Page 30 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Soren

T his was not part of the plan. At no point in the prophecy was Soren meant to nearly die at the hand of a creature before reclaiming her throne—a throne she had been seconds from taking, if not for her sister’s intervention.

The unpredictability of the evening sunk in as Soren thought of the events that had unfolded, ones he had told her nothing about.

She could only assume it was his undoing and would confront such secrecy later that night.

Soren despised being unprepared or thrown off by events outside her control, like when Nyzaia mentioned the state of Isha’s rooms. Soren did not know why Isha would have a shrine to the four realms when she believed the woman was loyal to her alone.

It bothered Soren, not knowing if she had been double-crossed.

Yet Soren focused on the minor details to avoid bigger confrontations; it was why she had left Tajana to clean up her mess with Nyzaia.

Soren recalled the look in Sadira’s eyes when Soren lowered her sword and stepped back, accepting the fate that would befall her sister.

It was Sadira’s fault; she had grown too attached to the usurper.

She paused in the hallway, wondering if a touch of regret would seep into her blackened heart. Nothing.

“Is all going to plan?” asked Talia to her left, returning Soren’s focus to her surroundings as they strode through the vaulted hallways of Antor Castle. Trails of blood marked the stone, highlighting a path to the infirmary.

“Of course it is not going to plan,” Soren snapped.

Talia clenched her jaw, and a pang of what she assumed was guilt pierced her, but only for a moment.

“I apologise.” Soren glanced around to ensure no one had heard her moment of weakness, and the pair continued walking, silent but for their footfall. “It is just—”

“Yes?” Talia asked eagerly.

“Your cover is blown,” Soren sighed. “We have no more close spies remaining near Asteria Castle other than the few servants.” She turned the corner and reached the infirmary. Talia put a hand out to stop her before they entered. From the many voices within, Soren knew it was overcrowded.

“I do not believe you have anything to worry about when it comes to the queen of Vala,” Talia said, her tone hushed. She glanced at the Garridon soldiers, briefly filtering past them.

“How would you know when she has been spending all her time with her commander?” Soren hissed. Talia rolled her eyes.

“The last few months are nothing compared to having known her for years. She does not want power; she never has.” Although Talia tried to reassure her, Soren was not so confident.

She had seen how unchecked Elisara’s power was and how easily the weather changed with her emotions.

Soren would not put it past Elisara to lash out with her power should Soren do anything to anger her.

“The commander is simply a distraction,” Talia finished. “What are the next steps?”

Soren contemplated her answer, wondering how much of the long-term plan to reveal.

“I cannot tell you here,” Soren said at last, nodding to those gathered behind Talia. “There are too many ears.”

The Keres-born beauty spun her head and groaned at the sight of Helena, Vigor, and Vlad at the end of the hallway, marching straight for them.

“I will leave you to deal with that fallout.” Soren laughed humourlessly.

“Find me in the morning. You and Tajana need to debrief before you leave with the Historian.” Soren spun before Talia could protest. Talia would not wish to be far from Soren, having only just reunited.

Yet Soren could not gauge Tajana’s intentions.

Soren had met Tajana and Talia when she was sixteen during her first visit to the mainland.

At such a young age, the first step of her plan was to create a network of loyal spies.

Perhaps she had been na?ve to pick the first two girls she saw, or perhaps some Wiccan blood ran through her after all, and the gut reaction to the pair was a gift from her ancestors.

The girls huddled in an alleyway under a makeshift tent of scrapped fabrics.

Talia had been close to death due to an infection spreading from a wound in her abdomen, inflicted after their final attempt at stealing food from the market.

Part of Soren believed they would have signed their lives away to anyone who had offered them aid, yet the other part felt the odd tie of friendship between them all and knew they would not abandon her.

Soren had taken a vial of healing salve Sadira had made from the island.

While it did not work as quickly as if Sadira had applied it, it worked all the same, and so Tajana promised their service for life—a deal she had signed willingly in blood, as was the old Wiccan way.

A blood tie was said to kill the party who betrayed it.

