The Assassin Princess (The Legacy Novels Book 1)

by Blake Rivers

  Adam wanted her to take it and all of its savage beauty and open it up to his malice. There was part of her that wept for it, yet she was to continue on and into the city. She had to. She wanted to…

  Hero’s horse appeared on the road again, heading south, branching onto a new road. Crowds gathered to it like flocks of birds, and she found she could listen to each individual voice if she wished. She grasped her sword and felt the power run back and forth from it. She’d make her move while the Guard’s attentions were elsewhere. The crowds cheered again, and Ami saw the horse now at the impressively large castle, far up above her. Now was the time. A wind blew strong from the south, fanning her hair out as she made for the jump.

  Her feet left the mountain, and in seconds she’d landed on the wall, the Guards only yards from her with their backs turned. She ducked down, and using all her stealth—feeling the power within—she crawled toward them.

  The sun cast deep shadows across the ramparts and Ami kept to them, her bare knees scrubbing along the rough stone unseen. Two Guards talked and shouted to others below, inside the walls.

  “Everything will change now,” one on the wall said, “and we’ll be rewarded, I bet anything.”

  “Rewarded?” a voice from inside the wall shouted. “You think you deserve something, do you? For doing your duty?”

  “Of course,” said the first. “We’ve been holding this city together, and this princess will be extremely happy with us, you mark my words. She had a favourable look.”

  “A favourable look?” the second man on the wall scoffed. “You hardly saw her but for an instant. And where’s Kane? I saw Raven, Hero, the princess, but I never saw Kane.”

  Ami was close now. A step backward and both men would fall over her. She gripped her sword and pulled it, the blade singing a whisper beneath their banter. One looked behind and down.

  “Oh my—”

  Ami launched forward, her blade fully unsheathed and thrust in an arc, cutting the air and the Guard’s throat. Before his blood could hit the floor she spun, the blade cutting through the second Guard, his head hitting the stone with a dull thump, his body landing upon the other.

  She sheathed her sword, knelt by the bodies, and closed her eyes.

  “What was that?” the voice from below called out. “I didn’t quite catch that? Brute?”

  Her breaths were even as she listened to the movements of men, counting them. Footfalls on soft ground, more on stone: Two. A third on steps, how far? A metre to the left.

  She opened her eyes.

  A hooded head rose from the shadowed passage. “Brute?”

  Ami leapt to the left, kicking the Guard’s jaw as she landed, his neck breaking with a loud snap. His body crumpled against the stairwell wall.

  The sound had been loud enough to rouse the last two on watch. She heard their light steps as they drew their swords, their shadows merging.

  Re-drawing, she stepped forward, the wind breathing hollow across the ramparts, a voice calling her from afar; she looked out to the black trees. The sky had shed its tint and had been inked a deep blue, the sun far off in the elsewhere.

  “How did I get here?” The sound of her own voice startled her, and looking to her right she saw the sheltered walkway and the roses; she reached out and touched them once more.

  “Why am I here? Where is here?” Her whispers were to the roses, but her eyes went back to the woodland. She walked back out toward them. Leaves shivered, branches swayed. The arches behind loomed unseen but felt. Something had changed.

  She reached the edge of the woods and peered in but could see nothing.

  Ami.

  Her name was called upon a whisper deep within. She raised her sword and flattened against the wall. Two more Guards were slumped. She wiped her blade on their robes and sheathed it, crouching as she made her exit into Legacy.

  *

  Adam had stopped watching her progress and instead paced the room, his sword in his hand, slicing through the air.

  It had been her. His mother. She’d looked out at him from the flames.

  “But how could she?” he shouted to no one. “She has no power.” Was that true though? Adam had never thought about it.

