The Assassin Princess (The Legacy Novels Book 1)

by Blake Rivers

  The firelight passed over his dark form, his green eyes focussed on Ami’s. She was drawn into them, emerald flames that showed her a mountain city, a populous walking slanted roads, white stone houses and a castle upon a lonely peak.

  “When I was younger, I played with the other children, adventuring through the woods and fields, across the climbs of our mountain home—but I always knew I was better than them, that one day I would rule over everything I saw. I was my father’s son, after all, and therefore the heir of Legacy…so I believed. I’d walk the city streets alone, my head held high as I inspected the magic my father had bestowed upon the ordinary people: fields of flowers flowing down the mountainside, wondrous colours to inspire; waterfalls that sprung from the rocks, liquid crystal that sparkled like stars and tasted divine.

  “It was my city, and I was its prince—but that was when I was so very young, growing up in magical ignorance.”

  He paused, the images of a lone child replaced in Ami’s mind by those of crowds lining streets, a parade of flags waving, cheering, music plucked and strummed.

  “By the time I was twelve, I’d begun to watch my father more closely; how he would walk the streets, holding out his hand to crowds, praising the children that were not his kin, giving them blessings, giving their mothers the wink of fortune. There were miracles for the masses, blessings for everyone except me. I’d started to realise that my hopes and dreams were faltering. Everything I’d assumed was wrong. My time wasn’t coming. I was only an honorary servant, unabashedly neglected, and beginning to doubt my regality and my heirdom.

  “When I finally asked my mother, ‘When will my time come, Mother?’ she told me quite plainly, ‘The heir of Legacy will never be born of Legacy. The heir of Legacy will come from another layer.’ And so it was true. I was only a neglected son, a lost soul who should have been regal, but belonged nowhere.”

  The fire behind her crackled and spat, but Ami’s eyes were blinded, filled only with the shining green orbs and the pale images they showed her.

  “I now questioned all around me. My father, the showman, spreading love and goodwill to all, building a kingdom for an heir that wasn’t me. I’d have to stand by and watch as all he created passed to another, would have to listen to him talk of building a legacy for his son to inherit, knowing he didn’t mean me.

  “A foolish man with a foolish neglect, for as time passed I realised that the power he wielded was not his alone. I had power also.”

  Adam’s body preened with green light and Ami slunk into the chair away from him, the rose crushed in her fisted palm, a thorn piercing her skin. It hurt enough for her gaze to fall from him, and the moment it did, the dangerous feeling inside increased. When she looked back to him, she felt the strength to resist his will building. Whose dream was this? Whose mind? If it were hers, could she not take control?

  She continued to listen.

  “I took to wandering the lands outside of the city, riding off into the hills, forests, and mountains. I stole horses from the castle stables and visited dark places I’d never been, deep in the hills of the Planrus Lands. I practiced with the power I had and found that through my seething anger and building hatred, I could kill at will. I killed just to watch death happen, to watch animals squirm and fall. Torturing them slowly, I watched the life drain from them.

  “I experimented. What more could I do? It was addictive and felt good. While my father held the hands of women and children, shook the hands of men and boys, I was out in the world destroying as I wished. Life was nothing. My father erected statues, revelling in the knowledge that one day his heir would come, while I walked the rough paths of valleys, the grass turning brown beneath my tread, the trees withering and catching ablaze at my command.”

  Ami saw the death, the senseless destruction, and dangerous fought against his gaze, trying to escape and pull away, yet she was enthralled at the same time—such power he held—did she hold the same power?

  “I was hungry for more and was set on taking Legacy from my father. I was so much more powerful than him, it would be easy. I entered the castle, entered his chambers. I challenged him. ‘Father, give me the land!’ I’d said, and raised my hand to him, threatening him with my power. He threw me with his power, defeating me and my weak effort. I was too injured in body and pride to retaliate.

