Page 26 of Soul Hate

“H e’ll live,” says Serra. I don’t turn. It’s so much easier if I can’t see him. I can breathe. I can think. The whispers are beaten into silence.

“Not lethal?” I ask again.

“No, but he’ll have one hell of a headache. And a scar I imagine. You didn’t do this?” Scepticism drips off her words, her eyes darting to my bloody fingers.

“No. Nouis did,” I say searching down the sewer line for trouble. The tunnel echoes with drips, wave after wave of ammonia fills the air and smothers my nose. The light from Serra’s candle bounces off the old, arched brickwork, creating a wobbling flaxen bubble around us.

Serra sighs. “I did wonder if he was part of this.” Of course she did. Serra’s one of the smartest women in this city.

Nouis’s face floods my mind. The betrayal torn across his features.

“Serra,” I begin, “there’s something you should know.”

“It’s okay. I know.”

“You know?”

Serra walks towards me, dropping a hand to my wrist and pulling up my bloody palm.

“It’s not Idris’s and it’s not yours. You ran into Nouis. The leather sheath on your hip is empty, and the knife is gone. It’s easy to put it all together.”

My eyes sting as water lines my lashes. “I… I killed…”

“It’s okay.” Serra raises a soft hand to cup my face, a calloused thumb gently brushing my cheek. “It’s okay. You did the right thing.”

“I killed him,” I breathe. “I’m a killer.”

“He was going to kill you. He was going to hurt our city. He killed your father,” Serra reasons steadily. Her eyes glitter with buttery candlelight. “It’s okay.”

She pulls me close. Instinctively I wrap my arms around her body, burying my face in her shoulders and neck. Her dark curls press against my face, gentle with the fragrance of rosemary.

She pats my head, releasing me. “You good?” she asks.

I nod, blinking desperately as I try to pull myself together. “Yes. Yes, of course.” I clear my throat and brush off my clock and tunic.

“That’s my girl.” A proud smile ripples across Serra’s face. “Come on, let’s get back, hmm. Help me with him.”

“Back? Back where, and what are you doing out here?” I ask, gritting my teeth. I take several deep breaths, keeping my eyes fixed away from Idris as we each grab one of his bulky arms.

“Okay, lift.” We stand up at the same time, an arm around each of us, his feet still dragging on the floor. His weight is uncomfortable, draped over my shoulders, dragging me down like an anchor. He reeks of mint and lavender, their blend bringing bile to my tongue.

“Okay, this way,” says Serra confidently, holding the lantern out in front of us. The glass glints softly, the handle rattling with each step. The jittery flame wriggles over the grimy, stained stone. The circular tunnel has a river of skanky water to one side. Our steps seem to bounce down these narrow bends.

“What are you doing down here? And where are we going?” The question springs from my lips as I turn to look at the engineer.

Serra smiles wryly, flashing me a beautiful smile. “After being in … that place”—her tone pulls in disgust at the memory—“I’ve needed to move and walk. Being down here, without any walls … it helps.”

“And the sewer doesn’t remind you of it?” I ask, confused.

“It might stink to the gods, but it’s a different stink. It’s the only way I can move anywhere without being seen at the moment, the only way I can have even a semblance of freedom and peace from the others.”

“The others?”

“You’ll see,” she smiles knowingly.

“How did you find us?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Serra muses, shifting Idris’s weight slightly on her shoulder with a small grunt, “but I started wondering if this was how they moved the explosives for the Grand Temple, given they took such a large amount, and that if they had, maybe there were traces of it left. Some kind of evidence.”

“We’re too late for evidence. After tonight, Bellandi will know we’re on to him. He’ll be out to kill me and Idris before we can do anything.”

Serra scowls, but doesn’t seem surprised. “After what I’ve seen this evening, I figured something had changed.”

“What did you see?”

“Nothing useful. Good old fashioned terror tactics and abuse of power by the Militia.”

“Oh great, so they’re hitting the coup classics.” I scowl sarcastically, as we stagger around another bend in the sewers.

Serra nods. “They’ve established power. The city is theirs. We didn’t fight back—heck we didn’t even know we needed to fight back.” Serra’s anger strikes a chord with me. One that hums in harmony.

“We’ll get it back.”

“With what weapons? What army?”

“Working on that.”

“Well, I hope you work quickly,” she chuckles, the humour bouncing off the curved walls. My grip on Patricelli’s arm is slipping some.

“Damn, he’s heavy!” I groan.

“Almost there,” promises Serra, panting, sweat beginning to bead along her hairline.

