The Assassin Princess (The Legacy Novels Book 1) (6 page)

“What I found in each is too vast to explain, but suffice to say it was akin to stumbling into a dark room—I didn’t know where to look for him.”

“Why could you not return to Legacy?” Ami asked, the images fading and her sense of self returning fully.

“Indeed, the most quizzical of conundrums, and the point where this tale now turns to you,
Princess Ami
, my sister, the
heir
of Legacy, daughter of my father.”

The storm worsened
as rain cut across the hills like blades, the sharp wind lifting and wailing in the night; bellies of black clouds flickered a dull green as a fork struck out, hitting the ruins.

Below the surface, the sound boomed like thunder, waking the three men from troubled dreams. Firelight danced across the walls and floor, playing the rafters above. Sounds of running water came from the stairwell, and from closer, the muffled sound of struggle.

Hero looked to Ami and crawled over to her, Kane and Raven joining him.

“What’s wrong with her, Hero?” Raven asked. “Is she dreaming?”

“This is more than a dream,” he said. Ami lay on her back, shaking from head to foot. Her eyes were closed, but from her pursed lips came a murmuring. She was sweating, feverish. How had this happened? Hero’s eyes darted through the room—to every shadowy corner—but there was no one there. He looked back down to the princess, sweeping her hair from her damp forehead. Her lips twitched as words escaped that he couldn’t understand. “Hold on,” he said, and then looked to Raven. “Get something for her head.”

“This is Adam’s witchcraft,” Kane said.

Raven gathered their sheets together and laid them beneath her head as it snapped from side to side. “How did he find us?”

“I don’t know,” Hero said, peering down at her. “He must have followed us.” He wet the edge of his robe from his flask and wiped her forehead. “Ami, can you hear me?”

“Maybe the birds were poisonous?” Kane said, but Hero didn’t think so. The scratches and claw marks looked clean and without infection.

“We could take her back to Legacy tonight,” Raven suggested. “Brave the storm?”

Hero shook his head. “The storm is getting worse and we’d be open to attack, near on defenceless against a powerful adversary.” He shifted, looking around the dark cavern again. The far end lit with a green flash and thunder rumbled above. The flow of water from the steps was now a constant, flooding the floor. “The man has power far beyond our comprehension, far beyond anything we’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe he’s here? How can we possibly know?”

Hero wiped Ami’s brow again, staring up at Kane. “We’re protecting the princess as best we can, and though we may have overestimated our effectiveness, we’re the only protection she has.”

There was another flash, a clap of thunder, the sound of the wind between fallen walls skimming the top of the stairwell with a haunting howl. But there was something else, and Hero heard it. It floated beneath the wind, a melody closely disguised and yet separate.

“What is that?” Kane cocked his head to listen as the wind died down, leaving Raven to cover Ami’s shivering body.

Hero held his finger to his lips. He recognised the harrowing sound, the soft, tribal voice.
She
was singing for him.

“Stay here,” he said. “Don’t leave her, or follow me. Stay
en guard
.” He got to his feet and drew his sword, listening to the soft, lonely voice somewhere above them, out in the night.

He walked into the open chancel, his footfall an echo, his eyes roaming the pews, the wooden beams, the eroded faces and painted statues; the rain cascaded the steps in front of him, the sound constant, gentle and serene.
She
was up there, but as the room flashed with green again, the triple flicker reflected in the water, he also knew Adam was there too. They were both above, and with Ami behind in unknown sufferance, he knew he had to climb the steps; one or the other would find him, or both.

His boots sank into the puddle of water, the ripples exploding outward in warped orange, and then sudden green. The wind rose again and called into the night, and below it, as before, the sweet voice, a mournful melody, calling to him. He remembered the moment he’d heard it before, along with the smell of sulphur and burned wood—and as it was, the calm before the storm.

*

It’d been an early morning and the mist that’d covered the distant horizon of hills had disappeared with the rising sun, the harsh breeze sharp against his skin as he stood upon the ramparts of the city walls. He’d been watching the sun rise in the east, piercing its rays between the spaces of jagged mountains. The city was behind him, its wide roads lined with buildings that spiralled up to the castle at its peak where his Guards had at last retired to until the morrow.

The previous night’s struggles had been longer than most, with even more riots and fires. People called for the heads of others, and what did it ever matter? Each night, Hero fought for his land, against his people and for his people; each morning he prayed for hope and sanity, restoration of order and prosperity.

His life’s path had been chosen for him long before he’d ever been born, and he’d joined the ranks of the Guard at just fifteen, eventually becoming captain, with a duty to guard the city from outside threats, inside insurgence, and to govern the city in temporary stead of the lord. Of course, throughout his whole life, there had been no lord.

Hero had heard tell of the peace under Lord Graeme, how benevolent a ruler he’d been, and how the lands had flourished, but oh, how the city had fallen in just thirty years.

Now, people tore the city apart each night. Masked, cloaked, and hooded, they’d hunt each other in packs, fighting against the Guard, against each other—anarchy had overtaken reason and the city was in chaos, as it had been for as long as Hero had ever known.

Men, women, and children were beaten and killed, buildings razed to the ground, and though the Guard fought to protect the city, it was its very people that were beaten one night, only to burn the next. At the dawn of each new day, each man was a kinsman—a blacksmith’s apprentice, a stable boy, a dressmaker—and what was Hero to do?

Hero closed his eyes and listened to a sweet, soft voice that floated to him from somewhere, carried on the wind. Was it from the city? The sound was close and impossible…

He was no longer alone.

The girl sat a ways away, cross-legged in the centre of the ramparts, hooded and cloaked, her long dark hair against her chest in streams. In front of her was a smouldering cairn of wood that burst into flame. The day began to darken.

