The Assassin Princess (The Legacy Novels Book 1) (5 page)

*

Having covered the lush meadows at a constant gallop, Hero had led them up the rocky ascents and down the overgrown hillsides. They’d reached them quicker than Ami would have guessed, though how many hours had truly passed she didn’t know; her only sense of time here was the sun in the sky and her own fatigue. Each hill had brought its share of tangled thorns and thick brush, snaring her already torn clothes, and then there were the streams between the hills, their waters calm and clear, serene even in the silence of the day, trickles over pebbles. They’d followed one such stream for a long while, hours it seemed, crossing its ford only to follow another to a spring halfway up a hill, back on track for another climb.

Ami found each step to be an adventure, exploring her paintings and seeing what was underneath, behind and beyond. It was exciting.

Hero was focussed on his own thoughts and spoke little, whereas the other two Guards were the opposite in their manner. Although shy of her, they were only too happy to talk with each other, small discussions like storms that blew into one another; Ami only caught partial words though, and none were of interest.

Soon they’d crested another hill, the never-ending colours and shapes of new horizons greeting her again, only this time there was something more.

A grey stone building, crumbling and mossy, sat alone among the long grass of the hilltop. Most of the stone had fallen away, leaving an empty ruin; the roof was missing, and only three walls remained. It was decrepit, an ancient monument to a long ago age.

“What is this place?” she asked as they dismounted.

“It used to be an outpost, built long, long ago. We’re at the half way point between the Solancra Valley and Legacy.” Hero pointed to the east, and Ami saw the distant line of trees. He pointed west, and jagged mountains had become their new skyline. “It was ruined many hundreds of years ago, but as with most outposts, it was also a fort.”

He pointed to the corner beneath the partial eastern wall. There Ami saw a square hole in the ground. As they drew closer, she saw steps in shadow that led down into the hill, into darkness.

Hero squeezed her hand. “We’ll be safe tonight, and at first light, we shall set off again for home.”

“What’s down there? I mean, why would we be safer down there?” Ami peered into the hole. She didn’t like the idea of leaving the light, and the day was so warm and inviting, even though it was nearing its close. She would quite happily sit on the hillside and look out across the miles of greens and browns and greys, letting the setting sun fill her senses.

“I promise you,” Hero said, “it’s safer than being out in the open. We have been lucky that Adam has not attacked again, but we’d be more vulnerable at night.”

Ami sighed and gave one more glance to the light, before stepping into shadow once again.

Overhead, the deep red sun bled across the sky, headed to the mountains in the west.

Raven and Kane followed Ami and Hero beneath the ground as a dark bird circled high above, a speck of black in the dying blue.

*

The stairwell was cold, and Ami was blind. Her hands groped the wet walls for balance, the smell of mould and wet earth stinging her nostrils. Their footfalls overlapped and echoed against the stone as if a small army, and the thought of going deeper into the hill made her want to turn back and run for the surface; the space was too enclosed, the air thick and pungent. A slime was gathering on her fingers as she let them drag across the walls, through earth, over tangled roots.

“How far do we have to—” Ami’s question hung in the air, the sound of her voice echoing from the
army of footfall
, coming from the lips of each dark soldier; the soldiers were dead, buried in the walls, whispering her voice into her ears.

“Not too much farther,” Hero whispered, silencing the echoes. “See? We’re almost there.”

The darkness lightened to grey and then a pale yellow as the stairwell rounded to the left, opening to a large room. Ami recognised the layout as a church or temple, the ceiling high and lofty with arched rafters that pooled in shadow; lit torches flamed against rough-cut walls, bringing life to stone faces of women and cherubs, worn and watching. Wooden pews sat either side of an aisle, and in front and centre, stood an altar table.

Ami stepped forward to touch the nearest pew. The wood was smooth, the grain a pattern, stark against the flames.

“This fort is a place of worship, for what better time is there to pray than when you’re hiding from your enemies?” Hero paced the aisle, speaking into the void. “I haven’t been here in many a year, and yet, the torches still burn.” Ami followed his gaze to the crackling beacons held on iron brackets. “The flames were lit centuries ago and have burned ever since, kept alight for people like us, for people needing sanctuary.”

“They say no one knows who built it,” Raven said, standing beside Ami, “or for what purpose, but you can feel the power here.”

It was true, there was a feeling, a hint, an itch of power. It was weak, but she felt it all the same.