“At least we know the best way to move around the city undetected now,” I mutter. “How do you know your way around so well?”

“Map,” says Serra. “Borrowed it from Alfieri. Interesting character that one. Ah, here we are.”

Thank Fate, I could drop at any moment. Serra drops Idris, coming to a small ladder. She hops up the few steps, pushing on the grate to move it to one side.

She disappears up, then hangs down, offering one beautiful dark arm highlighted in silver moonlight.

“Pass him.”

I shuffle closer, gritting my teeth. I have to look at him, pushing his limp body up the small gap. My breath runs hot. I shove his gangly limbs aggressively upwards, caring little when he lands inelegantly at the top. I follow Serra up, looking around a strange, tiny neglected garden.

Cast in hues of navy and onyx, some candlelight dares to leak from shuttered windows. The threadbare grass lies like errant strands of spun silver. A building is about ten paces away, with tiny windows shuttered tightly. Serra walks to the door, rapping sharply with her knuckles in a strange, precise pattern.

A moment later a slender bolt of gold appears between the door and the stone. Alfieri’s unusually worried face appears, sees Serra and relaxes. He opens the door, face catching when he sees Idris on the ground.

He swears loudly, hurrying outside to grab him. “What happened?”

“Nouis,” I say, the name the only explanation I can offer as Serra and Alfieri begin to drag him into the house. Serra adds more colour to the story as I exhaustedly trudge across the threshold of the run- down building.

I’m met with three familiar faces smiling at me. Emilia. Michelle.

Giulia.

She looks tired and pale, but her blue eyes are open as she lies across a dishevelled couch, a knitted blue blanket tucked over her legs.

The relief hits me like a ton of stone. Fate have mercy, I could’ve collapsed into an ocean of sobs right then and there. I stagger across the tiny room towards her, exhaustion forgotten. My heart might erupt as I throw myself on my sister, holding her tight as delighted tears roll down my cheeks.

“Hey, hey, I’m okay,” Giulia whispers softly. Her melodic voice is music to my ears, a voice I worried I’d never hear again.

“You were gone, and I didn’t know where you were. I thought Bellandi…” I trail off, gripping her tighter for a few more seconds before eventually daring to let her go.

“I went to get her,” says Alfieri. I whip around, wincing a step back when I catch sight of Idris still slung over his shoulders. “While you orchestrated the prison break. Idris didn’t trust Bellandi or Nouis not to do something nasty. Turns out he was right.”

“What?” I hiss in horror, head snapping to my sister. “What happened to her?”

“Her fingernails,” Alfieri continues. I grab my sister’s hand. “The discolouration.”

Discolouration? Perhaps they were a bit darker than normal, a slight orange tinge right at the base of the nail.

“Apparently my prolonged coma was thanks to long term use of Red Root,” Giulia says, disgust rolling around her tongue.

Nouis, he ordered that. I want to vomit. I want to scream. He’d been drugging my sister for days while sleeping with me in his arms? I need a whole body scrub. I need to scour my skin and my mind until I’m raw and boiled.

“The colour will fade,” promises Alfieri as Michelle crouches over an unconscious Idris.

“Get my things,” says Michelle quietly, and Emilia hops to a chipped sideboard. With the seven of us in this small room, the space is entirely too cramped. The faded blue on the walls cracks away, showering the worn stone floor with dust and scraps. One sofa holds the recovering Giulia, the other the massive and unconscious Idris. At the other end of the room is a narrow wooden door.

“What is this place?” I turn to Alfieri who stands guard over Idris while Michelle works on sewing up his head.

Alfieri shrugs, his eyes tight. “Old family property. Off the books.”

He doesn’t offer up any more information. I throw a quizzical look at Emilia who shrugs, eyes wide. Then she gives Alfieri a pointed look, and rocks a flat hand from side to side.

Is Alfieri’s family … dodgy?

I press my lips together, saying no more. Right now that’s the absolute least of my problems. I sit next to my sister, perching on the slip of couch her knees have left spare. Right now, I’m grateful for having a roof over my head, crooked or not.

“So, what happened?” Emilia asks. I sigh, rubbing my eyes. Giulia gently strokes my arm, trying to pull away the stress.

“Nouis is dead,” I say, forcing myself not to stare at my own blood-coated fingers. “Bellandi has an army coming for the city soon.”

Heads snap around to me in an instant.

“An army?” hisses Serra. She folds herself onto the floor—the only available sitting room in this box—right next to Giulia’s head.

I nod. “Mercenaries. The money missing from the bank.” I meet Giulia’s eyes. “That’s what they were paying for. I overhead Bellandi and Nouis talking about it.”

