to know about her connection with the Demon King—not until there is a reason. “Show me all the places where demons have been sighted since the battle.”

  Re’Mec grunts as black holes burn across the map—several in every major city and continent. Delene, Fyaran, Zeknor, and Galke, the city-states of the North. Kefu, Estheria, and Yöom on the east coast. The Almighty Kingdom. The barren tribal lands to the west. Even the less populous Ghujiek and Siihi in the south. I yank my knife from the wall. “They’ve scattered everywhere except the Dark Forest.”

  “I think we can safely rule out the forest and the surrounding valley,” Fadyi says. “Our forces are strong enough to protect the land and to neutralize their magic.”

  I study the map again. “The demons would encounter less opposition if they opened the gate in Ghujiek or Siihi. The biggest drawback is that you can’t travel to and from the islands most of the year. The seas are too treacherous, with storms in the warmer months and ice in the winter.” I grimace when my gaze falls on the tribal lands, where Arrah is heading right now. That last night together in the gardens had been painful. I couldn’t find the right words to comfort her. Gods. She’d even flinched when I tried to touch her. “There could be survivors in the tribal lands. I would assume, though, that the demons would go someplace more populated so they’d have souls readily available.” If they’re after Arrah, then that’s another story.

  “They don’t need souls to survive.” Kira stares at the scroll in her hand. “One of the early scribes said of the demons, ‘They hunger for souls, but it is not souls they seek. Souls are a balm to a wound that will not heal.’”

  “Lynis was a foolish scribe,” Re’Mec spits, “always hiding in his room, writing things that he should not. But he wasn’t wrong in his conclusion. The demons are immortal regardless, but souls give them certain powers, including the ability to hide.”

  I frown, noting the burn spots on the map. “They want us to see them.” When Re’Mec grumbles affirmation, I cross the room to where he’s lying with his eyes closed
. He looks so small on the couch, so childish, carefree. Half the time, I wonder if this is all just a game for him. “You created the cravens . . . you created us to be hounds to track down the demons for you.”

  The sun god opens his eyes, and they’re the color of a brooding sky before a storm—the color of pain and grief, of regret. They’re the color of what he wants me to see, and I’m not in the mood for his crap. “To put it in terms you’ll understand, Rudjek”—he sits up—“I sense everything in the universe at the same time—a grain of sand, a dying star, the air you’re breathing right now. Every single thing. For me, finding Shezmu is akin to searching for an ant in a mound of many. That he is immortal only makes it impossible, for he is good at hiding. I needed to create a people who have an aversion to magic to be able to sense the demons.”

  “And use us to fight your war,” I counter, disgusted with him.

  “There would be no one left to fight for if I had not made you,” Re’Mec admits with a sigh. “I did what I thought was best at the time.”

  “Rudjek, you may be onto something. . . . Maybe they do want us to see them,” adds Kira, returning to the matter at hand. “If the demons can hide from the gods, then they’re making it a point to show themselves. It’s like they’re hiding in plain sight.”

  I freeze at her words. Plain sight. Could it be that simple? I look at the map again. “Re’Mec, how many demons fled after the battle?”

  “A little over three hundred,” he says.

  I count the dots on the map. Only fifty. “These sightings are a distraction to keep the orishas busy while Shezmu makes his next move. He must be setting up a camp with the bulk of the demons elsewhere.”

  Majka tosses a handful of almonds into his mouth. “There are thousands of towns they could hide in.”

  “Thousands of towns, but not impossible to figure out which one,” I insist.

  There’s a knock on the door, and two gendars push into the salon without waiting for an answer. My father strolls forward, and Kira and Majka scramble to their feet, their backs straight. Fadyi follows their lead.