Page 5 of Soul Hate

I march through the milky columns of my family home. Masterpieces of colour sprawl from every wall, floor, and ceiling, the beautiful paintings a lingering remnant of my mother’s touch.

It does nothing to soothe me now.

My heart won’t slow; its pace would put a racehorse to shame. Bruises blossom over my knuckles and chin like poisonous flowers, dripping pain into my veins with each sharp movement. My stomach aches. Each breath falls short. My shoes snap against the mosaic floor as I stalk into the living room. I cross to the full-height gothic windows, glaring out at the dancing fountains and sunshine gushing over our manicured garden.

Two people follow me. Nouis and my sister. Giulia sits down on the sofa without saying a word. Nouis pours a shallow glass of wine from the bottle sitting on the sideboard, and crosses to me. He gives me a warm smile, holding out the drink.

“Here.” He pushes the glass into my clenched fingers. I take it, unable to meet his eyes.

“Are you hurt?” I manage to mutter.

“Only my pride,” he says conspiratorially, leaning on the wall next to me. “You’re deceptively strong.”

“I’m sorry.”

He winks at me, a coy smile flirting with his lips.

“Don’t be. I like strong,” he whispers, far too low for Giulia to hear. My stomach fizzes with warmth, and my throat goes dry. I shake my head, rubbing my eyes.

“I can’t believe he’s my Soulhate.”

“Everyone has one.”

“Have you ever met your Fated?” I ask, now only daring to meet his green gaze. He shrugs, shaking his head.

“I don’t think so, but I know some who have. There’s no shame in it.”

Sure, Nouis. There’s absolutely no shame in a barbaric public brawl. Nothing to be embarrassed about, not my feral screaming or unhinged violence.

Fausta’s sweet, freckled face contorted with wild rage springs to mind. The blood smeared over her broken nose during her duel. Her visceral, violent transformation into a complete stranger.

Fausta’s duel was at sunrise. The sky was stained crimson as rain fell in fat, heavy droplets, as if the city herself already knew what was coming. They slashed at each other without remorse or composure, their blades wet and dripping scarlet. The pain of their injuries was utterly inconsequential next to their loathing. They were consumed, until one lay unblinking and staring up at the weeping sky.

Repressing the bile swelling in my throat, I drink deeply from my wine and desperately pray it’ll wash this foul feeling away.

Why did it have to be me?

Why, of all people, did it have to be him?

I spin around, leaning back against the glass. Sunshine strokes the back of my neck, radiating through my dark hair like it’s baking the memories of my vile brawl into my skull.

My Soulhate is Idris Patricelli.

As if I needed any more proof that the gods are twisted and sadistic.

“You don’t think I’ll have to…” I swallow, unable to finish that thought as the memory clogs my throat. Giulia looks up, brow pinching.

“What? Duel at dawn?” She sniffs in disdain. “Bit brutal, don’t you think?”

Brutal? Understatement of the century.

“The Church’s teachings are clear,” Nouis counters in disbelief. “Fate has spoken. One of you must kill the other.”

“Rubbish. Fate made a decision and there’s no changing it, but Renza still has a choice. So does Idris.” Giulia disagrees. “No one else can make it for them, not even Fate.”

“But everyone knows that defying Father Fate will bring about his revenge,” Nouis says incredulously. “That one way or another, Fate will have satisfaction. If Renza doesn’t bend to his decree, worse things will come for her.”

Giulia shrugged, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth as though this amused her.

“Well, of course you believe that more hardcore superstitious stuff. Your aunt is the Holy Mother,” Giulia answers as though this were nothing more than an abstract hypothetical debate, “but Renza doesn’t.”

Had I been asked mere hours before this, I would have emphatically agreed with Giulia. But now, with the reality looming over me like an axe ready to swing, the words fail to find footing on my tongue.

“Renza.” Giulia turns her attention back to me. “You have a choice.”

“Perhaps, if it’d happened in private with only a small circle of those in the know. But I attacked him in perhaps the most public way possible. Everyone will expect it,” I groan.

“Who cares? We aren’t everyone; we are the Di Maineri. Do you want to kill Idris Patricelli?” Guila cuts me off sharply. Like a flash, Fausta’s duel replays again in my mind, but this time with me in her place. Her wild strikes are mine, her feral screaming is my own.

No. I will not be that. I refuse to be that .

“Of course not,” I snap, spinning around to face Giulia, “I’m not a killer.”

“Then that’s what’ll happen. What others want is completely irrelevant, Fate included. Besides, Father won’t allow it. He’d never risk you like that.” Giulia sits back, crossing her legs as if that settles things. “He’ll come to an arrangement with the Patricellis.”

“What about Idris? He might insist.”

“He won’t,” Giulia sighs and looks me dead in the eyes, no humour in her face. “The Patricellis only have one son. They won’t risk him either.”

I nod. She’s right—of course she’s right.

But my heart won’t slow. I set down my drink, hands shifting to tug at my tunic and then run through my hair. Several of the thick waves have slipped from my ponytail to wriggle around my face. I pace up and down the mosaic floors, my heels clipping against the expensive tiles.

“Would you please relax?” Giulia almost groans.

“I can’t relax. I have to be sharp. I have to be ready.”

“For what? Idris Patricelli isn’t about to jump through the windows with an axe.”

I scowl, the mention of his name bringing bile to my tongue.

“Even if he did, we’d never let him get close to you,” adds Nouis, uncharacteristically serious. He widens his stance, eyes cutting outside as he says the words.

I shake my head. My insides jump up and down like a tiny bird is running rampant on my ribs.

