The Assassin Princess (The Legacy Novels Book 1) (8 page)

*

At first there was nothing, and Ami had time to ponder what had happened.

She hadn’t lost herself. That had
not
happened. And yet, there
had
been a change in her, so profound.

The darkness was growing light, and Ami knew that she didn’t have much time, though she also had all the time in the world. This was all in her mind, after all, as Adam had told her. He was just a squatter.

He’d given her something, a resolve, an understanding of things, and had sought to turn her and change her, and whatever she thought now, she
had been
turned and changed from how she’d been. That was clear.

But the most significant change had happened before Adam, and he’d not known about
that
. He hadn’t known about the mirrors.

The nothing was changing now, and she had to pay attention. He was coming into her thoughts, invading her mind—best to stay quiet. Think later.

*

“Keep them closed.”

All was dark, and she did as he said.

“Trust in what I tell you.”

She couldn’t do that, but knew she would anyway. It was part of the change.

“Feel the air around you, sense it, know it’s there. Know that it’s power to control, and that it’s yours to control.” His voice was penetrating. She felt her body responding, relaxing.

“Good. Now, just stay, very, still.”

The reaction was simple. Just a reaction, without a thought.

She’d blocked Adam’s blade, holding it tight in her hands. It cut her flesh deep.

“Open your eyes.”

The cloudless blue was back above her, the sunlight hurting her eyes. She squinted, watching the deep red of her blood drip from her hand to the brilliant white marble beneath.

The columns that she’d seen before were beside her, archways incomplete, rising unfinished into the sky. Through one, Ami saw green grass, a dark wood beyond. A rosebush grew against a sheltered walkway that joined two unseen buildings, the same she had already walked.

There were steps in front of her, the very ones she’d raced down before. Further steps lead onto the grass. It was warm, close, and her hands stung with cuts.

Adam was in front of her, his sword in his grip, the blade angled at her neck. His smile was manic.

She pulled away from him.

“That was so small,” he said, his skin more luminous in the light, as white as the marble beneath them. “So small an action and reaction. One simple slice through the air. I wouldn’t have stopped, and you would’ve been dead—and oh, how that thrills me—but you stopped it, easily. Too easily.” Adam took her hands and clasped them in his. A pulse of green flame and the cuts were gone, leaving only the stains of blood on her skin. “Count yourself lucky,” he sneered. “I usually don’t care to stop the bleeding of others. I prefer to cause it.”

Without warning, Adam raised his sword and swooped to attack. His blade moved fast, cutting through the air, and Ami, taken by surprise, could only step and counter-step between the columns, ducking through the archways. He struck her, stabbing again and again, his eyes mad, his hair flying across his face. She ran from him, down the steps and onto the grass.

Adam stopped his pursuit and stood on the last step, leaning upon his sword, Ami’s blood running down the steel. “You’re a bloody mess, yet still standing.” Her forearms and hands dripped red, blood oozing from cuts and gashes, but it hardly hurt at all—he was right, she should have been on the floor dying, but all she felt was a mild irritation and a dull ache.

A voice said her name through a storm far in the distance. Hero. She pushed the thought away. Not here. Not now.

“You aren’t fatally harmed,” he said, coming toward her. He took hold of her wounded arms, squeezing the deep cuts; that hurt, and the grass stained red between them. “I strike, and you block. Very good. You have defended yourself without a weapon, against a man with a sword. And you are still alive.” Tiny flickers of light rushed from his fingers, running over her and into each bloodied cut. Ami felt only a tickle as her wounds were healed.

“I must have you heal me?” She wiped the blood from her arms, inspecting them, her stomach and chest too. Her skin was unblemished, but pale.

“For now,” he said, “but soon you’ll be powerful enough to heal yourself, and then you’ll be invincible, like me.”

A flash of purple sparked behind her eyes, and she looked to the rosebush, remembering her fight here before, though it was slipping fast from her memory. She chased it, almost caught it—but her eyes went to the trees. Someone watching, she was sure, someone was watching—but then Adam reached for her and placed his hand on hers. She shuddered as his power passed into her again, and all other thoughts left her.