Giulia wrinkles her top lip, loathing radiating from her blue eyes. “Dorado is going to pay for everything,” she hisses.

“Where is Dorado?” I turn to Alfieri. He taps his foot on the ground, tilting his head downwards.

“Retained for … questioning,” he says, a lilt to his words as he looks pointedly towards the closed door at the back of the room. “As is that crooked nurse who fed your sister the Red Root.”

“The bloody handprint on the wall?” I venture.

Alfieri waves it off. “Neither your sister or I bled today” is all he says in reassurance. I’m not a big enough person to feel sorry for the injured person—whoever they are.

“Okay, that should do it. He’ll have a scar though, but hopefully his hair will cover it,” says Michelle straightening up.

“We should get him upstairs,” says Serra.

“There’s an upstairs to this place?” I gape.

“One level below, one level above. Upstairs are two rooms and some bunks; he’ll get some proper rest there,” says Alfieri. “You should go too. You look like you need it.”

To say today has been eventful is the understatement of the decade.

It takes longer than I’d like to admit for us to manoeuvre Idris up the winding stairs. We squeeze him around the cramped bends and corridors and then drop the man on the narrow bed. My jaw feels one wrong move from cracking as I stagger back. I lean against the wall, clenching my eyes.

“Come on, the other room is waiting,” promises Emilia.

“All the girls together.” Serra throws her arms over my shoulder as we make towards the tiny box space. “Cramped, but it works.”

I open the door to a slightly larger room than the other, complete with two bunk beds, a makeshift cot and a cracked, boarded window.

“Take your pick,” Serra says.

“So … what do we do now? With the army coming?” asks Emilia quietly. “Do we have a plan?” I sink down on the closest bunk, the springs creaking in protest. I rub my forehead.

What’s the plan? Good question.

I have an engineer, an artist, an architect, a dodgy trader, and my unconscious Soulhate.

Bellandi has control of the City Guard, a Militia, and another army coming soon. No idea how soon of course. It could be hours, it could be weeks.

A plan would be really great.

“The plan … will be formed in the morning,” I sigh, hoping inspiration will strike. Halice depends on it.

* * *

I can’t sleep.

I tried. Michelle snores and Giulia seems to be making up for all that time stationary by tossing and turning like a wriggling octopus. But even when Michelle rolls over and Giulia goes still … sleep evades me.

I’ve washed, but the blood is a permanent, invisible stain on my hands. The memory of the handle still digs into my palm, the vicious blade dripping in dark scarlet is burned into my retinas.

I’ve gone to the sofa downstairs, pinched a pillow for my head and pulled that blue knitted blanket across my legs. But I can’t find sleep. I can barely find rest. I close my eyes and I see the bloody knife protruding from Nouis’s back, his body disappearing into the darkness.

I can’t escape the truth, I am what I’d never in a million years thought I could be.

I’m a killer.

Killer. Killer. The word races around my head as though Nouis’s ghost is already haunting me. Worse of all, I have no rebuttal.

Anything is better than this. The grief, the fear, the self-loathing. All of it. All-consuming hatred is so much better than this.

I’m so exhausted I find myself drifting back upstairs, that red-hot rage like a siren call I can’t refuse. I tiptoe across the creaky floors, quietly slipping open the wonky wooden door to the boys’ room. I’m stunned to find one bed empty. Alfieri must be … somewhere else. Where? I don’t know.

Unable to look at the man currently occupying the other bed, I curl up on the available bunk. My mouth goes dry and bitter. My fingers itch. My heart picks up its pace and throbs steadily at the base of my throat.

But my mind is consumed. Focused.

This is better. I can’t sleep, but it’s a powerful relief.

I give up on sleep pretty quickly. Instead, I scramble around for some paper and charcoal pencils. I light a candle, and wrap myself in a blanket. I start planning, recording everything I know so far. Any edge. Any information. Any possible ideas.

Who knows what would spark a moment of genius? Or madness? Both seem to be avoiding me so far.

A deep groan pulls me out of my downward spiral.

In my peripheral vision, Idris begins to move.

“Careful,” I warn, daring to toss him a look. I clench the charcoal in my fingers with tight knuckles.

Idris bolts upright, blanket falling from his shirtless body, gasping for breath. My eyes zero in on the flash of colour across his sculpted abs. A crimson tattoo of a scorpion’s tale sits just below his left shoulder. When did he get that? It’s beautiful. He ’s beautiful.

Confused, Idris screws up his face to see me gawking at his half-naked form. Colour floods to my cheeks.

