A Dance of Dragons: Series Starter Bundle (37 page)

Jinji looked back again, but no one was
there. Just ghostly voices, still yelling after her. She kept
looking behind, waiting for someone to appear, to recognize her,
to—

Jinji cried out as her body smacked into
stone and her wrist crunched, caught between the wall and her
body.

Dropping to the ground, her vision blurred.
She blinked into the growing darkness, trying to dissipate it,
hearing the voices raise ever louder. Seeing gray blocks of rough
rock, Jinji flung an illusion in front of her, praying to the
spirits that it looked enough like the wall she had run into—the
one she still couldn’t properly see.

Moments later, the men ran into view,
huffing, surveying the dead end with the intelligence of natives,
of those who had lived there for years.

As her eyesight cleared, Jinji tried to slow
her breath, to quiet it. The pain in her wrist seethed out,
spreading up her arm. She shifted back, wincing as her boots
scudded on the dirt covered side street, stopping when her spine
met resistance. Even though the illusion hid her, Jinji felt
exposed. She hugged her knees closer, pulling the shirt down as far
as it would go, hiding the skin that differentiated her—skin that
she had never before felt the need to conceal.

Tears came unbidden, slipping down her
cheeks, and her body started to shake as shock set in.

Fear. It crept down her body, strong as any
she had ever felt before. Fear of a world she had never experienced
alone—a world she didn't like.

The four men walked closer, confused, and
then stopped. One man complained that his drink was gone. Another
agreed. The third one shrugged. And the leader, taking one last
look at the wall—at the illusion Jinji knew was far from
perfect—spat on the mud, then turned his back to her.

It wasn't until they disappeared around a
building that Jinji let herself relax, let a sigh of relief ease
from her lips. But she kept the illusion up, a safety net until she
regained her poise.

If that was Whylkin without Rhen, Jinji
didn’t know what she would do. Was that to be her fate? To be
hunted, to be the outsider, the one everyone blamed with no more
proof than a crazy woman's ramblings?

Was that what the spirits had planned?

She dropped her head back against the wall
behind her, gazing up at the sky. The spirits didn’t heed her
prayer. They remained hidden, out of sight, even as Jinji demanded
the comfort of seeing their ever evolving weaves. The little
strands of life that made her feel unafraid, that made her feel a
little less lonely, a little less abandoned.

At the exact moment the spirits relented and
zipped into view, a scream filled the street.

Jinji's head jerked forward.

A boy appeared, small and cowering as he
looked through an open door, into the home to Jinji's right side.
Around his figure, waves of fire spun—just like Rhen, a living
flame.

Jinji gasped and stood to help, but a man
stepped into view, stopping her.

His eyes were white.

And they looked straight at her.

Covering her mouth to catch a gasp, Jinji's
mind flashed back, back before Rayfort, before the sea, before
Rhen—back to where it all began. Her small home, decimated.

Back to Maniuk—to her taikeno—with a knife
at his throat as the shadow clouded his eyes, stealing his free
will. Everything she had been through, every obstacle she had
overcome, was for this moment, this confrontation.

The shadow was here.

In Rayfort. In this alley.

But it hadn't come for her.

The blank eyes passed over her, sparing a
glance at the wall, studying it for a moment, and then returned to
the little boy on the street. His small fingers were clutched over
his face, praying for mercy. The word
papa
escaped his lips,
over and over again, coated in confusion.

The man stepped forward.

Steel caught the sun, flashing like a beacon
into Jinji's eyes. He held a knife. Lifted it. Stretched it toward
the boy. A boy who made no move to save himself, whose actions were
paused by incomprehension.

"Stop!" Jinji yelled.

The illusion crashed down, revealing her
hiding spot. But the man did not listen.

"Stop!" She cried again and sprang forward,
moving to yank his arm.

When her fingers were an inch from touching
his skin, the man jumped backward and his face whipped in her
direction, as if only just noticing her.

Jinji smacked the ground, creating a barrier
between the shadow and the small boy it was trying to murder. She
lifted her gaze, meeting those soulless white eyes with pure
hatred. A snarl curled her lips. And even though she held no
weapon, had no way to defeat it, she lunged.

The man dodged, escaping her touch.

With an Arpapajo war cry, Jinji ran forward
once more.

The man retreated—his feet propelled
backward while his hands reached toward her, as though for a hug,
as though his body was at war with itself.

Jinji paused, watching the figure twitch as
it fought the urge to move closer and farther away from her at the
same time.

He blinked. The shadow of an iris
appeared—brown—only to be quickly covered by white, dispelled.

Realization hit fast. The shadow was afraid
of her, and that fear had allowed the man it possessed to fight
back.

If she could only touch it, could only fight
it herself…

Jinji stepped cautiously forward, arm
outstretched.

Before she could move another inch, the body
dropped to the ground—lifeless.

Behind her, the little boy cried out,
running around Jinji's legs and crumpling onto the body of his
father. The man groaned and turned over, human once more, looking
at her with confusion while he hugged his crying child. Confusion
turned to distrust. Distrust turned to accusation.

Jinji ran, knowing where accusation would
lead.

Her mind raced even faster than her
feet.

The woman Elga spoke of people dying,
special people. It was clear to Jinji now what that meant. People
kissed by the spirits were disappearing—people like her, like that
little boy she had just saved on the street.

People like…

Jinji skidded to a halt.

A gear clicked into place. Suddenly it was
all clear.

The spirits hadn't been sending her away
from Rhen, they had been telling her to save him. They were trying
to open her eyes, to make her see.