“I have much to teach,” Adam said, his eyes flaring green and wide, “and so it’s now time to move from the mind.”

He struck her forehead. “Wake!”

The tall columns and arches behind them, the bright blue sky, the green grass, splattered with deep red blood, all faded as Ami began to fall.

Hero ran through
the chamber, his eyes touching the darkness in search of Adam, seeing no one; only the girl who lay upon the floor, shielded by his men. Raven rose as he approached, allowing Hero a space at Ami’s side.

Her colour had paled. Her skin was clammy. “Ami, can you hear me?”

“Hero, what was outside? What did you find?” Kane touched his shoulder briefly, looking to his eyes. “Adam’s up there, isn’t he?”

A clap of thunder shuddered through the earthly walls, waking Ami. Her eyes darted in all directions, finding each of them in turn. Her lips formed words without a voice and she tried to sit, mumbling something incoherent.

Kane held her shoulders and lowered her down. “Relax, Princess, it’s okay.”

“Let me up,” she croaked, licking her lips, pushing Kane from her.

“Princess, I’m only trying to—”

Hero silenced Kane with his hand. “Listen.”

A deep groan sounded from above them, a creaking in the shadowed rafters. The noise of the wind and rain had fallen, the storm forgotten. Dust fell from shadow, a grey mist that smothered the light, gathered and filled the chamber; eternal flames extinguished.

“Hero, what is this?” Raven whispered, disappearing from view beneath the cloud, but Hero didn’t answer—he didn’t know.

He shivered, his body caressed by icy fingers in the mist. Silence fell. He could see nothing—could hear nothing—but his own shuffling footfalls; he called out but his voice was thin, too thin and muffled.

A whisper cut through the quiet. “Don’t come near me.”

Hero’s heart hammered in his chest as he spun round, his arms flailing. He felt the panic rise up within him, a snake uncoiling and stretching, reaching, wanting to break free from his body—but he wouldn’t let it—and instead stopped dead and closed his eyes. His hands fell to his sides as he concentrated on breathing only. His chest rose and fell, yet in place of the panic, he felt something more. A feeling of moving, of growing power in the pit of his stomach.

…do not attempt to keep Ami with this power. Remember, you must lose her. It’s the only way.

Voices rose from everywhere in the dark, echoing and overlapping, suddenly too loud and too confusing.

“Be still,” Hero shouted. Then the silence, terrifying and empty.

A whoosh ignited the air with green flame, the very mist burning in Hero’s eyes. He threw himself back against the wall, the chamber a furnace—but for an instant—till the flame pulled back and centred upon one point. The air was clear, the fort now a flickering cave, lit by a column of flame, the wick of a human torch.

He saw her behind the flames as they danced high to the beams above, swallowing her as she walked up the aisle. “Oh my—Ami!”

All three Guards moved forward, but Ami’s hand raised, releasing a jet of curling jade flame. It flew at each of them, whipping like a tail, sending them into the far wall beyond the altar.

Hero pulled himself up, feeling a power gather in his hands in response—but couldn’t use it, knew he mustn’t use it—how could he trust it? Ami turned back to the aisle and walked unhindered through the chamber.

Remember, you must lose her.

Another fire rose at the stairwell, copper-green and wild, the flames shooting forward in a fork, catching the pews and burning fast through them. A dark-clad man walked from the fire, a ghost glimmering green. He held his arms out to Ami’s approach.

“Princess Ami, no!” Raven called, standing up beside him. “Hero, Adam’s going to take her!”

Hero’s eyes widened on Ami as her clothes burned from her, the flames knitting new garments across her naked body—a black dress and boots, her hair full, her skin marble white and radiant.

She reached Adam’s embrace and her arm snuck around his back.

What had he done?
Any hope for Legacy was now dead, and the city would fall. He had not protected her. He’d failed.

No.

