Soul Siphon: Set includes four books: Midnight Blade, Kingsbane, Ash and Steel, Sentinels of the Stone (Soul Stones)

by T. L. Branson

  “What in Iket’s name are you wearing?” the prince said, waking Callum from his sleep.

  “Excuse me?” Callum said, opening his eyes, blinking. How long have I been here?

  The prince stood in dress slacks and a dinner jacket. “Your clothes. You’re still in your training uniform,” Drygo said, pointing at his clothes.

  Before Callum could respond, the prince continued, “Come, we need to get you into something more presentable.”

  The prince spun on his heels and walked off without a moment’s hesitation. Callum jumped up off the couch and ran after him, up the steps of the grand staircase. Drygo led him up to the third floor. It looked like any of the other hallways in the palace. Paintings on the walls, a small table bearing a pot of flowers, and polished marble floors in which he could see his reflection.

  They moved halfway down the hall and entered a room on the left.

  “Sophia,” he said to the empty room as soon as he crossed the threshold. “Fit Mr. Callum up with one of my spare dinner suits, will you?”

  Callum barely had time to take in the surroundings—the big four-poster bed, the private library, the fireplace, an ornate dagger sitting atop its mantel, and a large wardrobe—before a small, thin woman in her sixties came bursting out of the bathing room, rag and mop still in hand. She set them aside and threw open the doors of the wardrobe.

  Sophia took out a suit and held it up against Callum. The pants dragged on the floor. He was a bit shorter than Drygo, and slightly smaller as well. He didn’t eat as well as the prince, surely. Putting the suit back, she pulled out an older, slightly smaller suit, probably one the prince had grown out of.

  “Here we are,” she said. “This will work.”

  When Sophia started to undress him Callum said, “Oh, no, that’s all right. I’ll get it myself, thank you.”

  He took the suit from her hands and moved into the bathing room and closed the door. A moment later, he exited the bathing room, his sweat-stained training clothes draped over his arms.

  “Allow me,” Sophia said, sweeping the dirty laundry from his arms.

  “Hey! Where are you—?”

  “You’ll get it back, don’t worry,” the prince said. “She’ll have them clean and ready to go after dinner. Come on, or we’ll be late.”

  Callum practically had to jog to keep up with Drygo as they made their way down to the second floor and into the banquet hall. The sprawling room was capable of seating three hundred or more, but today only a small table was set up for the royal family and a few nobles. No more than thirty were in attendance.

  Drygo led them over to two empty seats directly across from two young girls who turned to each other and giggled as the boys sat down.

  Someone coughed. Callum turned to regard the king, staring at them disapprovingly.

  “Late. As usual,” the king said. He addressed the man across from him at the table. “Fabian, meet my son, Alexander. Alexander, the newly appointed High Lord Rommel is here to negotiate a weapons trade agreement between Sunbury and Havan. I have invited him to dine with us this evening.”

  What is he doing here? Callum wondered.

  Rommel turned to greet Alexander and smiled a perfectly wicked smile that was lost on the prince. Rommel’s eyes shifted from Alexander to Callum. A thousand unspoken words passed between them in that moment.

  Was it approval? That he’d gotten so close on his first day? Or pleasure that this assignment would lead to his eventual death? What other outcome was there? If he were successful, he could never escape the palace alive. If he failed, well, he’d be dead as well. This was, for all intents and purposes, a suicide mission. But if he refused, he was as good as dead anyway. All roads lead to death. At least here he had a chance. What was it Platz had said? Don’t quit until you’re dead… or something to that effect.

  Perhaps that wasn’t what Rommel’s look meant. Could it be that this was the time for Callum to act?

  Sunbury’s king, as if only then noticing his son wasn’t alone, interrupted Callum’s thoughts when he said, “Alexander, what, pray tell, are you doing bringing a recruit to dinner?” He practically spat the word with disgust.

  “Oh, he’s not just any recruit,” the girl opposite Callum said. “Rumor has it he almost bested Xandie in the battle ring today.” The girls giggled again. Drygo’s cheeks turned red.

