Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series)

by Luiken, Nicole

  Next came Tol. Though handsome, the God of Wine was flushed with inebriation. He toasted Sara with the goblet in his hand. “A brave wench and one who appreciates the grape.” He mock-glowered at Lance, then danced merrily forward and breathed on the seed.

  His consort, Diwo, Goddess of Luck, followed. “This one has had enough bad luck in her life, I owe her some good.”

  The midget-sized, but handsome and dignified, Cepi, God of Small Favours, also granted his help without stinting.

  The voluptuous Goddess of Fertility paused to touch the baby’s head in passing, making him gurgle with happiness. “How could I refuse one who sacrificed so much for her child?” Her face was roundly pretty, and Her voice resonated with comfort and warmth and home.

  Hope constricted Lance’s chest. Only a handful of gods yet remained. Perhaps this might work...

  Hana, God of Justice, stepped forward. Austerely handsome, He wore white robes and silver flecked his temples and beard. Unpursing His lips, He pronounced judgement. “She swore an oath to Me and did not fulfill it. She has not earned My help.” He started to fade.

  “Wait!” Lance called desperately. “That doesn’t sound like Sara. What was this oath?”

  Chilly silence greeted him. Hana narrowed His eyes at Lance’s temerity. For a moment Lance wondered if the god would incinerate him on the spot, but Loma rescued him.

  “What are the terms of her oath?”

  Hana’s lips tightened in annoyance. “To marry as her father wished and restore the family fortunes.”

  “Her father broke her betrothal and is now dead,” Lance said quickly. “And she has given birth to a child. What better way to rebuild her family?”

  Hana stroked his silver beard, considering. “A cogent argument. Very well.” He, too, breathed on the ball.

  Before Lance could relax, a god wearing a golden mask glided forward. He carried with Him the rank stench of carrion. Mek, God of Death.

  Black coals smoldered behind the mask’s eyeholes, and His voice sounded like the dry rattle of bones. “I do not like you, Lance of Kandrith. You and My sister have stolen too many of those marked for My kingdom. Why should I do this favour for you?”

  The singing hope in Lance’s heart faltered. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” he said carefully, his mouth dry with fear. He should’ve left Spring Colt to die and not taken pity on Winter Grass. “But the offense is mine, not Sara’s.”

  He struggled to come up with better, more convincing words, but the Goddess spoke in his place: “I can only postpone death for a time. They will all go to Your kingdom in the end.” She paused. “Except Sarathena Remillus. Without a soul, she will escape Your clutches.”

  Mek kept silent a long moment, and still. The other gods and goddesses breathed and moved and blinked. Not Mek.

  “It is wrong that one should escape Me.” He stretched out a skeletal finger and tapped the seed of magic. The green light flickered. Lance caught his breath on a silent scream—no!—but then the light steadied.

  Three more—no, he’d miscounted, only two more to go, a pair.

  Jazor, the Goddess of Beauty and Desire, was easy to recognize. Her glorious red-gold hair was piled in artful disarray on Her head, and a gossamer-thin veil of silk covered Her nudity. Only the Goddess’s steady presence inside him kept Lance from embarrassing himself.

  She strolled up to Sara and lifted her chin. Sara stared blankly back. Jazor’s pouting red lips formed a moue. “Such beauty marks you as one of My own. If you’d been taken into My temple and made priestess as you should have been, Nir’s high priest’s natural attraction to you would not have twisted into obsession. I regret that you’ve suffered for what should have been a gift.” She bestowed a kiss on the glowing green seed, then twined Her arm through that of Nir, God of War, pulling Him forward.

  Though He appeared no older than twenty-five, His military bearing and lean body bore an uncomfortable resemblance to His former high priest. Lance clenched his fists.

  Jazor nudged Nir. He rolled His eyes in disgruntlement, but said, “Very well. She defeated My warrior, Gaius Mendicus, and spared both his life and his swordhand.” He breathed on the seed, which now began to swirl and give off red sparks.

  “Is it enough?” Lance asked hopefully.

  Sorrow permeated Loma’s being, but before she could reply another god coalesced out of the shadows where He’d been hiding.

  “My spark is still needed,” Vez gloated from within the folds of His blue hood and robe. “And I withhold it!”

  No! Anguish exploded in Lance’s chest. Wild thoughts filled his head of somehow forcing Vez to help. Loma held his body immobile.

  Steel sang out as Nir unsheathed His sword. He struck at the God of Malice’s wizened hand, drawing blood. “That’s for corrupting My priest.”