  The last time he’d seen her was the night before he’d left, when she’d been just her husband’s wife. Lady Grace, the wife of the lord. She’d been nothing more than a stooge, a trophy—an old trophy, even then—and she’d never shown the slightest indication—

  “No.” He paced in darkness, the fire gone, the window shuttered. “She didn’t see me, I can’t be seen. I am the shadow that others fear, I am the pain that others suffer. It’s all his fault, his fault,” he raged. “If I could get hold of him, I would—” His pacing stopped as he thought about the possibilities. “Why can’t I now I know where to look, where to find—?”

  It was the perfect revenge, and he’d probably kill the old woman too anyway—it wasn’t like he owed her anything. All would die, and they’d all pay. Why should he get away from vengeance?

  Resolved, Adam walked to the window and threw back the shutters, slicing between the panes. The glass rolled back like paper, revealing a light that poured out into the room, chasing the shadows to the furthest corners.

  He stepped over the threshold and into the rip.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “The images are weak,” he said, “shrouded in shadow.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” the other whispered, “but can you follow them?”

  “I believe so.”

  The two unicorns stood at the riverbank, their heads bowed together with Xavier’s long and majestic horn touching the broken stump of the other. He watched faint memories play for him from behind closed lids, and saw the struggles endured at the hands of Adam of Legacy; he saw the fate of sweet Ami.

  “She was captured, but whole?”

  “Yes,” the unicorn said, eyes shut tight as he relived it all, “but not totally taken. She didn’t harm me, but her intentions were unsure.”

  “She is strong though,” Xavier whispered. “Stronger than Adam knows, stronger than she herself knows.”

  “Yes. Others would not have lasted a fraction of the time. This girl is different.”

  Power passed between them then, the unicorn gaining strength, healing. In his mind Xavier witnessed the great escape, foolhardy as it was, and the paralysing break of the horn. He saw the fall through the layer, and the unicorn’s arrival upon the marshy forest floor at the edge of the Madorus Lands. Xavier had found him there.

  Finally, he broke the connection and pulled away. The unicorn’s tale had been told and his life would sustain, though his horn’s stump still fluxed, incomplete.

  “My family, my Florina?”

  Xavier shook his head. “I don’t know of Florina’s fate, and your young ones are grown. Your arrival here is out of time and place, and yet you hold the most important information.”

  The unicorn shook his head, turning to the water. The forests on either bank were calm, serene. Birds chirped high up and far off; a kingfisher braved the fast flowing waters, dipped in, rose, and disappeared into colour and shade. Alas, it wasn’t serenity the unicorn felt, but sorrow.

  “I’m a fool and a failure. I failed my family, my beloved. I failed the princess, and a whole land of people who’ll now be destroyed.”

  “On the contrary,” Xavier said, “you’ve provided me with the most valuable piece of the puzzle.” He walked alongside the unicorn, and nudged him gently. “Do not despair.”

  “How? How have my failures been of value?”

  “Your loss is the greatest gain here, the loss of your horn.”

  “It shames me,” he said.

  “No, it doesn’t. Not only did you lose it bravely and in helping another, but you lost it to the one person who’ll need to use it.” He paused and walked around to stand on his other side, pointing his horn westward and across the river.

  In his mind trees became a blur and the distance was quickly travelled
. The hills of Planrus rose and fell, the fort already gone; the valley and its broken bridge and the grey mountains of Edorus soared by. At last came the mountain city, and Xavier’s focus became clear as his journey slowed.

  She was inside the city. High above her, Hero had arrived at the castle gates.

  “It’s already begun,” he said, “the events that will lead to the destruction of all.” He turned to the unicorn. “The gift of your horn will allow Ami to see her true self. She gave you her power, free of Adam’s twisted evil, and in turn your horn provides her with yours. She’s infected, but her sword—your horn—will seek to heal her, and soon she’ll begin to lose her grip on things. Here you must intervene, Talos.”

  The unicorn raised his head proudly. “What can I do?”

