Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle) (15 page)

He
had never been a particularly good looking man; in fact, he considered himself average at best. He was of average height, weight, and build, with unruly black hair that always
hung in his brooding brown eyes
and a mouth that never smiled. His hands were leathery
, as were the soles of his feet;
the “mark of the soldier,” his comrades called it.

His armor was as much of a wreck as his body. The once gleaming obsidian plates were so covered in dust from running about the city questioning witnesses that it was starting to turn a dull brown. The black cape was fraying along the seams and was spotted with mud, making it look as old and tattered as the tapestries hanging in the fortress. There was so much dirt and crud caked in the metal ridges that the Accalian crest across his left chest and helmet was almost indistinguishable.   

He hoped Orris didn’t catch him with his armor in that condition, as strict as he
was
about keeping up appearances.
He
tentatively glanced around for his father, as if even thinking about Orris would somehow magically conjure him from thin air. It would not surprise him very much if his father did appear before him. He had seen Orris do things no ordinary human should be able to do. Rowan’s eyes searched the tall hedges and trellises while he strained to hear footsteps through the sheen of cricket chirps and frogs. 

No, he was completely alone, the way he liked it. 

He did not keep many friends; actually, he did not have any friends at all that he could think of. His father had taught him early on to accept loneliness as a companion. He thought of the approaching gala and tried not to visibly cringe.
I’d rather spend the night in the darkest, dankest dungeon than hang around
that
bumbling bunch of fools.

As he sat on the edge of the fountain, listening to the bubbling laughter of the water, his mind wandered into the darker regions of his childhood memories.

***

IT WAS A HOT
summer day. 

Tears welled in Rowan’s eyes as he cradled the broken wooden horse, his favorite toy. His mother had given it to him for his sixth birthday, and he had been so excited. Since the weather was pleasant, for Accalian summers no longer bothered him, he had taken it out and played with it for hours, pretending he was a great hero or a knight of Asilee like his dad. It was the best day of his life until two boys from across the river took it and broke off one of its legs. They ran away laughing and calling insults at him. His heart swelled at the sight of the poor wooden animal. 

Father
can fix it
. Orris
had always fixed his toys or bandaged him up when he played a little too rough, so he did not hesitate to carry it back inside.

His mother was out tending the vegetable garden while his father, having recently returned from his long journey – the one that changed everything – lay sprawled out on the bed. Rowan tapped him on the shoulder and presented it to him. “
Father
, will you please fix him for me?”

Orris peeked at the toy. “Hmph. Shouldn’t have broken it in the first place.”

Rowan began to slink back.
That
was not the answer he had expected. “But –” 

“Fix it yourself!” Orris hissed, eyes flaring red. “What kind of a weakling asks someone else to do his work for him?” He sprang out of bed and clutched his son by the collar, lifting him off the ground. Rowan dropped the small wooden horse as his father slammed him into the wall, whimpering as Orris drew his face even with his. It was the first time he could remember ever being truly afraid of his father.

“Don’t you ever ask me for help, or anyone else, do you hear? Not everyone in this world is a friend, and the sooner you learn to look out for yourself, the better.”

“Ye – yes, sir,” fumbled Rowan. 

Regret flashed over Orris’ face before he grunted his approval, setting him down and crashing onto the bed once more.

Rowan ran from the room, which had begun to smell like sulfur, not bothering to retrieve the horse.

***

ROWAN CAUGHT HIMSELF RIGHT
as he was about to fall over the side of the fountain. Sleep deprivation had finally won out, and he had nodded off for a few miserable minutes. Rubbing his eyes, he stood up and stretched, trying to wake up. He didn’t like to remember what had been; the present was depressing enough without adding the weight of a memory that had happened exactly twelve years ago.

“Happy birthday,” he muttered to his reflection. 

Fighting back a yawn,
he
spun on his heel toward the palace. 

“Somehow I thought I would find you here.”

Rowan stifled a groan and peered irritably into the darkness. Gabriel stepped from behind the fountain, looking rougher than his usu
al perfection allowed. He had not
shaved
,
and his hair was in disarray, giving him a disheveled look Rowan was unaccustomed to seeing on the White Knight.

“Good evening, Gabriel,” he said gruffly, nodding.

Gabriel responded with a half-hearted smile. “I see I’m not the only one seeking some sort of refuge tonight.”

Rowan shifted his weight, letting his eyes wander the garden. “I needed somewhere to think.” He ran a hand over the back
of his neck, loosening the tau
t muscles that had knotted up while he dozed by the fountain.

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. “Any leads?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

Gabriel chewed on his bottom lip, scowling at the ground. 

Rowan knew full well Gabriel was just as worried about the killer as he was. Gabriel had initially offered to help, but Rowan had turned him down.
I could o
nly imagine what we’d look like. Hateful Orris on my left;
perfect Gabriel on my right. And me, somewhere in the middle.
The fact Gabriel was a genuinely decent man added to his guilt at resenting him.

Another moment of awkward silence ensued before Rowan said, “Well, I have business elsewhere.” With a grunt and a nod not unlike his father, he pushed past Gabriel and disappeared into the fortress.

