Page 39 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Soren tried to step around Sadira to look at what would one day be hers.

The opening appeared designed for someone smaller as Caellum tugged the talisman from the tree, grazing his hand.

He unfurled his fingers to reveal the other half of the talisman lay flat on his palm.

The half-moon-shaped piece of wood was paler than most trees, likely carved from deep in the centre of Ithyion’s oldest tree.

Its edge was clean, showing that whoever chopped the talisman had done so with ease.

Vaguely, Soren discerned the burnt engraving of a tree and half of another.

She felt the tug towards it, like an invisible rope urging her forward.

It belonged to her; it was her right. It should be in the hands of a Garridon heir, not this imposter.

Soren wanted to inspect and feel it, channelling the connection to her god and ancestors.

When Soren looked up at the face of the hand who held it, his eyes narrowed as if he sensed her hunger to take it.

Caellum clasped his hand tightly around the talisman and dropped it into a velvet pouch held open by Sadira.

Soren had expected the talisman to repel Caellum’s efforts, but as it dropped into the bag, a gust of wind whipped at Sadira’s hair and cleared her face, exposing the glow in her eyes before the moment passed, and she tied the pouch.

Caellum tucked it inside the right breast of his jacket and wrapped his cloak around him.

The three of them stood in a triangle on the blood of Soren’s family, glancing at each other.

“Well, that was…”

“Easy,” Caellum finished Sadira’s sentence. Anticlimactic was more like it.

“I wonder if the others will gain their halves as easily,” Sadira pondered.

“Perhaps not, especially if they remain in their initial hiding place.” Caellum replied, and silence returned.

Soren felt like an odd piece as she watched the two gravitate towards one another, their arms always touching.

They had built familiarity and trust. Soren looked away to where her wolves patrolled the open expanse.

Feelings are a weakness. She had no time for relationships or friendships with a throne to take.

Soren had felt out of place for as long as she could remember. Why should that change now?

“There are some things I wish to gather from my rooms before we leave,” Sadira declared, leaning into Caellum. She looped her arm through his, and he looked down at her with an emotion Soren had always yearned for from the Lord of Night. Pride.

“I will meet you at the dock before sunset,” Soren confirmed.

When the two passed her, there was no mistaking the caution in Sadira’s eyes as she glanced back over her shoulder.

Soren kept her expression blank until the two disappeared from sight.

Whistling a command, her wolves returned from their patrol, with Seiko leading the group.

He set a slow pace while Varna took the rear and scanned their surroundings.

Soren leaned against the tree and slid until hitting the cold dirt.

She pulled a dagger from her side and hacked off a piece of wood from the nearest root before.

Resting her forearms on her knees, she began carving at it.

The wolves settled around Soren, who huffed as Baelyn and Tapesh curled either side of her like warm blankets against the wind.

“Is this for your benefit? Or mine?” she asked.

Tapesh glanced sideways at her and sighed.

Octavia and Serene huddled in front of her shins but were more intent on cuddling one another than Soren.

Nevertheless, she appreciated the warmth the barrier of her wolves provided.

Varna assumed her usual spot off to the side, sitting and watching as Seiko padded over and mirrored her stance.

Soren smiled at the contrast; white and grey, largest and smallest.

She closed her eyes while her hands worked; she focused on the mess of shadows that made up the Lord of Night in the hope he would appear.

He did not. He had meant it when he said she would not see him for a while.

It was not uncommon. Many times over the years, he had announced his departure before reappearing weeks later, leaving Soren in a state of anticipation, awaiting his next visit.

Soren had hoped this spot under the tree might prompt his appearance.

She recalled the day the wolves had come to her—the same day he had first entered her mind.

She had been thirteen and wild, dashing through the tangled maze of roots and hanging branches.

Soren heard the collective howl of wolves, but instead of feeling scared, she was intrigued and changed her course to find the source.

It was as though the wolves waited for her—a pack to take her in.

All six stood in a row, watching and whining as they wished to step forward, but Varna kept them in check.

Only when the leader approached and sniffed Soren did the other five bound over, fighting to lick her arms. The tree held those memories for her, of the times she fell asleep under the setting sun, only to awake in her dreams and find him.

“Hello, little bird,” were the lord’s first words.

Soren’s mouth twitched at the memory, but when she opened her eyes, she accepted defeat and inspected the carved bird in her hands. Seiko whined, turning his head to stare intently at her.

“You will never leave me, will you?” Soren asked. Seiko padded over, clambering over the other four until he could rest his head on her knee. Her mouth twitched again.

Everyone always leaves.