  “That’s enough, Chelsea,” the king said. His gaze softened, but his eyes were still narrowed with suspicion. “In any case, shall we begin?”

  Callum and Drygo sat down. The king signaled for the servants to set out plates of food and a footman filled their goblets with wine.

  Callum picked up his silverware and beheld the fine craftsmanship. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he slipped the knife into his jacket pocket.

  He picked up the fork and was about to spear the roast chicken when Drygo said, “Where is it?”

  Callum froze.

  “Where is what?” he asked.

  “The knife,” Drygo said. Fear spiked through Callum, he’d been caught already. Drygo continued, “My knife is missing.”

  It was his knife?

  Looking at the place settings, he realized he’d taken the knife from the wrong side of the table. What did he know about etiquette anyway?

  “It must have fallen on the floor or they forgot to put it out,” Drygo said.

  “Here, you can have mine,” Callum said, handing him his own knife.

  “It’s fine. I’ll get another one,” the prince said, calling over one of the footmen.

  Callum sighed in relief. The prince whispered in the footman’s ear and the servant stepped away and came back a moment later with a new knife.

  “So, Xandie,” Chelsea, the girl across from Callum, said. “Tell us about the battle.”

  “Well, SeaSea,” he said, mocking her, annoyed at the use of his nickname. “I clearly won, or the rumors would have said otherwise.”

  Callum looked at Drygo, a quizzical expression on his face.

  “Ah, sorry. Callum, meet my sister, Chelsea, and my uh, friend, Evangeline,” he said, blushing.

  Chelsea leaned forward, held her right hand up to the side of her mouth, and whispered, “He means girlfriend.”

  Evangeline blushed.

  Drygo hissed, looking at his father, but the king ignored their exchange, busy talking with Rommel.

  Callum didn’t know what to say, so he sat in silence, eating his dinner. The roasted potatoes were some of the most succulent vegetables he had ever tasted. He thought he died and went to heaven with each bite.

  “Oh! Do you want to hear about our day?” Chelsea asked.

  “Not really,” Drygo muttered, “but you’re going to tell us anyway, aren’t you?”

  Ignoring his comment, Chelsea continued, “We went to the market.” She squealed in delight.

  “Riveting,” the prince said, playing with a carrot on his plate.

  Evangeline chimed in, “You’ll never guess what we found.” Her face beamed with excitement.

  Drygo and Callum stared at her expectantly, resigned to hear the tale.

  “Aren’t you going to guess?” Evangeline asked.

  “No. What?” the prince asked.

  Evangeline pursed her lips and gave him puppy dog eyes.

  “Fine,” Drygo said. “A cloak? A basket of flowers? A knight in shining armor?”

  “No,” she said quickly, not caring about his response.

  In unison, the girls said, “Matching Tikanin necklaces!” They lifted their necklaces, bright red jewels glittering in the light.

  “Probably fakes,” whispered Drygo so only Callum could hear.

  Callum chuckled.

  The girls cast them a sideways glare, shrugged, and went back to their plates. A few moments passed while Callum moved on to the Kentish pastry, an orange-flavored dessert from the Northern Isles.

  “You’re quiet,” Chelsea said.

  Callum looked up to find her staring at
him.

  “Oh, uh, well, this is all so new to me,” he said.

  “Really? Where are you from? What made you join the guard?” Chelsea asked.

  Callum paused, pensive. He couldn’t exactly tell her he was here to kill her brother. Instead he said, “I grew up an orphan, never having anything of my own. I don’t even know who my parents are or if they’re still alive. I guess I’m here ’cause it’s better than there.”

  She placed her hands on her chest and said, “Oh, Merva bless you. You really don’t know your parents?”

  He reached down for the piece of paper in his pocket and realized it wasn’t there. He had left it in his training pants. Panic came bubbling to the surface. He slid his chair back in a hurry, bumping the table, wine sloshing around in everyone’s goblets. The king shook with a start and began to protest, but Callum left the room before he could say anything.