  Vez hissed, but Hana’s upraised hand froze him in mid-curse. “Nir is within his rights to retaliate. Strike Him and all will turn on you.”

  “I’d do it again. It was worth it to punish her.” Vez pointed at Sara, then prudently vanished.

  No. Numb with horror, Lance sank to his knees and covered his face with his hands as the pantheon began to fade away.

  The last to go was Nir. Before sheathing His sword, Nir casually flicked off the blood. Afterward, Lance was never certain whether He’d done it on purpose—perhaps out of guilt for the way His priest had treated Sara—but a drop of the God of Malice’s blood landed on the glowing ball, sizzling on impact.

  Between Sara’s fingers it began to revolve and scintillate, throwing off rainbows.

  “Now,” Loma said and used his hands to push the ball into Sara’s chest.

  * * *

  Sara gasped. Her hand flew to her chest. “Goddess, that hurt.”

  Someone laughed, a weak chuckle. No, not someone, Lance. Her memories of how she’d gotten from the log to this field were murky, but she knew she had her soul because of him. “Lance.” She reached out.

  Tears ran down his cheeks as he pulled her into an embrace, the baby nestled between them. “Sara, oh, Sara, you’re back. I love you.”

  Sara cupped his face, enjoying the silky feel of his beard against her palms, and looked deep into his eyes. “I love you, too.” Their lips touched sweetly.

  Between them, their son blew a spit bubble. Wordlessly, Sara held out her hands, and Lance gave her their son. She cradled him tenderly, heart and eyes brimming over at the sight of the beautiful child they’d created together. A child with a soul and a future.

  As if that were a signal, Rhiain and Edvard roared in triumph and nudged Lance so hard they almost knocked him over. Esam thumped him on the back, face shining with joy.

  She spared a thought to wonder where Esam had come from—where were they?—but decided to save her questions for later.

  They had plenty of time.

  The babe began to cry. Her breasts tingled as her milk came in.

  “I think he’s hungry,” Lance said, eyes crinkling.

  While he and Esam bid each other farewell, Sara settled herself on the grass and fumbled open her bodice with one hand. She flinched as the babe latched on. Ow. She remembered Rochelle complaining about sore nipples when she’d given birth to Tulio; how had she dealt with it?

  Sara inserted a finger into his mouth, breaking suction. He wailed, and she took advantage of his wide open mouth to get him latched on properly. There, that was tolerable.

  “Stubborn mite.” Lance sat beside her and stroked the baby’s cheek with one finger.

  “Of course, he’s stubborn. Just look at his father.”

  “Who, me?”

  “Yes, you.” Her heart ached with tenderness for both of them. “Only the stubbornest man in the world could’ve healed me. And don’t claim you did nothing.” She laid her fingers on his lips, h
ushing him. “You took care of me all those months when I couldn’t care for myself. You kept me from harming myself when I grew fascinated with pain and taught me how to love. The babe and I wouldn’t be here if not for you.”

  He huffed a laugh. “That wasn’t stubbornness,” he confessed. “I did it because I was afraid of losing you. I held on when anyone sane would’ve let go because you—and now the boy—are my beating heart.”

  She leaned her forehead against his. “As you are mine.”

  * * * * *

  Accompany Sarathena Remillus on her journey of love, betrayal and adventure in the first installment of the Kandrith series, available now!

  Gate to Kandrith

  Sarathena Remillus, daughter of the newly elected Primus of the Republic of Temboria, has been given a mission: discover the secret of slave magic. Anxious to escape the corruption and treachery of the capital, Sara welcomes the chance to finally prove herself far away in Kandrith, the tiny nation of former slaves.

  Accompanying her on the journey is Lance, a Kandrithan to whom Sara owes her life. Lance despises the nobility, and is determined to resist his desire for Sara, despite her attempts to entice him into divulging the secret of his magic.

  Soon their travels become fraught with peril, and Sara discovers she’s fallen victim to the ultimate betrayal. To end a war between two nations, she will have to make the ultimate sacrifice...

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  About the Author

  Nicole Luiken wrote her first book at age thirteen and has never looked back. Her novels have won the Golden Eagle Children’s Choice Award and the Gold-Medal Moonbeam, and have been nominated for several more. Although mostly known for her YA paranormal novels, Nicole has a soft spot for fantasy and romance. She lives in Edmonton, Alberta, with her family. It is physically impossible for her to stop writing for more than three days in a row. Visit her website at www.nicoleluiken.com and join her Facebook fan page.

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  ISBN: 978-14268-9521-0

  Copyright © 2013 by Nicole Luiken Humphrey

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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