Hero filled with rage, the power within him solidifying, ready for release. He drew his sword and ran toward her, calling a battle cry as he jumped the altar rail, raising the blade above his head. The steel vibrated with a new purpose, his skin throbbing with a heat he’d never felt before. He caught a glimpse of purple light behind his eyes, a flash, just before a bolt of green fire hit him in the chest.

He landed in the burning pews and rolled to the floor, smouldering wood falling upon him. His robes burned, and through blurred sight and emerald flame, he saw Adam raise his sword and slice it through the air.

A moment later they’d gone, leaving only a burning room, disappearing under a smog of choking smoke.

He lay his head down and let the darkness take him.

*

“Bring her back to Legacy, please Hero, my most trusted and loyal, Hero. Find a way to destroy him, even if it leads you to the Mortrus Lands, do it!”

Hero knelt in front of the bed, looking toward the candle, the small flame swaying, reflecting against the glass. It was evening, and the sun was already setting, the twilight looking eerie, otherworldly, and lonely.

Today was historic, the day that Legacy would be changed forever. An heir had been found after thirty years, and it was Hero’s task to bring her back to the home she belonged to. Today, life would change for every man, woman, and child—but only if Adam didn’t find her first. If he did? Then hope would be lost forever.

People could wait for a miracle, he thought, and however bad the last thirty years had been, the people of Legacy had never given up hope that an heir would eventually come; but if Hero failed and the heir was lost to the twisted son of Graeme? There would no longer be hope, and there would be no miracle, and everything would burn.

Turning from the window, Hero stared into the fire, burning high in front of him.

The girl spoke from behind the flame. “Don’t lose hope, Hero, don’t lose—” The flames lowered and Ami’s face appeared, stark white, her mouth slack, wide, screaming; her hair was on fire, eyes pleading.

Hero turned and shielded his face with the book.

“But what are the Mortrus Lands?” he asked, lowering it and replacing the fallen page he’d just read. He gave it over to Lady Grace, who stood upon the step and placed the book on the shelf.

“A myth,” she said, looking him up and down, apparently satisfied with what she saw. “I guess you wouldn’t be interested in such things.”

“Oh, I am though, I mean—the poem I read is a warning, isn’t it?”

Lady Grace perched on the table, a pile of leather bound books next to her that Hero had been sorting through. He’d volunteered to help the Lady of Legacy with cataloguing the castle’s library, and as a newly initiated member of the Guard, he was duty-bound to serve the Lady of Legacy, if he could.

There were tales spanning hundreds of years on each shelf, told from father to son, and mother to daughter, written down and stored by the Lords of Legacy. There were histories of families, fictions galore, maps and diaries—too much to ever read through in one lifetime.

“Yes, it is,” she said. “It’s a warning to any looking to enter the Mortrus Lands.” She paused. Hero waited patiently for her to continue. “The Mortrus Lands are an impenetrable forest, a wooded land to the north. The myth tells of terrible events, and although some events are historical fact, some we’ll never be sure about. Whatever the truth, the story has kept men away from those lands for a very long time.” She looked away then, staring into a space of her own. Hero didn’t wish to break her thoughts, and so waited, watching her come back to life. “When the settlement was much smaller, the first men here wanted to explore
all
the territories and claim them. The Planrus Lands still have small settlements of Legacy’s people, as do the Madorus Lands, and indeed, Edorus; but the first men here also tried to take the Mortrus Lands for themselves, and that’s where the story begins and ends.”

Lady Grace now leaned low on the table, looking deep into his eyes. Hero was enthralled. She continued in a low whisper.

“The first party of explorers travelled north from the Planrus Lands, happening upon a wall of trees, as tall as the sky, and impassable. They were packed tight together, not even a gap to spy through. Not to be beaten, the men entered the more eastern forests of the Planrus Lands, and then followed the river north to its source. Only there, where the river sprung from beneath the earth, did the solid wall of trees give a gap where the men could enter.