  “He ordered me away and out of the castle, my anger and embarrassment so great that I made to leave the city. The Guard was dispatched to bring me back. I received no punishment and the matter was forgotten as if it had never happened. Even my most devious deed, my planned rebellion, was insignificant to my father. My fate was sealed and my hatred simmered. I was the rightful heir, and he was not going to deny me my birth right!”

  Adam’s voice rose to a shout as he leaned toward Ami again, gnashing his teeth. She smelt his breath, a hot whiff of rot. The light shifted in the room, the blaze behind growing large, the shadows longer. Adam stood and passed her, silhouetted against the now empty chair.

  “A few years later, when the old man left to die, I decided I’d kill him and the heir who emerged, and take Legacy for myself.”

  Ami’s chair swung round to face him, his hands on the arms of it. He took her shoulders, his grip cold, skin tacky, and pulled her up to face the blank window that looked out at nothing. The more she looked at her own reflection though—her dark hair flowing over her shoulders, her skin a milky white—the more she saw beyond. Fading into view, like the cut scene of a movie, she saw the figure of an old man, stooped, stumbling, heading down the stone steps of the castle keep. Closer to the glass, she was able to watch him walk the spiralled roads down to the large gates that guarded the city. He looked back for one last glance, the lights of the city reflected in his eyes, and then he slipped away, unnoticed.

  “Well,” Adam said, “not quite unnoticed.” He pointed again to a dark shadow that followed. It was Adam, quiet and stealthy, his lithe and thin body slipping from the city in pursuit. “I followed his steps from a distance, using my power to track him exactly. I wanted to be sure he thought himself alone for his last walk to the Mortrus Lands. The first night he rested in long grass off the mountainous path, and used the sceptre to make a comfortable shelter, a hovel. I crouched behind rocks, listening to him, hearing his rasps and gasps.”

  Ami saw this from the window also, and as the sun rose across the hills, she recognised her father—though much older—with a white beard, only wisps of hair left on his head. His skin was grey, his eyes bloodshot and tired. He was wrinkled, thin, frail. It tore at her heart to see him so near to the end.

  Adam reached out and placed his hand on her arm. A glow of green reflected in the glass and then was gone. “A few hours only and then he was off again, slowly making his trek with only the power keeping him alive for the final stretch. I tracked him step for step, ready to slaughter him and any heir that came to take Legacy from me.” A thick forest hid Adam, the very same she’d walked through only hours before. A faint memory, a man in a cloak, calling her name. “The foliage hid my face in shadows, my power cloaking my presence. Soon enough the old man made it to the edge of the Mortrus Lands, and I sprung upon him.”

  Adam drew near to Ami, placing his hand around her waist. His breath made her want to gag. Her eyes were fixed on the window, watching the dark man walk up behind his father and place his hand on his shoulder.

  Then the window went blank, and there was nothing more.

  Adam looked into her eyes and she felt a battle for control once more. “The next thing I knew, I was in the mountains, alone. Not the mountains of Edorus, but mountains far, far away. I was on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the raging sea. It was night and the waters were the blackest shade of stygian black that could ever be; the constant roar of the waves filled my senses. Where was I? How did I get there? The cliff was a sheer drop to the stormy waters, and only a few steps across—but it seemed I had one saviour. To the side of the mountain was a shining object. It glowed white in the da
rkness, a torch so that I may see, and so much more.

  “It was the crystal horn of the unicorn, my father’s sceptre. I took hold of it and it filled me with shocks of absolute power, the purest power. I felt my spine strengthening, my muscles filling out and tightening. I was compelled to turn to the mountain and thrust the sceptre into the shelf. A flash, a crash, and rocks cascaded past me and into the sea, breaking from the mountain. A castle formed, a dark castle to rival Legacy’s. The tower was high above me, touching the stars.” Adam’s eyes revealed the dark structure, its arches and turrets, burning torches welcoming. “I tried to travel back to Legacy, but I was unable to go back. Each attempt made found me back where I’d started from. I’d see the mountains of Edorus, the tunnel pass deep through the rock—but each time I went to cross the bridge, I arrived back at the dark castle.