“Renza!”

“I love how you state the obvious with such a sense of discovery,” I tease, rolling my eyes. I turn back to the paper in front of me. I underline the word “sewer” more fiercely than I need to. “Don’t think too hard, you’ll rip your stitches.”

“My— You—” he stumbles.

“My, you. What?” I raise an eyebrow expectantly without looking up.

A frustrated growl escapes his gritted teeth, as he scrabbles to put more distance between us. Panting, he scans the room confused. “Where are we?”

“Alfieri’s safe house. Apparently it’s ‘off the books’, whatever that means. Don’t elaborate, I don’t think I want to know any more.”

“You don’t,” Idris promises.

“Quite some friend you have.”

“There’s no one better.”

“How do you know him?”

“My time in Chalgos. He has a large, extended family over there. He and I got into some trouble together, and then we got out of it together.”

“Are you going to elaborate?”

“If you don’t like the idea of an off-the-books safe house, you don’t want to hear it,” snorts Idris, rubbing the back of his neck ruefully.

Illegal. Of course.

“How did we get here? Nouis—” His name makes me flinch. Idris stops dead, seeing my reaction in his peripheral vision.

I force myself to swallow the mouthful of sawdust, spitting out the truth. “Dead.”

The silence kicks like a mule.

“How?” Disbelief explodes from his tongue. Idris twitches, fighting the urge to look at me. His shadow crawls along the floor slightly, wobbling on the bed he just vacated.

“I killed him.” I manage to force out the words.

I killed him. Me. The killer.

The murderer.

Idris falls silent, shock stealing his ability to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he manages eventually.

“No, you’re not. You were right. He’s a traitor.”

“You deserve better than him, I always knew that. But still… You shouldn’t have had to be the one— Fate’s Fury, I should never have let it be you who had to?—”

“Oh please,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.

“Don’t do that!” snaps Idris. “You trusted me to get you out of there and I failed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you didn’t get hit on purpose. I was stupid enough to distract you. It was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault and you weren’t stupid.”

“I was scared and brainless and it almost cost us our lives.” I seethe quietly, glaring at the paper in my hands but not seeing my scrawls. Idris is quiet for a long moment before shifting to sit on the bed opposite me. He reaches forwards, pulling the pages from my hands and discarding them to one side.

“There is no shame in fear. Without fear there is no bravery,” Idris says quietly but insistently, his deep voice taking a softer edge. “And you, Renza, are one of the bravest women I know.”

I shake my head, hating the words he directs at me. Undeserved, untrue words.

“I killed him. I killed Nouis while his back was turned. I’m a … killer.” I force the words out, unsure why I’m divulging this to Idris of all people. But he doesn’t flinch. His hand slips over mine, tightly squeezing. Seering heat leaps up my arm but I drink it in, focusing on the sensation of him and nothing else.

“You are not defined by one action. You are so many things, defining you at all is an impossible task. You have done so much before this and will do a thousand things in the future. Do not let one moment of survival overshadow how you see yourself. No one will see you any differently. I certainly don’t.”

I fight to keep my eyes from snapping to his face.

“Rest up,” I interrupt him, not wanting to talk about this anymore. That’s why I came here, to get away from that. To feel other things.

I get to my feet. “I’ll go get you some water—you took quite the blow.”

“I hit my head. Why do my arms hurt?” Idris’s deep voice boils. I scowl, fighting the urge to look at his face as I make for the door.

“I had to drag your heavy, unconscious body through half the city. What else should I have grabbed?”

“So, why do I smell like urine?”

“I had to haul you through the sewers.”

“Urgh,” he mutters, voice thick with disgust.

I fold my arms, snapping off my words. “Most people say thank you after having their life saved. Next time I’ll just leave you.”

Idris falls silent for a moment, like he’s trying to swallow something massive. “Thank you.”

“Pulling teeth would be easier,” I mutter, marching towards the door. Idris darts towards me, catching my elbow. I whip around to look at him, catching myself just in time to squeeze my eyes shut.

I suck in several breaths and I let that hot wave wash over me. This feeling is so familiar now. It’s like an echo of him. I let it rush through, not letting a single drop take root.

“Seriously Renza,” says Idris quietly, that deep voice soft and serious. “I don’t— That trip— You must…” He sighs before continuing. “You’re strong. Stronger than me.”

My heart gallops in my throat. “Yeah well, you left this city for a decade because of me. This was the least I could do.”

Idris frowns, leaning closer so his head is mere inches from mine. I can feel his breath brush against the tip of my nose. His hands come back to my arms, fingers warm through the thin fabric of my silk tunic.

