Soulbound

by Archer Kay Leah

  Table of Contents

  Soulbound

  Book Details

  Dedication

  Map

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Soulbound

  THE REPUBLIC BOOK 4

  ARCHER KAY LEAH

  In a relationship that violates rules and expectations, Mayr and Tash have found their perfect match in each other. Despite their fears and difficult pasts, they hope for a shared future with security and a family. When Mayr's secret first love, Arieve, proposes they create that family with her, it seems dreams could become reality.

  But life is complicated, and so is the delicate balance between duty and love. While Mayr protects the Dahe family at all costs, Tash is determined to succeed as a priest. Both positions require sacrifice, forcing their relationship into painful choices. To make matters worse, criminals lurk in the shadows, seeking revenge on them and those they guard.

  The life they want risks losing everything—including Arieve and each other. Even if they can have it all, keeping it may take more than they can give.

  Soulbound

  The Republic 4

  By Archer Kay Leah

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Constance Blye

  Cover designed by Natasha Snow

  Map designed by Raelynn Marie

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition September 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Archer Kay Leah

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781684313396

  Print ISBN 9781684313808

  To Chester Bennington,

  with my love to Linkin Park, their families, friends, and fans.

  Thank you for the music and words that have helped so many of us cope.

  Thank you for the inspiration and your wealth of creativity.

  Thank you for sharing your gifts with the world.

  Gone, but not forgotten.

  And for anyone who's stared into that dark abyss, looking at the end.

  You're never truly alone. Keep fighting, the best you can. Keep trying.

  You're needed and wanted, even if you don't know it yet.

  Chapter One

  "Are we done dying yet? Please tell me we're done and dead."

  Mayr snorted at Aeley Dahe's question as she crossed the study and threw herself into the chair behind her desk. She yanked a thick red and yellow striped blanket over herself and hid beneath it, dark blonde hair and all. Only her elbow peeked out from beneath to lean against the arm of her chair, the deep brown and green fabric of her tunic sombre compared to the bright blanket and dark red walls of the study. The rest of her black and brown travel attire was strewn across the golden brown rugs that covered the floor, haphazard piles of soggy fabric abandoned between him and the fire in the hearth.

  "If I say yes, does that mean you'll spend the rest of this afterlife nattering my ear off? Or can I get a nap first?" Mayr retorted before he launched into a fit of sneezes. Rogue strands of his long black hair caught on the bronze clasps of his heavy black cloak. Drops of melted snow fell around him, adding to the mess on the already slick floor. Somehow he managed to unlace his cloak and toss it into the chair beside the stained glass window to his right. He fumbled as he unbuckled the belt strapped across his chest, happy to have the weight of his sword off his back. His hands were painfully numb and red as he laid his sword over his cloak. "Next time, when you think it's a great idea to visit a prison, don't go when it's snowing."

  "And don't take you," Aeley added, turning her head. Even with her face covered, he knew she was making a face at him, tongue out, eyes crossed. If only the weather had frozen that. She may have been Tract Steward, but he would pay handsomely to see her stuck like that for a day. As her best friend and head of her family guard, it was only fair.

  "Yeah, take Pellon," he said, flexing his fingers. "He likes freezing his balls. He loves warming them up afterwards even more."

  Aeley snorted a laugh, followed by a groan. "Why didn't we bring blankets?" She whimpered and dropped her head back.

  "Don't look at me. I don't do weather."

  "No, you just do your guy. Hard." Aeley peeled back the corner of the blanket to reveal one of her brown eyes. "You'll break his back one of these days, you and your hips of thrusting greatness."

  Mayr tore off his black scarf and tossed it at her, hissing as his fingers tingled and protested. The scarf landed on the floor in front of her desk in a limp pile. She had to remind him of Tash right then. Just when I'd forgotten about what I promised…

  He wanted to be back out in the cold, cramped inside a freezing carriage. Or at Footshred prison, interrogating prisoners and rubbing their faces in the freedom they would never have. Or wasting time with Severn, the one Councilman on High Council who hated him most in all the republic and wanted his head for a paperweight.

  Anywhere else but home.

  No, anywhere else but near Tash, the one person Mayr wanted to press up against and lose himself in for the rest of the day, wrapped up in warmth and desire and need.

  And he has so much need.

  "So are you going to tell him?"

  Mayr blinked at the question, the words lost to him.

  "Let's try that again," Aeley said slowly, flicking back the blanket until it settled in her lap. "Are you going to tell Tash everything about today?" She tugged up the sleeves of her tunic and lifted her legs onto the desk before crossing them at the ankles. Her muddy brown boots hung over the corner as she folded her arms and leaned back. "After all, it's the two of you I have to thank for these lovely talks with a gang family and chatting up Severn for crime numbers."

  "We had help," Mayr mumbled. He stared at the fire, chewing on the inside of his cheek as unwelcome memories crashed through his unthawed thoughts.

