Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle)

Devil

Age of Stars –
T
he Empire of Stradvär

IN THAT FLEETING MOMENT
of peace between waking and dreaming, everything was black and wonderful. There was no sound to remind her of the dying, no sight to see the heavens stained in dawn’s blood, or pain to feel the poison flooding her veins.

Time suspended as Vishka slowly opened her eyes. As she stared at the stars in that eerie stillness, threads of color flickered before her, one for each sound. Yellow was the snapping of burning kindle; blue, the hungry hiss of the river coiling around the flagship like a serpent crushing its prey.
Throughout the span of her short life, she had always been able to “see” sounds, though never so vividly as she did now on Death’s doorstep.
She drew breath and nearly choked on the sharp tang of brimstone.

Beside her head, her hair spread like ink in a pool of red water as her life, her legacy, leaked out of her.

You failed.

The words hurtled toward her, slamming into her and ripping the breath from her chest. Her vision turned scarlet as the shards of her shattered life destroyed what was left of her soul.

A pattern of images whipped through her mind: Smoke billowing from Azmolian’s wrecked temple, people screaming as they burned alive within their homes, her dagger slathered with black blood, a single glossy feather
the color of midnight, h
er mother’s pe
ndant glistening with his blood –

That last image cut out abruptly as a sharp, bitter pain sawed right through her heart.
Her body was too heavy, crucified to the deck by the guilt pressing on her chest. It severed the connection between her brain and limbs, rendering her immobile. Her body was a prison. A scream clawed up her throat, trying to outrun the next onslaught of pain, and she swallowed it whole.

Dread’s iron hand seized her, and she searched the skies for large black wings, but she was alone, abandoned to Death.
But oh, she could still hear them, with every heartbeat, with
each
eyeblink. Hundreds and hundreds of wings, everywhere.
The air shifted as the ship shuddered, and the river gobbled up lifeless carpenters, soldiers, politicians, and babes.

The edge of her vision sparkled white, and each labored gasp pulled her
soul fa
rther into the void. Her strength to live was fading.

“Vishka…” whispered the wind.  

Flecks of fire and debris drifted on the air. Close by, a conflagration spread toward her. The flames danced as they consumed every last remnant of life in their greed. A tremor
raced through the wall of fire
,
and a face appeared, beautiful and cold.

With great effort, she blinked.

The face had morphed into a familiar half-smile and sharp, intelligent eyes. What little breath she had left her.

Draxonus pushed the flames aside like a curtain. The flame-curtain fell back and clothed him in a shimmering cloak of embers. His olive-colored skin shone wit
h a subdued glow, but otherwise
every feature was the same, from his unruly black hair to her mother’s pendant resting on his bare chest.

One detail was out of place.
His eyes were solid black, save for the pinpoints of fire burning deep within. He closed h
is eyes and when he opened them
the fire was gone, replaced by mirth and warmth.

Vishka stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure if she could summon enough of a voice to speak. Her throat was swollen and tasted like ash. “You’re dead,” she croaked.

“Really?” He quirked a brow and scanned his body. “It would appear I’m alive and well.”

“It’s a lie.” She choked on the last word; it hurt too much to look at him. “It’s not possible.”

“Oh, come now, Vishka. Have I ever given you reason to doubt me? Anything is possible.” He
kneeled
beside her and leaned so close his breath sent shivers down her cheek. “I can make all the pain disappear. Make you stronger than you’ve ever been before. I can give you the strength to avenge your people, our people, if you’ll only take my hand.”

He reached for her, but she did not move. An icy, prickling sensation crept along the back of her mind, the same one she felt when she first heard those terrible screeches the moment her life was shredded in half.

“You’re not Draxonus.”

He shrugged. “You’re right. I’m not. I’m more, more than I ever was in
mortal life. I am as I should have
been. I am reborn.”

The cuts along her face and arms slicked with sweat, stinging like the gettertung’s barb. Without warning, her heart thundered
,
and she gasped for air. Her veins didn’t seem large enough to accommodate the erratic, violent pulsing of her bloodstream.

She gritted her teeth as her blood turned to fire and ice all at once. “What’s –  happening?”

He frowned and felt her wrist. “It’s time,” he murmured, standing. He extended his hand. “I offer you this, a gift, a second chance at life. Say you will trust no other, serve only me, and I can keep your soul from crossing over.”

“Serve you?” she hissed through gritted teeth. “You are my general, my advisor, and dying or not, I am still your Empress.” She barely managed enough of a voice to speak. The laceration along her shoulder blade was too hot, scorching her throat and consuming her whole.