  “So instead I explored the Solancra Valley, and there I’d spy on the unicorns as they pranced and flounced. I wanted to kill them, wanted to make them suffer for their happiness, but they were too protected, too powerful. Instead I transformed the sceptre into a sword and used it on the wilderness to destroy beauty and hunt wild animals. I spent hours alone, learning new magic, dark and deadly. I created visions of my father and struck him down, again and again. Had my father been killed? Where was the new heir, and why couldn’t I enter Legacy? I fashioned a way to look across the land, into flames of power from a grate not unlike the one in this room.” Ami looked to the fire and into the flames. They turned green, and within them, she saw the images of a city in chaos: an army of Guards quelling burnings and riots in the dark; an old woman crying for her lost husband, lost son, and lost heir. “An heir never arrived, and the city ate itself alive.”

  He lowered Ami back into her seat and turned it again to face the chair he took for himself. The light in the room turned orange once more.

  “The idea of the layers that all lords described interested me greatly, and I mused on them for many a year. In all those years, my anger never abated. How had my father gotten away? How had he slipped from my grip? How had I ended up with the sceptre, the powerful unicorn horn?

  “I picked up the sword and examined it.

  “The metal was perfect—long, thin, curved, and sharp. I only had to swing it for food to appear from nothing, for water to spring forth from the dry earth, for fire to touch the wicks of candles.

  “I discovered I could enter a layer in the same manner by slashing a rip into the air, into the very fabric of the layer. The rip would open a pure white, flooding the room with stars and ribbons, as if blood seeping from a wound. Stepping into the rip, I could travel anywhere I wished within my own layer—except Legacy, from which I still remained expelled—and any other layer in existence. And so a new era began as I searched for my father, stealing into random layers, random realities.

  “What I found in each is too vast to explain, but suffice to say it was akin to stumbling into a dark room—I didn’t know where to look for him.”

  “Why could you not return to Legacy?” Ami asked, the images fading and her sense of self returning fully.

  “Indeed, the most quizzical of conundrums, and the point where this tale now turns to you, Princess Ami, my sister, the heir of Legacy, daughter of my father.”

  Chapter Six

  The storm worsened as rain cut across the hills like blades, the sharp wind lifting and wailing in the night; bellies of black clouds flickered a dull green as a fork struck out, hitting the ruins.

  Below the surface, the sound boomed like thunder, waking the three men from troubled dreams. Firelight danced across the walls and floor, playing the rafters above. Sounds of running water came from the stairwell, and from closer, the muffled sound of struggle.

  Hero looked to Ami and crawled over to her, Kane and Raven joining him.

  “What’s wrong with her, Hero?” Raven asked. “Is she dreaming?”

  “This is more than a dream,” he said. Ami lay on her back, shaking from head to foot. Her eyes were closed, but from her pursed lips came a murmuring. She was sweating, feverish. How had this happened? Hero’s eyes darted through the room—to every shadowy corner—but there was no one there. He looked back down to the princess, sweeping her hair from her damp forehead. Her lips twitched as words escaped that he couldn’t understand. “Hold on,” he said, and then looked to Raven. “Get something for her head.”

  “This is Adam’s witchcraft,” Kane said.

  Raven gathered their sheets together and laid them beneath her head as it snapped from side to side. “How did he find us?”

  “I don’t know,” Hero said, peering down at her. “He must have followed us.” He wet the edge of his robe from his flask and wiped her forehead. “Ami, can you hear me?”

  “Maybe the birds were poisonous?” Kane said, but Hero didn’t think so. The scratches and claw marks looked clean and without infection.

  “We could take her back to Legacy tonight,” Raven suggested. “Brave the storm?”

  Hero shook his head. “The storm is getting worse and we’d be open to attack, near on defenceless against a powerful adversary.” He shifted, looking around the dark cavern again. The far end lit with a green flash and thunder rumbled above. The flow of water from the steps was now a constant, flooding the floor. “The man has power far beyond our comprehension, far beyond anything we’ve ever seen.”