  From a distance, he heard Chelsea say, “Was it something I said?”

  Callum raced up the stairs and back to the prince’s room. He didn’t bother to knock and burst in. Sophia, who was preparing the prince’s bed for the evening, let out a yelp. When she saw Callum, she placed a hand on her chest and sighed, trying to calm herself.

  “I’m sorry, miss, I… Where are my clothes?” he demanded a little too harshly.

  “Over on the chair, Mr. Callum,” she said, pointing to a chair beside the wardrobe.

  He arrived in three long steps, tossed the shirt on the ground, and lifted the pants. He turned all the pockets inside out, but couldn’t find his parchment.

  “Where is it?” he said to himself.

  “Oh!” Sophia said, digging into a pocket on her apron. “Are you looking for this?” She held out the worn piece of parchment and Callum took it. “I didn’t want it to get ruined. It seems old.”

  The prince barged into the room and said, “What’s going on, what’s wrong?”

  Ignoring him, Callum plopped onto the chair, unfolded the parchment, and beheld the handwriting, tracing his fingers along its script.

  “What is it?” Drygo asked.

  “It’s all I have of my parents. The only thing they ever gave me,” he said.

  Drygo looked at him, confused.

  “My name,” Callum explained. Then, realizing the scene he’d caused, Callum asked, “Dinner? Is everything…? I—I’m sorry. I behaved poorly. Surely the king will never allow me in his sight again. I’ll be kicked out of the guard on my first full day.”

  “It’s all right. Dinner was over anyway. Besides, it was great, I’ve not seen my father so flustered since the time—”

  Horror splayed across Callum’s face.

  “Oh, sorry, no. Don’t worry about my father. I’ll take care of it. You don’t realize how boring those meals can be. Having to listen to Chelsea and Evangeline go on and on…” Drygo paused. “Look. Thanks for coming. I needed a friend. It was nice. Will you come again?”

  Callum thought about it for a moment and said, “Sure.”

  “Well, thanks. Get changed and I’ll walk you out.”

  Callum gathered his ruffled clothes and stepped into the bathing room. As he slid his shirt on, he realized how soft it was. He had never worn something so clean. How had they done this so quickly? He could get used to this life.

  Exiting the bathing room, Callum handed the pants and jacket back to Sophia.

  Drygo said, “All right, come on let’s—”

  “What’s this? There’s something in here,” Sophia mumbled to herself. She slipped her hand into the jacket and pulled out the dinner knife.

  Callum cursed to himself. He had forgotten about it. “Oh! Uh, yeah, so I, uh, found your knife,” he said to Drygo. “I meant to give it back to the footman, but I, uh, forgot.”

  The prince cast a weird look at him, shrugged, and walked out the door. Callum followed. Drygo led Callum to the palace doors, said farewell, and thanked him again for coming.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow for training,” the prince said. “And don’t worry about my father. I promise I’ll take care of it.”

  Thanking him, Callum left and walked down the steps in front of the palace. As he reached the bottom, a girl who had been sitting on a bench near the garden stood up and approached him. It was Chelsea. She held her hand in front of her, her head hung low.

  She looked up at a Callum and said, “I wanted to apologize. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

  “Oh, no, sorry about that. It wasn’t you,” he said in return. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of parchment and showed it to her, explaining to her its significance.

  “Wow, I can’t even imagine. I’m so sorry,” she said. She wrung her hands slowly and added, “Would you… care to join me on a walk? Maybe you can tell me more about that note?”

  An odd sensation bubbled from within Callum. A bit of nervousness, a dash of embarrassment, and a rush of adrenaline. He looked over his shoulder to see if the prince still stood at the door, but he had gone.

  “Um… sure,” he said.

  Chelsea led him through an archway into the gardens. Palace guards shot the pair strange looks but said nothing. Callum told Chelsea about growing up an orphan, about looking for his parents, and, without mentioning his name, about Rommel throwing his parchment in the fire.

  “He did not!” Chelsea blurted out.

