The Assassin Princess (The Legacy Novels Book 1)

by Blake Rivers

  *

  It was night time, the best time.

  The dark cloud rose from his palms and, flying high, smothering the artificial lights, sending the street into darkness. The only lights remaining were multi-coloured flickers from shaded windows, small red blinks from motorcar dashboards.

  His approach was silent, his boots mute even on concrete as he walked up the driveway and peered in through the front window. The curtains were drawn of course, but a small slither was all he needed, and Adam saw him there with a woman, lounging on the sofa without a care.

  He made his way to the dark fence that separated the back from the front garden, and hopped up and over it with ease. His blade gave a low green glow, lighting his way to the kitchen door. A florescence seeped through the glass.

  The door was unlocked, and he went in.

  The smell of cooked meat filled the air, reminding him that he’d missed many meals, possibly years of them. The kitchen floor was clean and the surfaces clear of clutter. Yes, what a neat man. Holding the blade before him he turned out of the room and into the hallway. The next doorway was lit.

  A voice came from within and Adam froze. “Come on in, son. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Talos leapt from the edge of the forest and touched down at a full gallop, his hooves ripping the earth from beneath him as he sprinted the slope to the meadows. He ran for the hills, feeling his strength return to his old and worn body, feeling his limbs limber up and his muscles flex. He was strong again, full of power and energy; he had a purpose again, and it’d been so long since he’d had a purpose.

  The sun hung over the west like a fireball ready to drop, and with whispered words to the princess, he pushed his power to his horn. “Ami, stop. Hold on to the true you. I’m coming.”

  There was a shiver from the dark woodland, a misty horizon to the north. His crystal stump pulsed.

  *

  “I sleep, and I am back there. I do not dream, but travel somehow, travel back to a shadow. I see it all happen, and sometimes I see other things.” Grace stopped. The three listened. She looked to the girl. “You’ve been there, even if you don’t remember, and whatever you know or dream will be of use. You both have a power, but it’s your own inner self that’ll tell you how best to use it. Go we must, into the Mortrus Lands.”

  Just then the bells rang out in the tower and the library doors swung open. Two Guards entered and Hero and Raven sprung to their feet.

  “Lady Grace, Hero, we are under attack.”

  *

  Guards flooded the courtyard, lining the walls and barring the gates. Weapons were passed and handled, bows strung, swords drawn. The stables were overrun as horses were taken, untethered, and saddled. Ami remained unseen. Slunk down behind the wooden structure, she’d kept out of sight, spying upon them through a hole left by a missing plank. Only one horse now remained, unsaddled, tethered by a makeshift harness.

  It was looking at her, as she looked at it, and despite the chaos around her, Ami raised her hand through the gap to stroke its muzzle.

  “There, there,” she whispered, “don’t you worry on such things. You are beautiful, aren’t you? Yes, and you know it. You know it.”

  Her thoughts took her back to the meadow walks with her mother during the autumn months, where they’d visit the horses there. “Aren’t they beautiful, Ami?” her mum would say, and would lift her up so she could stroke them. They’d shake their massive heads, warding the flies away, and she’d make up names for them, visiting them year after year.

  She refocused on the present as more Guards gathered, metal chinking on metal, scraping on the ground. They were spreading out across the castle, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she was discovered, but there was no way to sneak past them all.

  Or was there?

  The horse pushed its nose through the gap, blowing its lips at her and nodding as if in agreement. She ran her hand along its muzzle and looked beyond it into the courtyard. A lone Guard stood in front of the stables, away from all the others. He was busy inspecting his sword, testing its sharpness with his thumb. He cut himself. Bright-spark. He was about her height and size she thought—a mere boy—sent to Guard a near empty stable. He’ll do.

  The horse backed up and Ami gripped the rotten boards and pulled them free, careful to remove them quietly, discarding them to the side as she crawled through the gap. The stables were shaded and eerie, the sunlight coming through in small shafts, reminding her of the house below, and the man that was—

  The old wood creaked as her feet whispered along the straw-strewn floor. She crept up behind him giving a small tug on his robe. He turned, grey eyes opening wide as her fist met his throat, silencing him. She then brought his head to her knee, knocking him cold and dragging him to the back of the stables. Within moments Ami was dressed in clean, grey robes of the Guard. Her hood was pulled up and she’d tucked her hair into her top, her sword buckled at her side. The still breathing body she hid beneath some straw.

  Casually she walked from the stables and into the courtyard. The hustle was different at its core, and she was pushed from side to side, jostled in a crowd of tall, strong men. Some growled and cursed, while others laughed, holding weapons, swords swinging, bows stretching. Ami continued on regardless, passing as one of them, sauntering between them toward the keep, its front doors now closed and barred. There was, however, a large window on the far side, about half way up the tower. The wall was in shadow there, and if she could climb it, she’d be able to enter unnoticed, far away from the amassed militia.

  Head down, Ami pulled her robes tight and manoeuvred herself to the far left of the battalion, following the tower and its large buttresses round to the side.

  A shiver of green light ran down her body.

  Crouching, Ami scrambled like an insect up the wall and broke through the window into the room.

  Ami.