  "Mm, I remember. All the more reason to tell him everything. Him, Ress, Adren—they know how nasty the Shar-denn is. They're going to be running from it for the rest of their lives, I imagine."

  "Yeah, I know." Mayr sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache was back. Then again, anything to do with the Shar-denn brought on any number of headaches, particularly when he considered the events that had led them to this point.

  One event stood out from the rest, its three-week-old images on a continual loop inside his mind: a fight he should have seen coming, sprawled out inside Ress's house in Araveena Ford, the town where Tash and Ress had grown up as best friends and family. More than that, they had also been brothers in the Shar-denn, a brutal gang that continued to plague their republic of Kattal from one generation to the next. A gang they had both betrayed in their own ways.

  Adren had planned to kill Ress on behalf of the Shar-denn, determined to punish him for his part in the arrest of Adren's family, but nothing had played out as expected. Although Adren started with the intention to avenge cir family, ce changed cir mind. After that, everything fell a
part: Adren and Ress forged a romantic connection and decided to run from the gang, inspired by Tash's successful defection. When Ress called upon Tash to help them leave, Tash agreed and asked Mayr to do the same.

  Their agreement came with a price: a brawl with members of the Shar-denn that injured not only Ress, but Tash, Mayr, and the others they had enlisted to help.

  Just when Mayr had hoped the Shar-denn would never harm Tash again, they charged in with a wallop.

  And now I hate myself because of what we have to do—what he has to do. If he's ever going to stand a chance at protecting Adren from whatever comes for cir, he's going to have to fight back. Him, a priest, a speaker of peace, a soother of soul-sucking ailments—and I have to train him. Today. Now.

  He wanted to hide in Aeley's study forever.

  As if she read his mind, she stared at him and wagged her finger at the door. Mayr let out a defeated sigh. They both had things to do.

  "Sorry," Aeley said, swinging down her legs. "I'm sure you'd love to sit here and watch me read, but I need to concentrate." She smiled and tossed her long hair over her shoulder. "I'll see you at dinner, though."

  "Of course." Mayr spun on his heel and crossed the room to the door. "If I see your wife, I'll let her know you're stealing her job and assaulting another quill."

  Aeley laughed and waved him from the study. He obeyed without another word, knowing how much work she had, as if it ever ended. Although it was true: her work never would end as long as she was Tract Steward of Gailarin, their sizeable region in the republic for which she was responsible. Under the High Council's watchful authority, she managed everything that pertained specifically to Gailarin, from its citizens and finances to its resources and political games. There were always documents, always meetings, always someone in need of something. Gailarin did not run itself.

  His thoughts, on the other hand, ran wide and far without any assistance from him. They whirled with possibility, every one of them a fleeting item on a subconscious list meant to tease and distract. If anything, they were delusions of urgency that ranted and railed against each other, flinging their heres and theres in a melee for attention. Yes, no, to the left, to the right, check the guards, take a nap, make for the kitchen, run for dear life, let it all out…

  One thought. He needed to grasp onto one single thought.

  Mayr stepped into the chilly hallway, hesitant as he closed the door to the study. With a hard yank on the gold handle, he waited for the latch to click before he let go, satisfied the dark red door would not creak open and bother Aeley. She needed to relax after their trip, not battle unwelcome gusts thanks to a door that begged to be replaced.

  I'd tell her someone should replace it, but that someone would probably be me, and I'm not allowed near hammers. Cupping both hands around his mouth, he breathed out and rubbed his bare hands together, willing the heat to remain in them. The study was warm thanks to the housekeepers, but the rest of the Dahe estate felt as though an ice spirit had moved in and built itself a palace.

  All right, slight exaggeration. It might have more to do with traveling in the storm after the frigid hospitality of my favourite politician. Here's to hoping I thaw out soon—Tash won't let me touch him like this.

  Mayr stilled, hands clasped in the air. Even when his thoughts trounced every bit of reason, his mind returned to Tash, his constant, his grounding point. The bit of rational thought that was so irrational he felt as if he stood in the eye of the hottest, wildest storm. Wrapped in the safety of the calm, he could watch the turmoil and destruction of the outside world as time crawled by.

  And he had promised to throw punches at his one constant, making the effort to beat him until one of them cried for mercy.

  "I'll cry it now. Save us both the trouble," Mayr muttered, shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his black leather long coat. Its wet hem dragged along the floor as he shuffled up the hallway to his right. As he passed the empty meeting rooms, he stared at the grey and black stone floor, noting the cracks in the masonry and the unevenness in the spiraled patterns. Absentminded and desperate to hold something, he played with the damp gloves in his pockets, their tight-knit wool exteriors and thick leather interiors black like the rest of his clothes.

  A shiver raced through him, roused by fears of what awaited in the training room downstairs. While his job as Head of the Guard was to secure the safety of everyone in the Dahe household and family, there were times he wished he could trade places with someone who did not love the people he did—someone who had no qualms with fighting with them for their own good, teaching them defensive strikes and offensive strategy. Although Pellon was a trustworthy second-in-command and close friend who would happily take Mayr's place in training, the responsibility was too heavy to shrug off. Love was even heavier.