  “Maybe he’s here? How can we possibly know?”

  Hero wiped Ami’s brow again, staring up at Kane. “We’re protecting the princess as best we can, and though we may have overestimated our effectiveness, we’re the only protection she has.”

  There was another flash, a clap of thunder, the sound of the wind between fallen walls skimming the top of the stairwell with a haunting howl. But there was something else, and Hero heard it. It floated beneath the wind, a melody closely disguised and yet separate.

  “What is that?” Kane cocked his head to listen as the wind died down, leaving Raven to cover Ami’s shivering body.

  Hero held his finger to his lips. He recognised the harrowing sound, the soft, tribal voice. She was singing for him.

  “Stay here,” he said. “Don’t leave her, or follow me. Stay en guard.” He got to his feet and drew his sword, listening to the soft, lonely voice somewhere above them, out in the night.

  He walked into the open chancel, his footfall an echo, his eyes roaming the pews, the wooden beams, the eroded faces and painted statues; the rain cascaded the steps in front of him, the sound constant, gentle and serene. She was up there, but as the room flashed with green again, the triple flicker reflected in the water, he also knew Adam was there too. They were both above, and with Ami behind in unknown sufferance, he knew he had to climb the steps; one or the other would find him, or both.

  His boots sank into the puddle of water, the ripples exploding outward in warped orange, and then sudden green. The wind rose again and called into the night, and below it, as before, the sweet voice, a mournful melody, calling to him. He remembered the moment he’d heard it before, along with the smell of sulphur and burned wood—and as it was, the calm before the storm.

  *

  It’d been an early morning and the mist that’d covered the distant horizon of hills had disappeared with the rising sun, the harsh breeze sharp against his skin as he stood upon the ramparts of the city walls. He’d been watching the sun rise in the east, piercing its rays between the spaces of jagged mountains. The city was behind him, its wide roads lined with buildings that spiralled up to the castle at its peak where his Guards had at last retired to until the morrow.

  The previous night’s struggles had been longer than most, with even more riots and fires. People called for the heads of others, and what did it ever matter? Each night, Hero fought for his land, against his people and for his people; each morning he prayed for hope and sanity, restoration of order and prosperity.

  His life’s path had been chosen for him long before he’d ever been born, and he’d joined the rank
s of the Guard at just fifteen, eventually becoming captain, with a duty to guard the city from outside threats, inside insurgence, and to govern the city in temporary stead of the lord. Of course, throughout his whole life, there had been no lord.

  Hero had heard tell of the peace under Lord Graeme, how benevolent a ruler he’d been, and how the lands had flourished, but oh, how the city had fallen in just thirty years.

  Now, people tore the city apart each night. Masked, cloaked, and hooded, they’d hunt each other in packs, fighting against the Guard, against each other—anarchy had overtaken reason and the city was in chaos, as it had been for as long as Hero had ever known.

  Men, women, and children were beaten and killed, buildings razed to the ground, and though the Guard fought to protect the city, it was its very people that were beaten one night, only to burn the next. At the dawn of each new day, each man was a kinsman—a blacksmith’s apprentice, a stable boy, a dressmaker—and what was Hero to do?

  Hero closed his eyes and listened to a sweet, soft voice that floated to him from somewhere, carried on the wind. Was it from the city? The sound was close and impossible…

  He was no longer alone.

  The girl sat a ways away, cross-legged in the centre of the ramparts, hooded and cloaked, her long dark hair against her chest in streams. In front of her was a smouldering cairn of wood that burst into flame. The day began to darken.

  Hero approached, sword in hand. The cold stone walkway was gone from beneath him, replaced by a forest floor strewn with pine-needles. The transition was seamless and spinning round to find his city, Hero found only trees. In the distance he heard a rumble of thunder, and in the air he smelt fire and rain. He walked to the flames as they rose higher, hiding a girl behind.

  “This is a strange magic,” he said as the sweet, tribal melody came to an end, leaving only the crackling of wood between them.