Hero approached, sword in hand. The cold stone walkway was gone from beneath him, replaced by a forest floor strewn with pine-needles. The transition was seamless and spinning round to find his city, Hero found only trees. In the distance he heard a rumble of thunder, and in the air he smelt fire and rain. He walked to the flames as they rose higher, hiding a girl behind.

“This is a strange magic,” he said as the sweet, tribal melody came to an end, leaving only the crackling of wood between them.

“Hero of the Guard,” her voice only a shade from the sound of her song, “the most important days of your life are about to start.”

“Who are you?” he asked, crouching down.

“Who I am is of no importance,” she said. “What is of importance is that you know me to be your guide, and that you heed my advice.”

“My guide? Why do I need a guide?”

“Today you will be approached by those with much magic, and from there you’ll race against your darkest adversary to win the prize of the purest hope.” The girl thrust her hands into the fire, turning the flames a purple and green. “See here, Hero of the Guard, look into the flame. See your task ahead.”

Hero’s eyes were drawn into the twists and turns of flickering colours that created images of unicorns and dark clouds, and of a girl in flight.

The fire flamed orange once more and rose higher between them, the images gone.

“You succeed, but you also lose.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, standing up, the fire rising higher still. “I’ll succeed and lose in what?”

The flames leapt toward him and threw him back against the ramparts, a mist of ash settling on his robes, a plume of smoke rising and disappearing into the morning blue. A whisper touched his ear like a kiss. “Be ready,” it sang, lapsing into the same melody he heard now, her song lifted in the storm, calling to him.

He climbed the dark stairwell out into the storm, where dark clouds of black and green were gathered above, seen through sheets of grey rain that soaked him to the bone. He spun out of the ruins, calling out to the girl.

“Where are you?” he shouted into the storm. “I have come!” The sky flickered, flashed, and across the grass, through the grey mist, Hero saw a dark figure silhouetted—gone in a flash.

It wasn’t the girl.

The soft voice came from every direction, and Hero spun, blinded by the light and dark. He held his sword aloft, the wind whistling against the steel as the dark figure moved closer in shadow and light, his ragged breathing a chant in the night.

“Where are you?” Hero called. “I have come to you!”

The dark figure was in front of him, his white skin shimmering green as the sick lightning struck nearby.

Hero screamed and fell back against the ruins—but the man had gone, as had the storm, the sky now a calm twilight.

*

Hero looked around him, a dim forest, raindrops clinging to branches, falling to the ground. Woodland animals scuffled close by and through the treetops the first few stars could be seen, straining against the true black of night. His steps led him across the carpet of needles once more to the outer edge of the fire. The crackle and snaps from the wood beneath comforted Hero only a little, the red sparks flaking and flying as he knelt and addressed the dark girl, hidden.

“Was that Adam?” he asked.

“Yes, Adam is with you. His storm of power infects your princess, though he does not see you as a threat,” the girl said, her voice soft. “And that is the only reason you live, Hero of the Guard. You do not feature in his plans.”

“What is happening to Ami?” he asked, his fear and anger rising. “Do you know? Why can’t we wake her? How does the storm
infect
her?”

“You can do nothing for her,” she said. “You have brought her this far, but you are to lose her.”

“Lose her?” Hero was incensed. He gripped his sword and rose from the ground, meaning to round the fire and confront her, but as he did she also moved, the north to his south, remaining his opposite across the flames as if the world revolved around the fire.

Hero relented. “Why are we to lose her?”

“You must realise, Hero of the Guard, our time is limited here. Know that events I guide you to come to pass.”

“You said I would lose and succeed,” he said, “and this is what you meant?”

“I did,” she said, her voice a smile, “but if I’d have told you that you’d lose that which you sought to protect, you would’ve tried too hard to keep her safe, and everything would’ve been lost.”

“How do I lose her? To Adam? Will she die? Who are you to make these predictions?”

“I am your guide, Hero of the Guard,” she said, and once more thrust her hands into the fire. As before, the flames changed to a purple-jade. “Do not despair. Your strength is your duty, and your love. You cannot help Ami, and you must allow events to unfold. When she wakes, she’ll be lost to you, and you must let her go.”

Hero watched the purple chase the green, the flames licking and fighting, both colours winning and losing. “If this is the truth, then what is my purpose? I’ve been tasked with bringing the princess back to Legacy, the heir to our lands, and I’ve already failed.” Hero didn’t want to believe her, this tribal stranger of mystical magic, yet he trusted her, if only because he was with her and had not been destroyed by Adam’s hate—but Adam was there with Ami. He had to get back to her.

“Do you remember what happened after my last visit, Hero? Look into the flames and remember.”

Hero’s eyes burned with images, flashes of memory in the flame. He saw the unicorn ride through the tunnel pass and up to the city gates. He’d led the creature up to the castle with important news: the existence of an heir had been discovered, and she was in danger. Hero had been readying to ride out to Solancra with the unicorn when Lady Grace had asked him to her chambers for conference.

He saw her room in the flames, large and dark, her one solitary candle burning at the windows in remembrance of her lost family.

“If there is a chance that my flesh and blood lives—and she is unaware of her history—” she’d said, “please bring her back. If it’s also true that Adam is alive and intent upon her capture? Then I want you to stop him. Defend her. 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 saw himself promising her that he’d do everything in his power. He’d kissed her hand, she’d kissed his forehead, and then he’d left her.

The images cleared, though the green and purple flames remained, hot and empty.

“This is where you need to go, where you need to be, and what you need to know.” The girl swept her hands over the flames, and Hero watched them rise up into her palms, gathering there as balls of flame—the colours fought and swirled, but didn’t burn her.

“I am to go back to Legacy without the princess?”