“I left Halice as much for myself as I did for you. I thought about you every day, wondering who you might be, wondering if you were worth fighting Fate. Now I know you and I regret nothing. You owe me nothing, Renza.” Idris’s voice is so low. He says my name almost like a prayer.

“You’re wrong. We owe each other everything.”

Idris’s grip tightens for a moment, tingles rippling up my arms.

He leans closer still, the barest slither of air between our faces.

“Why are you here, Renza?” His voice is so impossibly soft. I swallow before answering.

“I brought you here?—”

“No, why are you here ?” he says. I know he means this bedroom.

I hitch a breath and the honest whisper tingles as it leaves my lips. “The rage is easier.”

“Easier than what?”

“The guilt,” I admit, pressing my lips together to hold back any more. I’m unable to look at him. But not for rage, for shame. I take a deep breath, focusing on my galloping heart and the fireworks of his fingers against my body.

Idris lets out a deep breath, a hand sweeps upwards to the side of my head as he lowers his forehead to rest against mine. My heart hammers. His skin against mine wipes all other thoughts away.

There is only him.

“If I am to be your distraction, Renza, then I will do it properly.”

Idris’s mouth crashes upon mine, swallowing my shocked gasp. His lips are simultaneously soft and firm as they move like a man starved. Searching and hungry. I am devoured.

He pushes his body up against mine and suddenly we’re welded. His touch blisters like hot coals. The roaring pain dances with the pleasure in a delirious mind-melting madness that steals all control and reason and thought. My entire body contorts with sparks, sizzling and wild as they start fires in my flesh. His talented hands sweep over my body, consuming me with a burning that chars my bones. He knots his fingers into my hair, angling my head to gain better access to me. The devastating, agonising pleasure of his tongue starts an all-enthralling war between our mouths, one I refuse to lose. Idris’s other hand sweeps down my waist, taking a few moments to explore my arse before sweeping down to my knee. He hitches my leg up and over his hip, that firm grip searing the small of my back like a fresh brand. He pulls me closer, the strong muscles of his arms tightening as I’m somehow pressed even more tightly against his shirtless, chiselled chest.

His lips on mine are a sinfully delicious fire. I drink in the cursed, divine mixture of pleasure and pain like a fine, poisonous wine. I let my anger swell, my rage for everyone and everything that has happened, unleashing the fury upon him. My hands tangle and tug sharply at his hair, returning the passion of his mouth with my own, my tongue darting forwards to punish his mouth. I can feel him, every impressively large, thick inch of his manhood straining against the cage of his thin trousers between us. Dark, hot wetness begins to form between my legs, the battle between us reaching new desperate, hungry heights.

His fingers sweep down to memorise the curve of my waist, trailing rivers of lava over the soft flesh. His lips pry themselves from mine only to find a new target of attack along my neck. The blissful, tormented sigh ekes out from my throat as I tilt my chin to the sky, baring it all to him and his dark, devouring heat.

I’m ablaze for him.

Fate’s Mercy, has it ever felt like this before? Lords, not that I could think of. Not even with Nouis.

Nouis.

The name slams my head into a wall.

I gasp, forcing my eyes open. What am I doing? This is madness. A divine, voracious kind of madness, but madness all the same. He’s my Soulhate.

Kill him. He’s at your mercy. Strike now.

The loathing returns so thick I’m drowning. A revulsion so sharp I want to vomit takes control of my limbs. Reflexively, I shove hard against Idris’s shoulder, prying us apart. Idris stops at the silent command, no question of bemoaning in his demeanour. I force him further back, covering my face with my hands as I fight to control my breathing. Both our breaths are ragged for a moment. I grip my head, leaning back against the cool wall as I struggle to rein in the Hate coursing undiluted through my blood. After a moment or two, I manage to force my pulse to slow and I push that disgust and loathing to the back of my mind.

“I should go,” I whisper, worried how paper-thin my control is right now. Idris nods as I turn towards the door.

His fingers brush my wrist, stopping me a moment. “Thank you for saving my life.”

I chuckle softly, turning back. I take his chin in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “Your life belongs to me, Patricelli. Fate decreed it so. Never forget that.”

I spin on my heels, stride swiftly out of the room and close the door behind me. I stare at the ancient floorboards beneath my feet, breathing deeply for a few seconds to calm my stampeding heart. What was Idris thinking? Did he want to push the limits of my already threadbare control?

He’ll be the death of me.

But if that’s the price to save Halice? Then so be it.