They walked down the aisle, and Ami touched each pew she passed, watching the shadows shift across the crude, bare floor and dance upon the walls. There was a loneliness here, and Ami thought of her parents then, her home, and missed them all the more.

“Wonder where they go?” Kane said, pointing to doors that flanked them on either side, each closed and dark between the pews.

They stepped into the chancel, passing more statues and carvings, heads of men and animals, swords crossing. Two more torches illuminated the space for them.

They stopped at the altar rail.

“Hero, will we be safe here?” Kane held to his sword, looking back the way they’d come.

“I think so. We’re very deep in the hill. Rest, all of you.” He opened the small gate and stepped to the altar, laying his hands upon the dusty wood. He wiped across it, the flickering torchlight reflecting his image on its surface. “Open each door, find sheets. We make camp here tonight. I feel a storm coming.”

*

Raven and Kane searched each room off of the nave and brought the sheets they’d found to the altar. Hero shook one out for Ami, billows of dust floating to the floor, and placed it around her shoulders.

Thunder reverberated through the stone space, echoing and roaring as rain ran down the stairwell, pooling at the bottom. Ami closed her eyes and lay on her side, the floor cold and chilling. Flashes behind eyelids, lightning on water—she let the sounds of the coming storm take her away. She saw it, the sky lighting a harsh white, a popped bulb. It had been pink, she remembered, pink forks of lightning. The garden had been flooded, the rain falling as a continuous sheet—but she was safe, standing with her mum at the back door, watching it all, watching what looked like the end of days.
The lightning!
Roofs were rivers, gutters waterfalls, and she was alone in the tropics, watching from the jungle of her imagination. She saw tigers in the shadows, stalking her, their gnashing teeth sharp, bright eyes so green against the white face of a man walking past, pushing his slick black hair from his eyes—his piercing eyes—his mouth a grin of tigers teeth; no, not a tiger, a
vampire.
She stepped into the garden, the lawn mower whirring as her dad pushed it across the grass. The heat hit her hard and Ami grabbed the doorframe as her head spun a little. She drank her milk, good, cold—felt much better. Her mum was knelt by the flowerbed, digging with a trowel, and she gave her a quick wave, hot blades of grass sneaking between her toes. “Graeme? Don’t mow over there, you’ll cut down my roses!” Ami’s dad killed the power just in time, and noticing her, he plucked one of the red flowers from the bush and brought it to her. “Hello sweetheart, had a nice day?” He kissed her cheek and presented her with the flower. Ami smiled and took it, lifting it to her nose, smelling the sweet fragrance. “Would look lovely in your hair,” a voice said. “Such love he shows you.” Ami turned and caught a fleeting glimpse of pale skin, long black hair; but then he was gone, through the swarms of people on the street. It was grey and cold, and her scarf hardly kept the cutting wind from her neck. She pulled it around her tighter and pushed her gloved hands deep into her coat pockets, joining the flow to her right and heading back toward the college. Was that thunder? She looked up, but saw nothing but grey. It was an English winter. She walked down the street, avoiding those who did not see, avoiding those who looked too long. A man stepped in front of her, blocking her path, his face white, his lips red and parted—
what’s up with his teeth?
She passed him quickly. “Can’t ignore me, I’ll find you.” Turning the last corner, Ami looked up from her sketchbook. He was there, walking toward her, a smile playing on his lips. He looked good. Better than good. He was every bit as handsome as she remembered. He stopped in front of her. “Hi,” he said and bent down, placing a kiss on her lips. Ami blushed. “Hi there,” she returned, unable to take her eyes from him—but something wasn’t right. His eyes were too green, his skin losing colour. With his long white finger he drew a heart in the air, his sharp teeth parting.

She turned to the full length, gilded mirror behind her. In the reflection was a beautiful young woman—grubby, her clothes tattered and torn—but beautiful. Her hair was long and brown, mussed from much travelling.

She smiled. The reflection smiled.

Another mirror appeared to her left, one to her right, each reflecting her own image—though no, that wasn’t quite right.

The reflection to her left was slipped into a pink dress of lace, frilled and to the calf. It looked amazing on her, she had to admit, something a princess would wear, but it did seem rather odd. On her right the reflection wore a curve-hugging black dress that reached above her knee; black boots reached just below. She looked
dangerous!
Her reflection smiled and swept her hair back behind her shoulder.

Thunder rolled somewhere, but was unimportant.