  She heard the voice call her name as she hit the ground and rolled forward, skidding to a stop on her knees. The trees were dark to her right and the white steps that led to the stone platform were in front of her; the now familiar columns and arches towered.

  Kneeling between the columns was a girl, her long hair flowing either side of her bowed and hooded head—and then only a grey stone wall, a doorway filled with armed men of the Guard. Ami jumped to her feet, her sword ready.

  *

  Talos charged through the Commune Valley, a blur of white only, and jumped the wrecked bridge with ease. On through the mountain pass he sped, up to the city gates where Guards were stationed in great numbers upon the walls, their weapons raised—but he had no time for such foolishness.

  Ami, he thought, pushing with his mind, fight it.

  The unicorn’s stump blazed a bright white flame and his body became luminous, changing into light and passing through the gates as if a ghost. The Guards looked on mystified. He had no interest in them. The flare of the power became solid once more, and his hooves sounded out on the paved road. He broke through the assembled and headed to the castle.

  *

  An explosion rocked through the keep and the library walls shook. Books fell from shelves as stacks tipped and masonry dropped to the mosaic floor, cracking it across a perfect blue sky. Screams echoed through stone walls.

  The hallway was already filled with clouds of grey dust and debris as they emerged, stumbling from the room, coughing and spluttering into their garments, Hero, followed by Raven, Florence and Grace.

  “Dear God,” Hero said as they approached the top of the stairs. “No, please no.”

  Green flame fell, burning everything.

  Men, women, and children ran below, on fire and screaming, dying in smoke filled chaos. Stone and mortar fell in chunks, and Guards fell with them. They hit the floor with an audible crunch, one after another.

  Hero and Florence stood side by side, their blades drawn, peering into the murky depths of hell, and through the torrent of fire Hero saw th
e shadowy figure of Ami high above them, looking down from a blasted hole in the wall. Her face was illuminated, flicking green, her expression blank.

  “She’s not there,” he said to no one, watching her flaming green blade rise and thrust, cutting Guards down, left, right and centre, felling them into flame.

  He brought his own sword up and pointed it toward her, watching the blade flood with purple light. It flashed and shot a bolt of power toward her—but Ami batted it away.

  A ripping came from beside him, and turning he saw Florence raise her sword high over her shoulder, white lightning covering the blade. Forks reached out and hit the walls and floor as she threw the bolt up, aiming it at Ami—but Ami was too quick, blank or not—and having jumped from her ledge, through smoke and dust, she landed in front of them all.

  Green light rippled across her body and her blade raised toward Hero. He stared into her eyes, watching the colours change from green, to brown, to purple, to green, to purple, to brown.

  “Ami,” he whispered, reaching for her, but then Florence struck from behind.

  Hero was thrown backward, blinded in a coloured explosion, a dagger piercing his mind as the back of his head hit stone, and all faded to black.

  *

  It was as if she were channel hopping, only the screen was cinematic, and instead of watching, she was in the thick of the action.

  As an artist alone, it was the colours that appealed the most, and how they flashed a purple, a green, a white, and a blue; different tones and textures, soft green of a thousand blades, warm chestnut, a horse’s coat, mane of charcoal, rough bark, cold, smooth stone.

  The action was fast paced and chaotic as she crossed swords with hooded men who threw their blades to the left, to the right, but never managed to touch her, out-manoeuvred with every thrust and parry. She’d cut and kill them, yet they’d keep on coming. She’d blast them with fire and scatter them with flaming bullets and would almost make it from the room—then she’d be taken down by the girl, who’d push her to the ground and stand over her.

  Ami raised her sword, but the girl lifted her easily and threw her down the steps. Flipping, she rolled, fallen petals sticking to her back, others dancing across the grass. Then on her knees, her sword raised, a shot of fire blew the wall from the room. Debris hailed upon the Guards, killing many.

  She walked to the edge and looked down. A staircase, people shouting, screaming. Ami lifted her blade and let the fire fall. “Burn,” she whispered, and then steel hit steel, and her sword hit the grass. The girl was above her, standing over her, and she knew her suddenly—how could she not? She was Dangerous. She was fighting herself, and the fight wasn’t going so well.

  What was she saying? She tried to listen but the screams were loud, piercing and painful, death falling thick and fast, covering everyone indiscriminately.

  Guards surrounded her, but they were of little consequence now. She turned and struck out, twisted and jumped, dodged the blade and anticipated the moves. Dangerous spoke as she was lifted, flipped, and sent down to the ground, her jaw hitting the steps.

  “…will remember who you are…”

  Would she? What was she talking about?

  “…trust in yourself…”

  Then she saw him. Hero, and beside him the next-girl who she’d take great pleasure in killing. Ami jumped forward and landed in front of him, the smoke and dust dense. Her eyes locked to his, and in them she saw his fear and concern—weakness—yet, for a moment…

  Movement, swift, sure, Ami turned and lifted her blade in time, the explosion throwing her backward.

  A voice, two voices, three.

  Ami.

  “Ami!”

  “…remember…”

  *

  Talos called to her.

  Ami.