Nothing suggested it was true, but she thought neither woman dared risk it.

On more than one occasion, Soren questioned if Nyzaia would be Tajana’s breaking point after her friend had lied on countless occasions.

“ She is simply the target!” she promised, but Soren saw how Tajana looked at her on the few occasions they had been in the same room.

Tajana loved Nyzaia, but deciding whether she loved Soren or her life more was up to her.

Soren barely acknowledged the guards as she entered the crowded infirmary but scolded herself afterward.

She was far from winning their favour, and without an army on her side, she was powerless.

Scanning the room, Soren felt the stretch of dried blood on her cheek.

The wound must not be deep if it was drying already, but it would likely scar, knowing her luck.

Her eyes narrowed on the halo of blonde hair near the far window.

Soren watched Sadira for a moment—the gentle movements of her hands as she bandaged the guard on the cot, her genteel smile, and regal posture—she was a perfect fit for the queen of the people.

But Soren would be the queen of the realm.

Sadira navigated the maze of cots, reassuring those who sobbed and begged within them.

Soren froze. Over the sea of heads and bodies, she had not seen Caellum kneeling where Sadira stood.

Soren had left him to the beast, knowing it would kill him.

And yet, she had failed at the last hurdle, all because of her sister’s emotions.

She could not comprehend what had caused Sadira to fall for the usurper, but she saw the look in her eyes, the same look once reserved for Rodik.

There was something different, though—something raw in the way Caellum returned her gaze as he accepted her hand and rose to join her side.

Anger flooded Soren, and she reached them quickly.

Their calm expressions changed the second they noticed her.

Caellum wrapped an arm around Sadira, and Soren noticed blood on the sleeves of her dress.

Soren hesitated. When was she injured ?

“We have nothing to say to you right now, Soren,” Sadira said, and Soren raised her eyebrows. After what happened, she expected the usurper to have plenty to say.

“You do not wish to make plans for the realm or the next steps to aid the people?” she asked, keeping her tone level.

Caellum narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Finding the other half of the talisman,” Soren prompted, glancing to where Caellum’s shirt fell open and exposed the wooden half of what was rightfully hers.

“We need some time, Soren. Allow us the evening,” Sadira said, lowering her head.

“Why?”

“Because we lost a friend,” Caellum snapped. “Because you got our friend taken!” Sadira placed a hand on his arm.

“And how do you surmise that?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“If you had attacked that creature instead of allowing it to approach us, it would not have detoured for Larelle! It would not have taken her.”

“Caellum, please,” Sadira said, always the peacemaker .

“You do not know the hands of fate,” Soren sneered.

“But I know it could have changed the course,” Sadira replied. “She was my only friend.” Tears pooled in Sadira’s eyes, and Soren frowned as a lingering emotion tugged in the back of her mind.

“Must everything be about you?” Soren snapped. “The lord is tasked with finding her.” Soren was not one to store the names of those of no interest to her. “If he cares as much as he says he does, he will find her.”

“As we said, we can talk in the morning,” Caellum said, but he would not command Soren.

“The talisman is on Doltas Island,” Soren said bluntly, forcing the topic of conversation.

“Sadira already told me,” Caellum kept his arm protectively around her sister, and the two women locked eyes.

Sadira raised her chin. “As I said, we can talk in the morning.”

“We will need to travel immediately,” Soren continued.

“Soren!” Caellum shouted. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to their King. Soren stepped forward, reaching for the pommel of the sword. Two guards mirrored her actions from behind Caellum and Sadira, assessing her. “In the morning ,” he finished.

Soren narrowed her eyes. He was not usually so bold. Sadira removed herself from Caellum’s grip and stepped towards her sister.

“Have your wound tended to, Soren, and we will speak in the morning.” Soren heard the pleading in her voice, the same tone she would use when attempting to calm her on Doltas.

Soren glanced around the room; she would not win this argument if she continued to resist. Stepping back, she watched her sister with the man she wished dead and turned to head for her rooms; she had no intention of having the wound seen to.