She reached to touch the image on her right, and as the girl’s finger touched hers, a ripple passed through the glass like water. It hit the frame of the mirror and the gold painted wood shook free, falling to the ground of darkness.

The girl stepped aside and beckoned her forward.

There was a walkway beyond her, daylight pouring through stone arches to the left, a gentle breeze blowing through the glass, touching her face. She could smell grass, trees, flowers—the girl beckoned her again.

Behind her was nothing but darkness and the only way forward was the mirror, the glass doorway, the girl who was her.

She stepped forward, cool ripples whispering across her skin.

Now she saw the sun through the stone archways, the walkway long in front of her. She looked to her booted feet on the white stone, her black dress tight; oh yes, this felt
dangerous.

From the arches she saw short grass and a rosebush the other side of the wall, and she dared to reached out and pluck a flower, blood red and
dangerous
, like her.

Smiling, she continued along the walkway, vaguely aware of a purpose, vaguely aware of a fear. The sky was a deep blue, and the sound of thunder echoed in the distance. There was a voice—but it didn’t matter. Eyes in front, she walked to the doorway at the end of the sheltered walkway.

A large canvas stood on the last stone ledge within, a raging sea that climbed a mountainside, a dark castle within a rock face. So dark and unlike her, the strokes so perfectly her.

She turned into a dark room where a fire burned in the hearth, the flames throwing shadow and light across the red and gold rug, the pattern a fiery maze of lines. A bookcase leant against the wall, a window beside it, and standing before her, two solitary chairs. The nearest was unoccupied, but from the other she sensed a whispered beckoning, a pulling of power.

Ami was drawn toward it, and to the white hand that rested upon the arm.

“how many of our daydreams would darken into nightmares, were there a danger of their coming true!”

— logan pearsall smith

“the tyrant is nothing but a slave turned inside out.”

— herbert spencer

“You found your
way. This pleases me.”

Ami drew close to the chairs, the room feeling all too
elemental,
as if it were only a stage set, soon to be shifted. She couldn’t define a sense of space or time, and apart from the rug, the floor was as black and empty as the walls. Her feet moved on their own accord as she took the empty chair, her eyes closing in on the white figure in shadow, two eyes glinting green. The fire warmed her, and Ami felt comforted, swaddled in the orange heat.

“I know who you are,” she said, not meaning to speak at all. There was no fear in her voice as she thought there should be. “You’re the man who is trying to kill me.”

A dry chuckle came from the shadow. “No, I’m not trying to kill you.” His long thin fingers flexed on the arms of the chair. “I want only to tell you a tale.” He leaned forward and leered at her, his gaunt face a contortion, his lips stretched in a grimace, torn by sharp, uneven teeth. “I am Adam, and you and I share the same father. A father who has failed us both.”

“
My
father hasn’t failed me,” Ami said, but Adam only smiled, his face a grotesque in the dark.

“I’ll admit, I was rash to start with. Hunting you at home, I should’ve known the Guard would bring you back here anyway.
The heir
. I tried again, but the unicorns kept you from me. When my flying thieves tried to steal you away, you displayed such
power
that I knew I had to change tact—so I used your greatest gift, your
artistic
temperament, the reason you’ve become known to us all.” His grin widened and Ami shuddered. “I slipped into your mind, your memories, where we can be alone.”

“Why are you hunting me? Where am I?” Her thoughts were panicked, but her words were calm as if spoken by another. She felt the plucked rose still in her palm and she gripped it, the soft petals smooth in her fist.

“All in good time,” he said, and leant back into shadow. “But first, sister, you’ll listen to the tale I have to tell. A tale that starts with imagination, creativity and dreams; these are such things that created the city of my birth, the city of Legacy, by the power of a unicorn horn and the vision of men. Men like our father.”

The firelight passed over his dark form, his green eyes focussed on Ami’s. She was drawn into them, emerald flames that showed her a mountain city, a populous walking slanted roads, white stone houses and a castle upon a lonely peak.

“When I was younger, I played with the other children, adventuring through the woods and fields, across the climbs of our mountain home—but I always knew I was better than them, that one day I would rule over everything I saw. I was my father’s son, after all, and therefore the heir of Legacy…so I believed. I’d walk the city streets alone, my head held high as I inspected the magic my father had bestowed upon the ordinary people: fields of flowers flowing down the mountainside, wondrous colours to inspire; waterfalls that sprung from the rocks, liquid crystal that sparkled like stars and tasted divine.