“Think, Vis
hka,” he said with more urgency.
“We could rebuild Stradvär, make it the pedestal of Eresea. There would be no law, no High Priestess telling us we couldn’t marry. We could be our own gods. Their gods.” He swept his hand to the side
,
and thousands of smiling faces of every age appeared in a haze of golden light.

All the pain in the world couldn’t ruin the tremendous joy that overwhelmed her. She wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much. “My people.” Guilt stabbed her, ugly and deep, and she tore her eyes off them. “It’s my fault. I’m to blame for everything. I don’t deserve their smiles.”

Her heart hammered against her ribcage. Maybe this was justice, though death seemed too great a mercy for what she had done. She glanced back; they were still smiling as if nothing were amiss. How could they stand to look at her?

Draxonus
kneeled
beside her once more, hand still extended. “You can make it up to them,” he said gently. “Avenge them, avenge me, and your debt will be paid in full. You have only to take my hand.”

The sun’s first rays streaked the sky in ribbons of gold and red. The glow in his skin intensified, hurting her eyes as she looked from his face to his outstretched hand.

“Trust me…”

The pain slowly gave way to numbn
ess. The world turned black
,
and
the sou
nd of the increasing gale faded
to a whisper. Her eyes rolled back, surrendering to sweet death. If she fell asleep, she knew she would never wake up.

I trust you.

With the last of her strength, she clasped his hand as the sun broke the horizon and dusted everything in a brilliant yellow light.

His grasp hurt, but she was powerless to break free. His fingers turned to daggers of fire that pierced her skin and scorched her blood. She screamed as the shadow of her soul,
her essence, tore from her, and she saw the image of a pale, young woman with golden hair surrounded by white light
in her mind. Every detail was sharp, as if the woman actually
stood
there. Her clothes looked odd, like she
was
from another century. Vishka opened her mouth to ask her name when the image abruptly vanished
a
few seconds
before
darkness claimed everything she knew.

Pariah

1500 years later
,
Age of
Knights –
The Kingdom of Asilee

IN ACCALIA, EVERYTHING WAS
dark, from the sky that never lif
ted its blanket of smoky clouds
to the black walls surrounding her like a cage. They were dense and thick, absorbing what feeble light the torches offered.

Behind her loomed the Fortress of the Night, darkness made tangible, its pointed turrets like knives held to the sun’s throat. Maybe it was afraid to shine; Lian could not remember the last time she had seen true sunlight.

From the wall, her reflection looked back at her, muscles
taut
, brow furrowed, as she adjusted her aim. The bowstring fought
her, and though her arms ached
,
she gritted her teeth and kept the bow steady, pushing her fatigue to the back of her mind.

Gabriel
, her archery instructor and a White Knight of Asilee,
stroked the stubble along his jaw line as he circled her. “It’s good. I
think you’re getting used to this. Ready to try again, my L
ady?”

She
narrowed her eyes, never removing her gaze from the target. “Stop calling me that. We’re on a first name basis, remember?”

T
ension
spread
into her shoulder blades, and she winced as her arms began trembling. She was so focused on not dropping the bow that she almost missed the first eager whispers and the rustle of silk skirts. She didn’t need to look to know who they were. “Gods, do they never give up?” she muttered.

F
lashes of color
flickered
from the corner of her eye – white, black, cream – as the courtiers whispered to each other behind handkerchiefs, their noblemen escorts standing close behind them.
She
imagine
d
the identical
bemused expressions each of them wore as they pointed and commented to one another.

I wish they’d mind their
own
business. Who cares how I spend my free time?

There was a deep rumble, a
man’s voice, and a moment later
a woman shrieked with obnoxious laughter. Her cackling slithered under Lian’s skin, and she ground her teeth harder together. Her fingers pulsed, swollen and blistered. She tried loosening them
,
and her aim faltered.

Gabriel studied her fa
ce. “Ignore them,” he whispered.
“They’re nothing. Besides, you never miss.” She heard the smile in his voice.
“
Gifted by the g
ods
”
he’d called her
once
.
It had made her heart take wing, hearing the pride in those simple, elegant words.
“Take a deep breath like I’ve taught you
,” he continued,
“
and take the shot. Wait.”

He clasped her hand, his fingers fitting perfectly over hers, and squeezed her fingers closed. For a moment, she met his eyes. Her trembling eased
,
and the courtiers faded away, leaving only the two of them.

Twang.

A jolt rippled through her, from her arms down to her feet, and the crowd exploded into laughter. She blinked. “What happened?”
she asked, looking around.
Where was her arrow? She did not remember firing it.

Gabriel cleared his throat and pointed in front of her. If she was not already pale as snow, she would have turned even whiter. Her arrow lay splintered along the base of the wall. The straw target was unscathed; her arrow was nowhere near it.

“Thank you for saving us from that dangerous wall!”