  “Ride to Legacy and call out to her. Your horn will connect you as Adam’s sword connected us unwittingly to him. You can send her power through that connection to clear her hazy mind. Be there when she finally falls. She can’t be allowed to fall too far.”

  The unicorn nodded. He was ready to help the princess who’d freed him, ready to fight the man who’d destroyed him. Xavier nodded in return and stooped low to the water. As his horn touched the surface, large rocks emerged to create a path. The unicorn placed one hoof forward and looked back.

  “My Lord, if I should fail—”

  “You’ll not, I know it,” he said.

  Without another word the unicorn set off, bursting into full gallop, bridging the river and disappearing into the forest. Xavier looked upstream to the north where the wind stirred the trees, and then retreated back into Solancra.

  *

  The moment the three dismounted, Grace realised something was wrong. Hero was the first down, followed by Raven, and then the girl who was not Ami. The girl stayed close to the horse as the other two approached.

  They were tired and worn, their faces marred with dark smudges, their robes ripped and burned. Hero was cut, the blood dark and tacky on his skin.

  Grace eyed the shrouded figure upon the horse. A fallen Guard.

  It wouldn’t be long before the people started to realise that their celebrations were premature. The look on Hero’s face would spread like wildfire, and the whole city would erupt in mass hysteria—and that always led to violence in Legacy. She signalled for the Guards, Bain and Claw, to take charge of the horse, and directed Hero, Raven, and the girl to follow her across the courtyard.

  Many hands were gathered to welcome the heir, but Grace hushed them and shooed them away, continuing up the steps and into the hall, then on and up the staircase. The carpeted hallway dampened the voices from below, as muted excitement continued to grow and flourish; the people could barely contain themselves, and Grace felt terribly sad for them.

  Past the tapestries she led the weary travellers, through two large doors to the right and into a private library. She closed the doors once all had entered.

  It was in this library she’d once taught her handpicked students, tutoring them in the history of the lands, the details of their own legacies. It was a vast room, three floors high, furnished in varnished oak and mahogany with bright steel and polished brass. The ground floor was laid with mosaic tesserae that conjured pictures of mountains and valleys that threaded and weaved in blues, reds and gold between the stacks. Books of all descriptions were packed within: fictions and poetry, diaries and ledgers, all private collections of lords past, leather-bound, some pristine, others the worse for wear. Scattered here and there were comfortable reading chairs, and at the far end of the room was a table of solid oak, rather imposing and obvious in its stately importance. It was there that Grace led them, past the tens of shelves, hundreds of books, paintings and portraits. She seated herself at the head while Hero and Raven took chairs on the right, Florence opposite on the left.

  “Where is Ami?”

  Hero gave a deep sigh and lowered his hood, raising his eyes. “Princess Ami has fallen in with Adam.”

  “Tell me,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her, “tell me, Hero, exactly what has happened.”

  He shook his head in resignation, and told her everything.

  He started with Ami’s painting of the Solancra Valley, and carried on through their meeting with Xavier, the attack of the birds, their journey to the fort, and the loss of Ami to Adam. He ended the account with their flight through the tunnel, and the certainty that Ami was on her way to the city.

  “She is totally changed,” he said, “no longer the bewildered girl knowing nothing of Legacy, but a powerful and corrupt adversary. Adam has worked his power well, and all may be lost.”

  Grace listened, taking in the whole tale. And so it was that her son would avenge himself upon them, twisting their last hope of prosperity and peace into their own destruction.

  “I’ve also been having visitations,” Hero continued, and went on to explain each one, and how things had come to pass as the stranger-girl had said. “And Florence has joined us here, for however long here remains. She is powerful, though a mystery even to herself.”

  Florence nodded, but seemed distracted, as if mention of her own predicament was much beside the point. “Ami is probably right at this moment entering the city,” she said, “and we should be ready for her.”

  Grace said, “Hmm,” and turned back to Hero. “Tell me, Hero, what did this stranger-girl look like?”

