Page 74 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Soren

T hey were ruining the Lord of Night’s plan, but did Soren even know his plan anymore?

Her armour clinked as she paced the palace gardens, unsure why her feet had led her here, surrounded by plants she had never seen on Doltas or in Garridon.

Why can I not stop moving? Too much whirled in her brain: the others fiercely defending Kazaar, the discussions of Sonos and Sitara, and the letter.

Soren thought it absurd that the others would sacrifice so many for one man. Caligh.

Is that your name? Is it you? Soren thought the similarity in the general’s tone was no coincidence.

Watch for the dark one that will bring suffering to all.

The memory of the lord’s shadows entered her mind, shrouded in darkness.

Dark one. Soren was confused as to why the lord had kept things from her and kept the final lines of the prophecy secret.

Her thoughts felt foreign, and her body felt lucid.

Laughter sounded from the other side of the wall from the public gardens.

Would the lord return to her tonight? What would she say when she had failed his requests?

Had she become lax in his absence and lowered her guard for these people?

The birds chirped overhead to begin their evening flight.

What if I kill them both now? Would that be enough for him?

Nearby, a heavy door slammed shut. Soren could sneak into their rooms at night and slit their throats.

That could work. The birds chirped again, mixed with the sound of footsteps.

“Get out of my head!” Soren screamed, punching the low wall of the fountain until blood splattered from her knuckles. “Get out!”

A hand gripped her shoulder, and Soren spun, reaching for her dagger. Panting, she held the blade to the neck of the man bold enough to sneak up on her.

“Woah! Easy!” Sir Cain said in his rough accent.

He raised his hands to show he was unarmed.

Soren remained still, with the dagger poised beneath the ginger scruff on his neck.

She scanned his wide eyes for ill intent but found nothing.

Her breathing eased. He is unarmed; he would not attack you.

He is a man of honour, unlike you. Soren lowered her hands.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, and Sir Cain raised his eyebrows.

“Did you just apologise?”

Soren scoffed. “Do not get used to it.” Sir Cain looked her up and down, pausing on her bloodied hand. She wiped it on the thin bit of fabric visible between her body armour and legs. “Do not look at me,” she mumbled, turning from him. Soren wiped her face with her hands. Sleep. She needed sleep.

“I was asked to find you,” Sir Cain said gruffly. Soren sighed and tilted back her head before composing her features.

“What for?” she asked.

“Plans are in place. The rulers leave for the sands the day after tomorrow. I thought it wise you should get there tomorrow, given you’re leading part of the infantry.

” Soren narrowed her eyes. What was his angle?

Soren frowned. It could be a trap . What if he was getting her to lower her guard before taking her out?

“Since when?”

“Since I’m not blind. I may not trust ya, but you’re a good fighter and a commanding leader. The soldiers are scared shitless of you and would do anything you told them. ”

Soren pondered it for a moment. If she left the palace now, she would not be privy to their other plans.

What if this was merely a ruse to get rid of her for good?

On the other hand, she might lay eyes on the general before the others to confirm if it was the man she had known since childhood.

Perhaps he would appear more vividly to Soren if she was closer to him, assuming he was indeed on the shores of Myara .

“Okay,” Soren relented, and Sir Cain nodded.

“Meet me in the courtyard before sunrise.” He did not give Soren time to retort as he left the public gardens, leaving Soren alone with her thoughts once more. She was not so certain she enjoyed being alone with her mind anymore.

***

The darkness in her mind looked the same.

Soren breathed the scent of night air and dreams, twisting and grounding her.

She had missed it. Since the Lord of Night’s absence, she had tried to reach him on her own terms but to no avail.

Blackened leaves crunched underfoot as she walked forward and wrapped her arms around herself.

Soren’s breath plumed like smoke; she did not remember it being this cold.

He was not here yet, though he rarely left Soren there alone.

She took a tentative step forward, the crunch of leaves echoing in the night's emptiness and the crumbling castle surrounding her.

If she continued forward, she would reach the iron bars he never let her near.

Is that how he enters my mind? Instead of testing her theory, she spun to take in every inch of the ivy and moss-covered walls that fell away to the night sky.

Seiko howled, and Soren frowned. Her wolves never appeared in her dreams. Tilting her head, Soren peered at whatever stood behind her usual spot. The rotting tree in the distance felt familiar, like a blemish tainting the field of long grass blowing in the imaginary breeze. A wolf howled again.

“I do not see a crown on your head, Soren.”

She jumped at the return of the silken voice, shadows stretching for her shoulders. Her usual comfort vanished as they spun her to face his shrouded form.