***

THERE WAS ONLY ONE
chance left to find a lead, and he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before.

Countess Merí eyed him coolly as he entered the candlelit room. Her handmaiden stumbled past him and jerked o
ut a plush armchair. “Here, my L
ord,” she said as he sat down across from Merí’s bed, where she lay with her back propped up against a stack of pillows. The girl wrung her hands in the skirt of her dress as her eyes darted back and forth from her mistress to
him
. 

“Sir
, shall I fetch –”

“That will be all, Merissa,” Merí said. She waved the girl off with all the care of flicking away an insect.

Merissa sloppily curtsi
ed and left the room, leaving them to thick silence.

He
clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on his
knees. “Forgive my intrusion, C
ountess, but I –”

“Spare me your
apologies. You are not sorry;
you are desperate. There’s a difference.” Merí’s eyes sparkled, as if she was privy to some joke he was not aware of but very much a part of.

He
fought to unclench his teeth long enough to form a coherent sentence, but she spoke before he could gather his thoughts. “You know, it astounds me that the Black Knight has not thought to question me before now. I expected more of Accalia’s finest.”

He
glared at her. “You must also realize that as the city’s Black Knight, I have more than my fair share of work.”

The twinkle faded from her eyes. “Life isn’t fair. Don’t blame your incompetence on it.”

A growl threatened to rise in his throat. What did she know about fair, with her riches and her mocking smile? “Tell me everything that happened the night you were attacked, down to the last detail.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you what you ask, but only if you ask for it politely. Do they not teach you manners in this military academy of yours?”

He
closed his eyes and twisted his fingers together, imagining what they would feel like wrapped around her thin neck. “Will you
please
tell me what happened, C
ountess?”

She smiled. “We left at dusk.”

The entire recollection took less than five minutes, and by the time she was done
,
he could see nothing that would link the two crimes together. 

“What a waste of time,” he muttered under his breath, rising from his seat. She stared up at him as he walked to the edge of her bed. “Th
ank you for your time,
my
L
ady,” he said. He stiffly bowed and turned his eyes to the floor where something red glimmered from underneath the bed. His eyebrows furrowed as he bent closer, discerning the outline of a hilt. 

“What is it? Do you see something?”

He looked up at Merí. The twinkle had returned to her eyes. 

When he looked back down, the object and its red glimmer were gone, nothing more than a shadow. He blinked, feeling exhausted, and brushed the whole thing off to lack of sleep. “Must have been my imagination,” he murmured, straightening. He nodded once more and walked toward the door. 

“Oh, and Rowan?”

He rolled
his eyes and turned
around
. “Yes, my L
ady?”

“Try to take care of yourself. You’re looking a bit frayed around the edges.”

He stared at her long and hard before finally opening the door. “Cocky bi –” he started to mumble when Merissa nearly tumbled into him, her face turning almost the same shade as h
er hair. “For – forgive me, my L
ord.” Then she made a dipping motion that was supposed to be a curtsey and hastily shut herself in Merí’s room. 

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. Merí had known his name, though he did not recall giving it to her. 

Then again, perhaps he had
,
and he simply did not remember. What did it matter anyway? It was a trivial detail; his name was common knowledge in Accalia.
She
p
robably picked it up from the Arch Duke, flirtatious bastard.
Yawning, he slunk down the dark hallway toward his quarters. 

He thought he heard laughter.

Legend

LIAN COLLAPSED ONTO HER
bed the moment her door shut. 

The walk had given her too much time to think
,
and her mind was a twisted knot of emotions because of it. She needed a distraction.

Rubbing her swollen, bloodshot eyes, she rolled over onto her side toward her bookshelf.  Something hard lodged itself in her ribcage, and when she reached underneath her to pull the object out, her fingers grasped the cool leather of a book. 

Confused, she lifted it up so that its crimson binding and gold filigree were caught in the candlelight. As her eyes adjusted, the title crept into view
,
and she gasped.

In a single motion, she bolted upright, dropped the book, and clambered off the bed. Her wild eyes stared at the book resting between the folds of her sheets, the book she did not remember laying there.

She closed her eyes, seeing Gabriel and Ursa’s embrace again. The image became runny with blood, and she shook her head and rubbed her eyes
once more.  “Stop it,” she said.
“Go away.”

There was a brief white flash
,
and all of the red faded from her sight.
Why is this happening to me? Am I going crazy?
She looked at the teardrop and
watched the light swirl in its depths.
It has to be the necklace. Somehow, it’s making me see these awful things. But why?
 

She didn’t want to believe it; magic and visions were for prophets and illusionists. But somewhere deep inside, she knew she could no longer ignore the obvious link. She looked to the empty space on the shelf where the book should have been and then back to where it waited for her on her bed.
Maybe there’s something about it in there, something that can explain all of this. Perh
aps the book is a sign from the g
ods.
 

Still dubio
us, she mustered up her courage,
slowly walked back to the thin volume
,
and hesitantly lifted it up in both hands. 

There were no images of blood, no orange-eyed monsters or blood-soaked feathers, and she sighed as she sat down on the edge of the bed and opened it up to the first yellowed page.