  “It’s hard to say as she was obscured at all times by the flames between us. Her hair is dark and long, and she is hooded on every occasion—”

  “Much like the dress of the Guard?”

  “Yes.”

  Grace thought of the other place and something sparked in her memory, something of today’s visit, something she needed to remember…the girl who’d touched the roses, who’d peered through windows, who’d knelt between the columns in hooded robes and set a fire alight.

  Back to Florence, Grace considered her without addressing her, looking her over. She was an average young woman, athletic and healthy, yet there was something familiar about her… Her eyes were strong, brave, but solitary and sad.

  Hero was watching the exchange closely and Grace sensed a fondness there, reluctant though it was. But the girl’s sadness wasn’t for him. She pursed her lips, feeling her wrinkled skin tighten around her mouth, and when she next spoke her voice was barely a whisper.

  “May I touch your hand, young lady?” She reached out across the table, her thin fingers bridging the chasm between them. Florence waited for a moment, staring at her, and then offered her hand in return. Their fingers touched and Grace fell into darkness. Blue light moved between branches, behind trunks, the silence of a dead wood screaming and shouting. Shadows shifted, the gap of day fading away. Then the table, the three, the musty-sweet smell of the room and the books within. Her fingers laced with the girl’s.

  “Beware the Mortrus Lands, beware,” she whispered, words stolen from another’s breath. “North to the flow, below, below.”

  Florence whispered in reply, her eyes locked to Grace’s, “Danger in light, blue and glow.” Then together, “Many go in, one must go.”

  Grace pulled her hand from Florence as if it burned, her eyes wide and staring. The girl knew. She’d been there.

  “Lady Grace, are you alright?” Hero leaned forward, but she waved him back.

  “I’m fine Hero,” she said, though she wasn’t sure that she was. It was a shock to hear those words out loud after so many years. To hear them from her own mouth was something, but from the mouth of another? “I’m fine, just give me a moment.”

  She sat back in the chair and gazed up and around, looking at the walls, the books, the shelves, everything and nothing, thinking back to the other place, when it had been more than a nightly peek; when it had been survival.

  The girl’s eyes darted, frantic. She stood only to sit again, wiping her hand constantly against her thigh.

  “What was that?” Raven asked. “Was it a poem?”

  “Yes,” Hero said.
His eyes passed between Florence and Grace. “A poem. I read it once, here in this very library.”

  “Well, what does it mean?”

  “It’s a warning of some kind,” Hero replied, his voice quiet, “about the Mortrus Lands.”

  Grace nodded, bringing herself back to the gathered. She reached across to Florence who jumped, flinching back. “It’s okay,” she said, “it won’t happen again. Please?” She lay her hand upon the table, as before, palm up and open.

  Florence swallowed and slid her hand forward across the oak and into her hand. The effect was immediate and Florence calmed, her eyes closing, reopening with a deep breath. When all seemed settled once more, Grace pulled back and sat up straight.

  “Yes,” she said, “it’s a warning, and in its entirety, it goes like this:

  Beware the Mortrus Lands, beware,

  North to the flow, below, below,

  Danger in light, blue and glow,

  Many go in, one must go.

  “Short, and not so sweet,” she said. “Though it was once longer, I suspect, but the verses have long been lost. The page you read from as a boy, Hero, was fragile and loose in the book, and the only page to have survived from a much older volume.”

  She looked at each of them in turn.

  “Lady Grace,” Hero said, “what do you know of the Mortrus Lands? My guide suggested that you may know more than you once told me.”

  “And she was right,” Grace said, “and that is where you must now travel. You must go to the Mortrus Lands.”

  *

  The way forward was not certain.

  Ami looked to the left from beneath the shadowy alcove to the main road that swooped outward against the city wall. It cut into the mountainside, spiralling round and round the mountain until it branched off at the peak, to the castle high above her, a symbol of a dynasty done and dead, a dynasty that ended with her.