“It was my city, and I was its prince—but that was when I was so very young, growing up in magical ignorance.”

He paused, the images of a lone child replaced in Ami’s mind by those of crowds lining streets, a parade of flags waving, cheering, music plucked and strummed.

“By the time I was twelve, I’d begun to watch my father more closely; how he would walk the streets, holding out his hand to crowds, praising the children that were not his kin, giving them blessings, giving their mothers the wink of fortune. There were miracles for the masses, blessings for everyone except me. I’d started to realise that my hopes and dreams were faltering. Everything I’d assumed was wrong. My time wasn’t coming. I was only an honorary servant, unabashedly neglected, and beginning to doubt my regality and my heirdom.

“When I finally asked my mother, ‘When will my time come, Mother?’ she told me quite plainly, ‘The heir of Legacy will never be born of Legacy. The heir of Legacy will come from another
layer
.’ And so it was true. I was only a neglected son, a lost soul who should have been regal, but belonged nowhere.”

The fire behind her crackled and spat, but Ami’s eyes were blinded, filled only with the shining green orbs and the pale images they showed her.

“I now questioned all around me. My father, the showman, spreading love and goodwill to all, building a kingdom for an heir that wasn’t me. I’d have to stand by and watch as all he created passed to another, would have to listen to him talk of building a legacy for his son to inherit, knowing he didn’t mean me.

“A foolish man with a foolish neglect, for as time passed I realised that the power he wielded was not his alone. I had power also.”

Adam’s body preened with green light and Ami slunk into the chair away from him, the rose crushed in her fisted palm, a thorn piercing her skin. It hurt enough for her gaze to fall from him, and the moment it did, the
dangerous
feeling inside increased. When she looked back to him, she felt the strength to resist his will building.
Whose dream was this? Whose mind? If it were hers, could she not take control?

She continued to listen.

“I took to wandering the lands outside of the city, riding off into the hills, forests, and mountains. I stole horses from the castle stables and visited dark places I’d never been, deep in the hills of the Planrus Lands. I practiced with the power I had and found that through my seething anger and building hatred, I could kill at will. I killed just to watch death happen, to watch animals squirm and fall. Torturing them slowly, I watched the life drain from them.

“I experimented. What more could I do? It was addictive and felt good. While my father held the hands of women and children, shook the hands of men and boys, I was out in the world destroying as I wished. Life was nothing. My father erected statues, revelling in the knowledge that one day his
heir
would come, while I walked the rough paths of valleys, the grass turning brown beneath my tread, the trees withering and catching ablaze at my command.”

Ami saw the death, the senseless destruction, and
dangerous
fought against his gaze, trying to escape and pull away, yet she was enthralled at the same time—such power he held—did she hold the same power?

“I was hungry for more and was set on taking Legacy from my father. I was so much more powerful than him, it would be easy. I entered the castle, entered his chambers. I challenged him. ‘Father, give me the land!’ I’d said, and raised my hand to him, threatening him with my power. He threw me with his power, defeating me and my weak effort. I was too injured in body and pride to retaliate.

“He ordered me away and out of the castle, my anger and embarrassment so great that I made to leave the city. The Guard was dispatched to bring me back. I received no punishment and the matter was forgotten as if it had never happened. Even my most devious deed, my planned rebellion, was insignificant to my father. My fate was sealed and my hatred simmered.
I
was the rightful heir, and
he
was not going to deny me my birth right!”

Adam’s voice rose to a shout as he leaned toward Ami again, gnashing his teeth. She smelt his breath, a hot whiff of rot. The light shifted in the room, the blaze behind growing large, the shadows longer. Adam stood and passed her, silhouetted against the now empty chair.

“A few years later, when the old man left to die, I decided I’d kill him
and
the heir who emerged, and take Legacy for myself.”

Ami’s chair swung round to face him, his hands on the arms of it. He took her shoulders, his grip cold, skin tacky, and pulled her up to face the blank window that looked out at nothing. The more she looked at her own reflection though—her dark hair flowing over her shoulders, her skin a milky white—the more she saw beyond. Fading into view, like the cut scene of a movie, she saw the figure of an old man, stooped, stumbling, heading down the stone steps of the castle keep. Closer to the glass, she was able to watch him walk the spiralled roads down to the large gates that guarded the city. He looked back for one last glance, the lights of the city reflected in his eyes, and then he slipped away, unnoticed.