The front door opens. My head snaps around as the familiar cadence of my father’s steps fill the hall outside. Giulia sits forwards as he enters the room. The air is so thick, one wrong breath could shatter everything in sight.

Father tosses his cloak over the back of the sofa, his hands resting on the wooden frame. “I spoke briefly with Jacopo. We’ve agreed that the … ah … traditional way of handling these things would be catastrophic.”

“Meaning that Idris and Renza aren’t going to pummel each other to death at dawn?” Giulia mocks disappointment, throwing me an I-told-you-so look. A lead blanket has lifted from my chest. I take a deep breath, collapsing into one of the armchairs. Nouis walks up behind me, patting my shoulder.

“Correct.” Father slides his hands into his pockets, as that familiar gaze flickers around to me. “It helped that the Patricellis have a real loathing for the Church, but they readily agreed. No one should have to face their child’s murderer, let alone every day in the High Chamber.”

“The High Chamber!” I cover my eyes with both hands, the fresh reality of this horror washing over me. “How am I supposed to sit opposite that man in the High Chamber for the next few decades of my life? Let alone do my job?”

I hear Father walking closer. I drop my hands to my lap. Father’s face tugs into a familiar smile, his warmth melting through me the way only a father’s love can. He eases onto the coffee table opposite, leaning closer.

“Are you hurt?”

I shake my head. “Not seriously.”

“Well then, I suggest you rest up and mentally prepare for tomorrow. I’ll go speak with Gattore.”

“I have the best rapport?—”

“No, I’ve got this.” There’s no room for negotiation in his voice, as he reaches for my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You need to be prepared to face Idris in the High Chamber tomorrow.”

“What?” I gape. “He’s going to be there? After this?”

Father sighs and nods, raking a hand through his hair. “I tried to argue with Jacopo that perhaps we should wait for a few weeks or even just a few days to test the waters some more, but he refused. Much as I disagree, he has some good points. Idris is a Halician citizen with every right to be there. He wants to see the chamber, observe how it runs, learn about his father’s work just as you did. Besides, we need to prove sooner rather than later that it’s safe for you and him to be in the same room, particularly in that environment, before rumours get out of hand and ruin one or both of your future careers in the High Chamber. You both need to appear to be acting normally, or at least like this doesn’t interfere with your ability to be an Electi.”

I want to scream with frustration.

“But I’m the Electi. Idris is a citizen.”

“I made that argument too. It didn’t stick. So I don’t care how you do it, but do whatever it takes not to kill him. So we can demonstrate to the whole of Halice that this is the right decision.”

My heart clangs like the bells of the Grand Temple in my ears, disjointed and harsh. I meet his blue eyes, feeling a lump forming in my throat.

“I’ve never felt anything like it before,” I admit. The words feel like sandpaper as they leave my tongue, barely louder than a whisper.

“I know.”

“It was… I was out of my mind. The world shrank to him and that … that … hatred.” The fragility in those words makes me want to vomit. I look down at my lap. Shame forces blood to my cheeks.

“I know. But you can’t kill him.”

My father leans closer, wrapping his arms around me. I let him pull me close and scrunch up my eyes. I rest my head on his shoulder and his embrace feels like it could hold the world together even when everything is falling apart.

I take a shuddery breath, gripping him close.

“How?” That question barely escapes my lips but my father hears it. He sighs, his arms tightening as if to protect me.

He can’t.

“I don’t know.” Worry leaks through his quiet words. “But I do know it’ll take every ounce of strength you have.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment before he releases me. He plants a kiss on the top of my head before standing, walking towards the door. He looks back and gives me a nod, bottom lip thinned in a calculated smile. That says it all.

You’ve got this. I believe in you.

He gave me the same look when I joined him in the High Chamber for the first time. When I first spoke publicly about a reform, and then again when I ran for and secured my election two years ago. That look … has always filled me with confidence. Knowing my father believes in me, it’s like a guarantee. A wind to propel me forwards.

Now it’s another gust in the storm.

I force myself to smile before he leaves.

Nouis moves behind me, making his way towards the door.

“Wait, Nouis,” I say, hurrying after him. He pauses, looking back at me with a small question furrowed in his brow.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, “for what happened, and for hitting you—I think I hit you anyway. It’s all a bit of a blur, but I’m sorry all the same.”

Nouis smiles. He runs his hand down my arm, sending out radiating waves of shivers as he wraps his warm fingers around mine. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m happy to help Renza,” he says quietly, his voice taking on a deep warmth that makes my breath hitch in my throat. “Shall I consider this a raincheck for tonight?”

Tonight. Our dinner. “As friends”—a distinction I’m starting to care about less and less by the second.

“I think that’d be best,” I groan.

“As far as excuses go … this one is pretty good.” He winks. “How about tomorrow night instead?”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll see if I can move some things.”

“Thank you,” I say, the words tumbling forwards but I’m glad I said them, “for … everything today.”

Nouis chuckles, leaning closer. I’m wrapped in his smell, almonds and vanilla, as he presses his soft lips to my ear, whispering only for me.

“For you?” his voice, rich and deep, sends a storm of shudders rolling across my face, “Anything.”

He leaves without another word. Giulia chuckles, giving me a pointed side eye. I throw a rude hand gesture her way as I leave. My feet fly over the mosaic floor and up the grand curved staircase.

I have less than twenty-four hours to find a way to overcome a gods-sent hatred. Otherwise, I won’t just let down my father, but I’ll start a blood feud between the Patricelli and the Di Maineri families that could rip apart our democratic High Chamber and destroy this city.

Failure isn’t an option. But neither is success, not real and lasting success anyway. This will never go away. This is a war I’ll be fighting for the rest of my life.

But I’m Renza Di Maineri. I’m not afraid of a fight.