“What they saw no one ever knew, but several days later only one man returned to Legacy, his clothes tattered, his mind unhinged. ‘Mortrus Lands,’ he’d said, ‘The dead took them all.’ None understood, and he was deemed insane. Soon a more organised party was formed, and seven men of the land were given swords and horses, becoming the first Guards of Legacy. They’d force their will upon the land if necessary, and bearing the lord’s colours, they headed to the north as the first party had done. They found the way closed to them. Even their swords didn’t cut a path into the branches. And so they ventured east, and then to the source of the river. A few days later one Guard returned, once more without his full senses.

“Many times this happened, and each man returning had lost their grip on reality, babbling about a choice, repeating the same things over and over. Eventually the expeditions stopped, and the Mortrus Lands became legend.”

Hero listened intently as Lady Grace fingered the first of the books upon the pile. “One more visit was to be made though, a hundred years or so later, by a man who thought much of himself. He wished to be the discoverer of the Mortrus Lands, and his name was Lionel Barrel.

“A caravan was made of men and carts, decorated in brightly coloured cloth; musicians were selected to travel with them, a merry band of foolish souls, artists, and poets. The last hundred years had romanticised the Mortrus Lands, the legend having become a curiosity—and none were more curious than Barrel, who believed in none of it.

“‘Probably all drowned in the river, silly beggars,’ he’d said, and the Caravan of Carelessness, as some called it, continued on out. They’d been gone from Legacy only three days when a girl returned to the city gates, begging for entry. She was a child only, cut and stained with mud and blood, daughter of one of the musicians, and the only one to have returned.

“Far from raving though, the girl never spoke of what had happened, no matter how much she was questioned, and to this day, Hero, no one knows what she saw there.” She paused and looked down at him. “That’s what the Mortrus Lands are.”

Hero swallowed. “Is it all true?”

“Well,” she said, opening the book beneath her hand, “what we do know is that Lionel Barrel was real, and that he disappeared a few hundred years ago. He was a prolific writer and poet, and this very room holds many books he wrote.” She picked up the volume and showed it to him. The author’s name was written as L. Barrel. “We know that Lord Harold entered the lands, his son, Garth, returning in his place, and that since then the mysterious tradition has continued, up until the last lord, my husband.”

Lady Grace returned to the step and placed the book upon the shelf. Hesitating for a moment, she retrieved the volume Hero had handed to her.

“It’s all in here, if you want to read it, Hero. Familiarise yourself with your history. My husband may be gone, but we all still hope for the heir’s return, some day. Learn all you can, our history is your history.”

He reached for the book, but she’d already drifted to sleep. He pulled the covers tighter around her frail shoulders and took his leave, turning to the girl behind the flames.

“Why do you haunt me?” he asked.

A laugh. “Do I haunt you, Hero of the Guard, or help you?”

She raised her hands and the flames raised high, high enough to burn the highest branch of the tallest tree. His arms ached, stone scoring skin, the smell of scorched earth and burning wood.

There was that small laugh again, followed by a song, gentle, tribal, lulling him to sleep.

Coughing, then nothing.

*

The pain was great, shuddering through each and every part of him. He gritted his teeth, his jaw aching; he breathed in the wet, sharp smell of grass, but couldn’t hold it and coughed, spluttered, choked and doubled over. His eyes opened to grey stone and black smoke, thinning in the open air. There was a stabbing pain in his neck which made his skull explode.

“I’m glad you’re awake.” Raven’s voice was quiet and near.

“Aye, a lot of good it’ll do us!” Kane said.

“Don’t talk like that to your captain,” Raven growled, both Guards now entering Hero’s sight.

“Why the hell not? The most important thing—the most important task? For all the raving and talking of honour and duty, and the man couldn’t even—”

“Shut up!” Raven came at Kane, brandishing his sword. “Don’t talk of our captain that way. I should string out your guts from here to Legacy!”

Hero winced at the pain—and the insult—forcing himself to stand. His legs were shaky, and when he looked down the world spun. He touched the blackened fabric of his robes, small fragments falling away.