“Well,” Adam said, “not quite unnoticed.” He pointed again to a dark shadow that followed. It was Adam, quiet and stealthy, his lithe and thin body slipping from the city in pursuit. “I followed his steps from a distance, using my power to track him exactly. I wanted to be sure he thought himself alone for his last walk to the Mortrus Lands. The first night he rested in long grass off the mountainous path, and used the sceptre to make a comfortable shelter, a hovel. I crouched behind rocks, listening to him, hearing his rasps and gasps.”

Ami saw this from the window also, and as the sun rose across the hills, she recognised her father—though much older—with a white beard, only wisps of hair left on his head. His skin was grey, his eyes bloodshot and tired. He was wrinkled, thin, frail. It tore at her heart to see him so near to the end.

Adam reached out and placed his hand on her arm. A glow of green reflected in the glass and then was gone. “A few hours only and then he was off again, slowly making his trek with only the power keeping him alive for the final stretch. I tracked him step for step, ready to slaughter him and any
heir
that came to take Legacy from me.” A thick forest hid Adam, the very same she’d walked through only hours before.
A faint memory, a man in a cloak, calling her name.
“The foliage hid my face in shadows, my power cloaking my presence. Soon enough the old man made it to the edge of the Mortrus Lands, and I sprung upon him.”

Adam drew near to Ami, placing his hand around her waist. His breath made her want to gag. Her eyes were fixed on the window, watching the dark man walk up behind his father and place his hand on his shoulder.

Then the window went blank, and there was nothing more.

Adam looked into her eyes and she felt a battle for control once more. “The next thing I knew, I was in the mountains, alone. Not the mountains of Edorus, but mountains far, far away. I was on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the raging sea. It was night and the waters were the blackest shade of stygian black that could ever be; the constant roar of the waves filled my senses. Where was I? How did I get there? The cliff was a sheer drop to the stormy waters, and only a few steps across—but it seemed I had one saviour. To the side of the mountain was a shining object. It glowed white in the darkness, a torch so that I may see, and so much more.

“It was the crystal horn of the unicorn, my father’s sceptre. I took hold of it and it filled me with shocks of absolute power, the purest power. I felt my spine strengthening, my muscles filling out and tightening. I was compelled to turn to the mountain and thrust the sceptre into the shelf. A flash, a crash, and rocks cascaded past me and into the sea, breaking from the mountain. A castle formed, a dark castle to rival Legacy’s. The tower was high above me, touching the stars.” Adam’s eyes revealed the dark structure, its arches and turrets, burning torches welcoming. “I tried to travel back to Legacy, but I was unable to go back. Each attempt made found me back where I’d started from. I’d see the mountains of Edorus, the tunnel pass deep through the rock—but each time I went to cross the bridge, I arrived back at the dark castle.

“So instead I explored the Solancra Valley, and there I’d spy on the unicorns as they pranced and flounced. I wanted to kill them, wanted to make them suffer for their happiness, but they were too protected, too powerful. Instead I transformed the sceptre into a sword and used it on the wilderness to destroy beauty and hunt wild animals. I spent hours alone, learning new magic, dark and deadly. I created visions of my father and struck him down, again and again. Had my father been killed? Where was the new heir, and why couldn’t I enter Legacy? I fashioned a way to look across the land, into flames of power from a grate not unlike the one in this room.” Ami looked to the fire and into the flames. They turned green, and within them, she saw the images of a city in chaos: an army of Guards quelling burnings and riots in the dark; an old woman crying for her lost husband, lost son, and lost heir. “An heir never arrived, and the city ate itself alive.”

He lowered Ami back into her seat and turned it again to face the chair he took for himself. The light in the room turned orange once more.

“The idea of the
layers
that all lords described interested me greatly, and I mused on them for many a year. In all those years, my anger never abated. How had my father gotten away? How had he slipped from my grip? How had I ended up with the sceptre, the powerful unicorn horn?

“I picked up the sword and examined it.

“The metal was perfect—long, thin, curved, and sharp. I only had to swing it for food to appear from nothing, for water to spring forth from the dry earth, for fire to touch the wicks of candles.

“I discovered I could enter a layer in the same manner by slashing a rip into the air, into the very fabric of the layer. The rip would open a pure white, flooding the room with stars and ribbons, as if blood seeping from a wound. Stepping into the rip, I could travel anywhere I wished within my own layer—except Legacy, from which I still remained expelled—and any other layer in existence. And so a new era began as I searched for my father, stealing into random layers, random realities.