“And Soren?” Sadira called. Soren paused by the door. “I will be moving rooms for safety.”

She read between the lines of her words.

Sadira did not wish to change rooms in fear of the creatures or to move closer to Caellum.

This was decided after Soren left her to die.

She did not respond, nor did she turn to see the betrayal in her sister’s eyes.

She simply left, as what was the loss of a sister compared to the gain of a throne?

***

She sensed the shadows before she saw them.

They crawled at the corners of her mind, stroking and coaxing her to come out to play and listen to their wisdom.

The same occurred every night she wished to speak to him —the man who had told her of the prophecy at the young age of twelve before her grandmother had.

That was when she first realised he cared more for her than her family did.

He informed her about what he foresaw, including Soren’s part in everything and the realm she would win. The kingdom was hers if she wanted it.

The cloudiness of her vision in her dream state cleared, and the shadows receded to reveal the ruined castle that was her mind: crumbling stone with half-formed walls coated in a mesh of ivy and spiderwebs.

Black smudges remained on the open gaps where the powerful shadows frequently climbed and left a stain in their wake.

The castle felt like home, but Soren was unsure if it was.

She stepped out of the darkness and into the streaming moonlight.

Their usual place. She wondered how her body looked during her dreams and if the shadows seeping through her mind coated her body in the living world, too.

Usually, Soren welcomed them and let them lick her skin as he approached. Not tonight.

“You are angry,” his silky voice called.

Soren said nothing but narrowed her eyes as his outline appeared before the cell bars.

She was forbidden to approach him. “Soren, Soren, Soren,” he said as the shadows caressed her arms, coaxing her coldness to yield.

“How many times must I tell you? Emotions are a weakness. ”

Shadows tickled her cheeks like tendrils mimicking his fingers, attached to arms hidden in the darkness that belonged to a man she trusted so deeply despite never having seen him.

When she was younger, she would beg him to drop his shield and show his face.

He had come close once—a glimpse of dark stubble, a flash of scarred arms—but never since.

As a child, she named him the Lord of Night when he appeared in her dreams. The name had stuck after he refused to provide his proper title, even after all these years.

A shadow licked her wound, but when she batted it away, it wrapped around her wrist and held firm.

“Are you really that self-absorbed to care about a scar?” His voice drew nearer.

“I care that I was not informed of the plan,” she snapped, turning her back on him. “I assume those creatures were your doing.”

“Does it matter if they were my doing or that of my followers?” he asked, and she supposed not. But if the idea was his, she needed to know why he had kept it from her.

“If they are to one day be my followers, then I should know. They should know the creatures spilled my blood.” Shadows tugged Soren back, forcing her to turn and face their owner. “Taking the queen of Nerida will slow things.”

“That was not part of the plan,” the Lord of Night sighed, and she pictured him tapping his foot impatiently.

“So, your followers do not listen to you?” Soren asked. “Or respect you?” She stepped closer, forcing him to step back towards the iron cell he guarded.

“The creatures can be irrational when backed into a corner,” he concluded. He was careful with his words; he always was.

“Do you know where they have taken her?” she asked. The quicker Larelle was returned, the more reasonable Sadira would be. The lord said nothing, and his shadows paused as if they, too, were thinking. He does not know.

“We need to be quicker,” he said, changing the topic. He withdrew from her while the shadows trailed back and forth. “I will not lose this kingdom, Soren.”

He is pacing , she realised.

“Tell me why,” she urged. “Why do you want this kingdom?”

“This again?” he hissed. “Again?” Soren refrained from pushing, having asked endless times before. “Why does it matter when I have promised you will keep your crown?”

Soren stepped forward, wishing to make amends before he left, but the Lord of Night backed away, the shadows completely hiding the cell bar behind him.

“You are disappointing me, Soren. It may be worth keeping my distance for a while, and perhaps when I choose to return, you will have better news.” His voice became distant.

“No, please! Please do not leave.”

“Just do as I ask Soren,” his silken voice returned. “Take the throne, and I will reveal more.”