  I have to put them into the position to get hurt so they can be protected. That's the saddest, most backwards catch I've ever heard. Who came up with that bright idea? He stopped halfway through the corridor and faced the windows looking onto the courtyard. Frost clouded the edges of the red windowpanes, framing the blustery, sunlit image of snow and harsh wind with a crystalline glint. The naked, heavy branches of the red trees swayed, staking claim as the only sign of life in the yard. Every few moments, the broken end of one branch tapped the windows in an erratic rhythm. The storm was surprisingly violent for the first snowfall of the year.

  Grateful to have arrived home before the worst of it, Mayr flicked his glance to the seat below the windows. Set against the wall and built to accommodate two people, the dark red seat was cushioned with bright red and deep purple pillows. Someone had draped a grey and green quilt across one corner and a brown wool blanket across the other. The sight was tempting, inviting him to sit and think about something else other than Tash or meetings.

  "No time to sit. Day's too long to even think about it." He pulled the tangled tail of his black hair over his shoulder and dragged his fingers through, yanking on the tats. Dignitaries from three villages in the south would arrive before nightfall for dinner with Aeley and a discussion about commerce, meaning he would have to look polished. That required more than a simple brush and change of clothes. Maybe he could entice Tash into a bath after they trained…

  Mayr scrunched his nose. He enjoyed the sweat and heat of training, but the thought of harming Tash knotted his stomach. Since his adolescence, he had enjoyed the physicality of sparring, appreciating its challenges and the way it worked off emotions.

  This was different. His desire salivated at the chance to try it with Tash. He wanted to watch Tash go through the motions, to taste the power and strength in Tash and sense the danger. To be at Tash's mercy in the ring the same as he was when Tash made love to him.

  None of it chased his anxiety away. Twice before, he had found Tash bruised and battered. Just as many times, Tash had almost died in front of him. Even though Tash was not fragile or incapable, a too-hard grip or wayward hit could ruin his life.

  Still, he wanted Tash to prove his skills and show his harder side. He had missed seeing that roughness when they were in Araveena Ford, fighting to save Ress from being killed by the Shar-denn.

  It was that same side of Tash that forced Mayr to work harder to protect Tash from himself. While he had not witnessed Tash deal blows during the confrontation, he was familiar with the consequences, having seethed over Tash's injuries for days. Dark bruises had marred Tash's skin for two weeks, and his knuckles had bled from scrapes and cuts. If Tash had not slept alone at the temple instead of the estate, Mayr would have raged over the wounds worse than he had.

  Which is why we're training, my sappy, smitten self. This whole thing with Ress and Adren and keeping their asses alive is all the reason I need. It's the joy of contradiction wrapped up in the pretty trappings of love. Mayr sighed, drawing both hands down his face. The events in Araveena Ford were more of a turning point than he could admit to anyone. Although he had gone to the village on Tash's request, unable to refuse Tash's
plea to help Ress, he returned with more than criminals and a reason for the High Council to flog him. Regret haunted him, its ghost screeching obscenities between his thoughts. He could have lost Tash that night. A punch to the head, a knife to the throat, a broken neck—one wrong move could have torn them apart. Given Tash's stubbornness and near-limitless sense of duty, violence and death could still separate them.

  The fight was not all that bothered him. Since then, his head had been a mess and his heart even messier. Everything inside was rattled, his decisions pulled in all directions. His wants and hopes and needs knotted together until they were indistinguishable. Instinct demanded he do everything to make Tash happy, no matter the cost. No matter what had to be surrendered.

  Yet fear commanded he do nothing at all. Fear that he would hurt Tash, breaking him in ways Mayr swore he never would. Fear of being hurt by Tash, his heart smashed by the one lover who took Mayr for who he was.

  Fear that everything they wanted would never be.

  Metal clinked, ripping Mayr from his worry. He peered up the corridor to the hallway at the end. His gaze skimmed the stairwell in the right corner, then the rest of the hall to the left. Squeaky footfalls sounded, followed by quiet whistling. Both became distant as someone walked the north hall, away from where Mayr was in the east hall.

  Nothing like the sound of someone on patrol, Mayr mused with a smirk. In the last day, he had doubled patrols and swapped schedules, pairing specific guards in teams and moving others to new locations and times. The changes were necessary, since Ress now lived at the estate along with Adren, who had also become Tash's charge due to cir magic and special lineage. Like Tash, both Ress and Adren had worked for the gang most of their lives. They knew too much, making them too valuable to lose. Given the Shar-denn's temper and their promise to kill members who defected, Mayr had increased security around them and the estate in hopes it kept the gang away. The Shar-denn would never take Tash again or anyone he loved—a promise Mayr would die to keep.