  Would she sense him? His horn was in her hand and held the power from both of them, but would it be enough to push the sickness from her veins, from her body and mind?

  He pushed through the throngs of people who greeted him, tried to stop him, the keep now fully in view behind the castle walls, tall, proud and pouring with smoke. Guards again, raising their swords and bows—please! He didn’t slow, but again allowed his body to pass into light, and through the gate, reformed.

  He leapt over horses and men, landing at the open doors of the burning keep. He pushed aside the people, ignored the flames, and galloped to the foot of the stairs where he saw Ami upon her knees, a girl standing over her with a sword to her neck.

  “Ami!” a voice screamed.

  He mounting the stairs two at a time, stopping only as the other girl raised her head.

  His eyes fell to hers and he froze. They flashed a pure white.

  *

  “Ami!” Grace called out. She ran forward but stopped short of the two. Ami was on her knees and Florence stood behind her, a blazing sword of white fire poised at her neck.

  “You were supposed to be the saviour,” Florence whispered, her voice drowned in the noise of panic from below. Her eyes glistened. “You were supposed to be the heir to this land.” Ami’s face was blank, her eyes a teary green, or purple, or brown. She said nothing, but raised a sword that throbbed bright white. The sound of hooves approached and Grace looked over as a hornless unicorn climbed the stairs at a gallop. He froze.

  “Talos,” Florence said.

  Ami leapt to her feet.

  *

  “…remember…”

  Dangerous stood over her, her blade at her throat. She saw her own face reflected back at her, only this Ami was radiant. She’d been toying with her, throwing her about like a ragdoll, all the time knowing that she was the stronger.

  “Remember what?” Ami said. She was down, she was out, she was going to die by her own hand. Why not talk?

  “Remember who you were before Adam, before Hero, before Legacy, before all of it.” She was knelt in the place where she’d first seen the girl, as if in prayer or meditation, the stone arches towering above. To each side was a white column, so much more vivid than it’d ever been before. The stars were gone and the day was bright and warm, all quiet except for their breathing, the stirring of the trees.

  “I know who I am.”

  “Do you?” The blade left her throat and pierced her chest. Ami screamed, and then didn’t, the pain never coming as her body filled with a purple light, and her eyes closed.

  Running through the woods alone, Ami searched for the fairies. She’d looked between branches, had inspected the bark, and had thanked the tree as she removed a piece, placing it in her pocket. She’d sought out the bugs in the dark and damp places, and had asked them if they knew where the fairies lived; none of them knew. It’d been the day after her birthday, and she’d just turned nine. It was warm, the sun white and fierce, lighting through the tops of the trees. She’d danced in that light, jumped from patch to patch on the ground, followed the squirrels and rabbits, and had gotten herself lost. But, no, Ami hadn’t cried. Instead she’d sat by a brook, her fingers touching the gentle flow of water and had asked the fairies to find her, to show her the way home. It’d been then that small purple lights had lifted from the strands of her hair and had flown around her head, spinning faster and faster. She’d stared up at them, looking all round her as the light spun and spun and shot off through the trees, leaving a trail of violet light for her to follow. She’d found her way home, and had found them. The fairies had been with her all along.

  The power had been with her all along, locked in a long forgotten memory of a magical childhood.

  She shivered, feeling sick, dizzy, her body now dripping with sweat, but the fire deep within would not be quenched. “No,” she said as she stood and backed away from next-girl’s raised sword and swung at the castle wall. Her blade pierced the stone, leaving a hole that rippled and began to widen.

  Looking up, Dangerous lit a fire and Ami fell to the floor.

  *

  Out of the darkness came the grey, and out of the grey came the flames. T
hey burned high and hot, and Hero knew he was back.

  “Hero of the Guard, the time has come for all things to come together.”

  He saw her eyes sparkle in the shadow of the hood, and the brightness of the fire outshone the daylight around them.

  “Come together?” he asked.

  “Yes. North to the flow, below, below.”

  Part Five

  The Assassin Princess

  “there is no other world. nor even this one. what, then, is there? the inner smile provoked in us by the patent nonexistence of both.”

  — e. m. cioran

  “being a princess isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  — princess diana

  Chapter Seventeen

  He shuddered at the sound of the voice.

  Crossing the threshold, Adam entered the room and turned to face the man on the sofa. He was young, not much older than himself, his hair short and brown—almost black—his eyes the same as Ami’s. The woman was nowhere to be seen, had obviously left quickly, perhaps hiding on the upper floors, waiting it out. The disruption caused by the prodigal son’s return was to be great. But something was already wrong. His father had known he was coming. He was expected.

  “Please,” the man said, “take a seat.”

  “No. I’ve come to—” His eyes wandered to the mute television in the corner. He knew these boxes, had seen them in other houses. They were hypnotic and they glared, and for the first time in many years he felt a dull pain pulse behind his eyes. “I’ve come to take you away, Father.”

  “I’m sure you have,” he said, so calm, so collected. “And have you now found a way back into Legacy?”

  “What do you know of it?” Adam didn’t like this at all. There was a knowing smile upon his father’s lips and he wanted to cut the smile right from his cheeks. The blade shifted in his hand, but he didn’t move.