Their fates were tied.

All this time, Jinji had thought that the
shadow was hers to fight alone. But it wasn't. It was their
destiny—they needed to defeat it together.

And Rhen was in danger.

The shadow feared her, but without Jinji
nearby, Rhen was vulnerable. The shadow would take him, like it had
taken everyone and everything else in Jinji's life.

But this time she would beat it.

She would kill it.

Jinji looked around at the empty street,
listening to the echo of celebrations filtering toward her, and
wrapped an illusion around her body. To the outside world, she was
nothing more than commoner, dressed in dull garb, nothing out of
the ordinary.

But inside, she had never felt stronger,
more true to herself.

I'm coming
, she urged—for Rhen, for
the shadow, for vengeance.

I'm coming
.

The labyrinth of Rayfort was the only thing
standing in her way.

18

Rhen

~ Rayfort ~

"All hail!" Rhen said. But what he really meant was,
bless the spirits the ceremony was almost over. He wasn't sure how
much more standing his feet could take.

Whyllem had pulled him to the taverns last
night, and using his trusted sleeping potion, Rhen spent half the
night searching for any signs of an attack. But there was nothing.
No signs of any Ourthuri infiltrators. No rumblings by the docks.
No gossip. After a while, he had even searched for signs of Jin's
mysterious shadow, but still nothing.

An evening of empty wanderings had turned
into a sleepless morning, and it had all been in vain. In fact, all
Rhen had managed to do was arrive late for the ceremony and further
annoy his father.

Just what he needed.

Shifting his gaze to the side, Rhen looked
at the babe being held aloft before the throne by King Whylfrick.
Red robes of the kingdom of Whyl draped around his tiny body,
cascading all the way to the floor. His curious hazel eyes were
open, darting around the room. Not a single cry had escaped his
lips, and it filled Rhen with a sense of pride.

Whyllean.

He had been named.

Whyllean, Rhen's nephew, the future king of
Whylkin.

"All hail!" Rhen repeated with the
crowd.

The baby had been dipped in the spiritual
waters, blessed with the prayers of Whylkin, and told the story of
his ancestors for the first time. But most importantly, Rhen and
his brother Whyllem had just renounced their claim to the throne,
ensuring the proper line of succession, thereby ensuring the future
of the kingdom.

"All hail!" Rhen yelled for a third
time.

Even as his spirits were high, fed by the
energy in the throne room, a pit gnawed at his stomach. Rhen knew
he had been right. The Naming. Everything centered around the
ceremony. But all of the nobles in the kingdom had been sequestered
in the throne room for hours and not a single thing was amiss.

He scanned the room. His father beamed.
Whyltarin shone with pride. Whyllem with love. Farther into the
crowd, everyone wore cheerful smiles; not a single person hinted
bitterness at the ceaseless reign of Whyl.

It was perfect.

Too perfect.

And it made Rhen's skin crawl.

"All hail!" He shouted for a fourth and
final time. One call for each of the spirits, as was tradition.

The king lowered Whyllean and stepped back
to sit on the throne, resting the babe in his lap. He spoke the
closing words, but Rhen was too busy shifting his feet and looking
anxiously around the room to pay attention.

Slowly, starting from the very back of the
room, the nobles entered in a procession line, waiting to kneel
before their future king and swear loyalty to their kingdom. Rhen
searched every face for Ourthuri skin, every wrist for powdered
over tattoos and every hand for a concealed dagger, but there were
no enemies hiding amongst them today.

Before he knew it, it was his turn. Rhen
stepped forward, raised his right hand to his heart, and bowed
deeply before his nephew.

"I swear my undying loyalty to Whyllean, Son
of Prince Whyltarin, Son of King Whylfrick, and the newly named
future king of Whylkin. May the Sons of Whyl forever watch over
this land and protect its people from all who wish them harm. In
the name of Whyl the Conqueror, who united the lands, may the
spirits watch over and protect Whyllean from harm, may he know the
joy of seeing his sons become kings, and their sons after that. All
hail."

Bowing once more, Rhen stepped forward to
place the ceremonial kiss on his nephew's brow—a right reserved for
the royal family alone. Flicking his gaze up, Rhen met his father's
glare. It sent a chill down his spine. He looked away, quickly
grinning at the dribble of spit leaking out of the baby's lower
lip.
You're almost done
, he wanted to say. Instead, with
love in his heart, he knelt down.

But right as his lips were about to touch
Whyllean's brow, his father pulled back on the child. Not enough
for anyone to see, not enough to cause alarm, but enough for Rhen's
armor to crack.

Still bent down, he looked his father in the
eye. Heat singed his chest, painful and raw. The man was daring him
to act out, to misbehave, to refuse to take his punishment like a
Son of Whyl should. But now was not the time, and Rhen, ignoring
the despair weighing heavily on his shoulders, stepped aside to let
his brother Whyllem give his own blessing.

If only his father understood everything
Rhen had done to keep this child safe, to keep their family safe.
Turning back to the crowd, Rhen put up the mask of a jovial,
carefree prince. He had become so used to playing the part, it was
no wonder that everyone believed him. That no one took notice of
the hurt in his eyes.

When Whyllem was done with his blessing, the
king stood. He and Whyltarin were the only two who would not bow
before the boy—kings and future kings bowed before no one.

A thunderous roar rose in the room, echoing
against the ceiling and crashing back down. Clapping. For the first
time that day, Rhen let the ghost of a true smile grace his
face.

The ceremony was over. The Naming was
complete.

And nothing had happened.

Everyone was safe. Everyone was alive.