“I was about to kill him, but—”

“I do not care for excuses, little bird.” The shadows brushed her face, and his finger grazed the scar left behind by the creature. “What was my request?”

Soren looked down. She had disappointed him. He gripped her chin, forcing her gaze to watch the twisting darkness.

“Take the throne,” she mumbled.

“And yet, it has not happened.” Releasing her hand, he turned and retreated to the iron bars.

“But Garridon told me not to.” Soren gasped as a force hurled her backward through the air, further than she could have imagined.

She smacked against the rotten tree she had seen so far in the distance, her head spinning as she reached for the ground to steady herself.

Her fingers grazed over small pieces of wood, unable to distinguish their shapes, before a plume of shadows engulfed Soren and tugged her back.

When the darkness receded, she was at the ruins once more.

“You listened to that god ,” he sneered. “Over ME!” His roar was a sound to be heard across the universe. Soren winced. She had not known he loathed the gods, who possibly could?

“I cannot disobey a god,” she murmured, and a slap burned her cheek. She stared at the floor, refusing to show him the tears in her eyes.

“But you can disobey me?” he asked, and she did not respond.

Silence followed and stretched between them.

She had missed the lord, yet he did not seem fazed by their time apart.

A scraping noise sounded from behind the iron bars, and Soren lifted her head to peer around him.

A hand reached out to her again, and she flinched until the touch softened, cradling her cheek.

The lord sighed beneath his cloak of darkness and retreated towards the steps leading into nothingness. He sighed again.

“Tell me what you know, Soren. What has happened in the time we have spent apart?” Soren did not move, a rebellious streak emerging within her.

“Is your name Caligh?” she asked boldly, and he chuckled.

“You have navigated close enough that they shared the contents of the letter with you.” She did not know if he was impressed. “What did they deduce from the letter?”

Soren kicked at the blackened leaves on the floor.

“That if Kazaar is the essence of Sitara, then Elisara is made from that of Sonos,” she said, and he hummed.

“A quick deduction,” he chuckled. “Perhaps I underestimated them as a group.”

“They will not hand him over,” she said.

“I assumed as much.”

“They prepare for war.”

“Naturally.”

“They will all die.” Soren did not know if she was asking him a question.

“Perhaps.”

Soren frowned, an image of a young Sadira flashing through her consciousness. Her sister could die. Soren blinked away the image, focusing on Caligh, on her Lord of Night.

“What do you need from me?” she asked, eager to return to his good graces. “Nobody would notice if Caellum died in war; no one would know it was at my hand.”

The shadows rose from the stairs, floating back towards her.

“If I have Kazaar, I have no need for Caellum to die,” he said, and Soren stumbled.

“But that has always been the plan. We needed a true Garridon heir on the throne.”

“If I have Kazaar, I have the potential to unleash all the power in the world. You on the throne benefited me in the interim, but you failed, Soren.”

“I can do better,” she pleaded. “Anything! I will do anything you need.”

He paused before returning to the metal bars.

“It will be difficult to take Kazaar if Elisara is beside him. Separate them on the sands, if you can. Fight as though you are on their side; I may still have need of you, but that need diminishes if they know you work alongside their opponents.”

Before Soren could promise to do as he asked, he faded with her surroundings.

She opened her eyes to the sound of whimpers. Something wet was on her hand. She glanced down to find her wolves watching her. Baelyn and Tapesh curled closer and whimpered while Seiko licked her hand.

“What is wrong?” she asked, pushing herself up in the bed.

She pulled the silk sheets to her chin at the odd coldness in her room.

The drapes by the balcony fluttered in the wind, and Soren slipped from the bed, her wolves trailing behind her as she wrapped the sheets around herself.

The tiles were cold as she padded onto the balcony, greeted by the sound of guards in the courtyard to the right.

She scanned the horizon; the rooftops of Keres crept into view as the sky lightened, a midnight blue as the sun awoke.

Just before dawn. It was time for Soren to ready and meet Sir Cain before heading to the camps. Serene and Octavia curled around her feet, and she chuckled as Tapesh and Baelyn fought to take their spot.

“I know the sands are not ideal for you.” She reached down and stroked Varna’s head.

“But perhaps you can help me with my mission.” Standing back up, Soren stared into the distance.

Later that day, she would reach the sands.

Tomorrow, she faced war. While Soren had prepared for war within Garridon for years, nothing prepared her for this.

Yet on a cool morning, imagining what tomorrow would bring, a small voice asked her what life might have been like if she had never met Caligh.

Perhaps she would not be so alone.