  “He did,” Callum said, chuckling as he pointed to its charred edge. It wasn’t funny, but Chelsea had a way of putting him at ease. She listened to him without judgment, without thinking less of him, or treating him as if he’d never amount to anything.

  “How did you end up here?” she asked.

  Callum made up something about wanting to serve the greater good. It was a nice ideal, though often unrealized. This seemed to appease her. It was certainly a true and honest goal, but Callum couldn’t see how he would be able to make it come to pass. Not when he was in the service of a man like Fabian Rommel.

  They resumed walking.

  Changing the subject, Callum said, “Tell me about Evangeline and your brother. How did they meet?”

  “Not much to tell. We grew up together. We’ve always been together. I can’t think of a time when I didn’t know her. Xandie and her only started courting a year ago,” she said.

  “How did that make you feel?” he asked.

  She went quiet, clearly uncomfortable. At last, she said, “It’s… different. She spends most of her time with him now. Sure, we do things together, like this afternoon. But it’s rare. I just…” She paused then said, “Can I say something? Please don’t freak out.”

  “O… kay,” he said.

  “I think my brother invited you to dinner tonight to try to pair me up with someone,” she blurted.

  “What?” Callum snapped.

  “I asked you not to freak out. Please don’t hate me,” she said.

  “No, it’s not that. I… Why would he do that? He doesn’t even know me. We only met today,” he said.

  “I think you impressed him. Not many people can hold their own against him in a fight. You’re about the same age, and—”

  “Yeah, but I’m just a guard. Not even. I’m a recruit. I’m a nobody. I don’t even have any parents. Aren’t you supposed to eventually be married off to some dignitary from another kingdom as a political move?”

  That was the wrong thing to say.

  “Is that all you think I am? Some pawn in my father’s game? This was a bad idea,” she said, and stormed off.

  “Wait!” he called out. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

  She paused and turned around to look at him. “Then what did you mean?” she asked.

  He froze. He didn’t know what he meant. He just kind of said it.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said, spun around, and left him standing there alone.

  ***

  The following day started much the same as the previous. McKinnon woke the recruits, issued some threats as motivation, and left them to get dressed.
But there was no tour after breakfast. Instead, they went straight into the classroom for their first day of lectures.

  The sergeant started with history. Most of the recruits rolled their eyes, but none spoke their discontent for fear of punishment. Callum didn’t mind, though, as the orphanage had failed to provide him with anything beyond a basic education in reading and writing. He knew very little of Aralith or its histories.

  After lunch, they moved out into the training yard and McKinnon split them off into their three training groups. Drygo and Callum ran through several drills together. “Basic military procedure” the prince had called it. “Being a good fighter is one thing. Understanding Sunbury’s military structure is another,” he said.

  Several weeks went by. Every day was the same. Wake up, eat breakfast, lectures, lunch, training, dinner, free time, bed. After Drygo covered the basics, the pair continued their training under Sunbury’s master-at-arms. A student was only as a good as his teacher, and, in Sunbury, there was no greater teacher.

  After a particularly strenuous day, Callum was putting his gear away when Drygo walked up beside him and said, “You did good today.”

  “Thanks,” Callum said, breathing deeply. Callum wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm and shook Drygo’s outstretched hand.

  “You look like you could use a break,” the prince said. “Care to join us for dinner?”

  “What about your father? I doubt he’s in a hurry to see me again,” Callum said.

  “Don’t worry about him. I took care of it. I told you I would. In fact, this was his idea,” Drygo said.

  “All right, sure,” Callum said.

  His face didn’t match his words, however, and Drygo said, “Is there something else?”

  “Well… what about your sister?” he asked.

  “What about her?” the prince said.

  “She… Forget it,” he said.

  “What? Tell me,” Drygo insisted.

  Callum told him about their talk in the garden.

  “Oh, gods. Is that why she was acting so odd?” the prince said.

  “Well? Was she wrong?”

  “Err… no, but—don’t worry about it. It’s fine. She’s over it. I promise.”