The Shadow Soul (17 page)

"I think you've been avoiding me Jin, and I would like to know why."

She met his eyes briefly and they flashed blue. A ghost passed over his face, momentarily changing it, lifting his cheekbones, darkening his skin, brightening his eyes to the color of the ocean instead of the grass.

Jinji blinked.

The mirage was gone. But she couldn't get it out of her head.

Somehow, she recognized the face—a face she was certain she had never seen before. But deep down beneath her memories, a primal instinct flinched with awareness.

Fire spirits brightened her vision, circling his features, surging down Rhen's body. Her fingers tingled, begging her to craft the illusion of the face again, to study it, to remember it.

Jinji shook her head, pushing the spirits out. They clung to her eyes, refusing to disappear, sparking her fingers until they stung.

All Jinji could think to do was shut her eyes tight, cramming her lids into her cheeks, blacking out the world, breathing, until she felt Rhen's fingers release her hand, felt the fire in his touch evaporate.

She opened.

Everything was normal.

Except Rhen.

His curiosity had been piqued even more. Eyes narrowed, lips pursed, he studied her, tried to read her.

"Jin?" He asked slowly.

"Yes?" She responded, pretending ignorance.

"I think you know."

"I'm not feeling well," she said, and looked back out over the rail, leaning her hands against the wood for the strength to hold herself upright. A quake rumbled her insides.

"Really?"

She nodded, actually feeling her face turn green. Something in their touch had affected her, had rolled her stomach into knots, had made her body turn against itself.

"Will you still not tell me about the fight?" He asked, leaning in, lowering his voice. "I know you did something, Jin, I told you before. Whatever it is, you can trust me."

Jinji just shook her head, feeling bile rise in her throat.

"I cannot help you unless you tell me the truth. You might be surprised at how I react. At the," he paused, sighing and running a hand through his hair, "at the assistance I can provide."

Jinji opened her mouth to reply, but instead of words, vomit spewed from her lips. She recoiled, dropping her head over the side of the ship, coughing as the shakes wracked her body. Her stomach rolled, forcing everything out, until only vile air remained, and still she dry heaved, sapping the energy from her now aching limbs.

He put a hand on her back, trying to soothe her until it was done.

But her vision had gone blurry. When she looked at Rhen for help, all she saw were flames, rising from his body, smoking into the wind, flaring in her eyes.

Jinji dropped to the ground.

"Captain!" She heard Rhen shout, but already her vision was going spotty.

"The sea has finally claimed its victim," a voice said. Blue splashed in her vision as an old, gray faced leaned over her. "It was only a matter of time, Whylrhen, until the sickness came on. No one survives his first trip without being tested at least once, not on the open ocean."

"So it's just sea sickness?"

"A bad case, but yes."

"What can we do?"

"He'll be fine by the time we reach port. And you and I must talk before then. Geoff! Take the lad below decks."

The voices deepened, words catching each other, stringing together until one was no different from the other, and it all blurred into the sound of her own moaning.

Someone picked her up, but she did not feel it.

No, she was floating, apart, drifting through time.

Pictures began to dance in her vision.

Strange images, shadows flying, dancing. Spirits chasing after them.

The caress of a hand across her stomach, up her arm, down the back of her spine. Chills. Pressure on her lips. Pleasure.

And then pain, a knife stabbing her back, crying out. Dropping to the ground, helpless, knowing death was near, knowing she could not stop it.

A room. Large white columns, arching into a vaulted ceiling, rock. Other people. No faces, no names. Children, men, women. All looking at her. All falling before her. Red spilling out onto the floor.

Holding a hand, squeezing it, praying, knowing her other half was slipping away, was leaving her, was gone.

And then flying, soaring over land and sea. Wind whipping her scaled body, large yet graceful, different yet familiar. Wings fanned out on either side catching the breeze, drifting higher, sinking lower, floating over rock and river. Free.

Jinji rolled in her sleep. Her eyes flicked back and forth beneath closed lids as she moaned and thrashed. She pushed sheets onto the floor only to reach down and wrap them around her body once more.

A fight had risen within her; some foreign body had awoken and was trying to take over. All she could do was resist.

Resist and hope it would end soon.

10

RHEN

~ DA'ASTIKU ~

They had arrived.

Da'astiku. The capital city of the Kingdom of Ourthuro. Home to the king's palace.

"Raise the royal flag," Rhen told Captain Pygott. They had been waiting for the perfect time to call out his princely presence, and this was it.

Looking ahead, the ship was just close enough for Rhen to make out the great pulleys of Da'astiku, the Mountain City. Unlike the cities of Whylkin—flat on the plains, settled beside a bay, or nestled in a river bend—Ourthuro cities were built on the top of island mountains, none more so than this one.

Rising above, gleaming like the sun itself, was the golden palace, visible from all parts of the city as it sat on the highest mountain peak in the center of everything. From that level, metal bridges connected mountaintop to mountaintop, cascading down the side of the cliffs from plateau to plateau. The homes shrunk in size and fine materials the lower you went. The Ourthuri were a people of metals—gold for the king, silver roofs for the highest classes, and nothing but dull iron for those in the lowest. Everything about their society denoted class—the lower on the mountain, the cruder the metal, the simpler the tattoo.

All the way at the base of the city were the docks, holding ships of every shape and size. And rising from the floating docks were the giant pulleys. Huge platforms that hung from metal chains, lifting to bring supplies from the ships to the different layers of the cityscape. They were operated from large wheels beside the palace manned by the unmarked, who strained themselves almost to death, pulling and pulling all day long in an endless cycle—their punishment.

It was no wonder, Rhen sighed, that no king in the history of Whylkin had been able to win a battle against this city. Even Whyl the Conqueror had been stopped, his last attempt at expanding his empire.

"Still a sight to behold," Captain Pygott said beside him. Rhen just nodded. He had been here before, but still his throat was trapped in awe. "Poor Jin, too sick to see it. The boy is missing the best part of the journey."

Poor Jin was right. Rhen had returned to his cabin late last night, too dark to make out the boy's features, but the sound of painful gasps had made him wince. Still this morning, when Rhen had briefly glanced over before getting dressed, the boy was curled in the hammock—hands covering his face, knees balled right up to his chin. So small Rhen could barely make him out in the dull morning light. But the groans had stopped. Perhaps that was something.

"Surely he'll wake today," Rhen said, "at least in time to catch a quick sight before we leave for Rayfort."

"Ay, I hope so." The captain paused, rubbing gloved hands together. "Have you thought on what I advised last night?"

Rhen nodded. "I know what you're saying, but I must go alone. Nothing can be perceived as a threat, not so close to their home territory. If what I suspect is true, even arriving unannounced will make King Razzaq wary. I am going on behalf of my father to return the four men we found on an abandoned ship floating in the middle of the sea, nothing more."

"Will he kill them?"

"The prisoners?" The captain nodded. "King Razzaq is a notoriously harsh man." Rhen looked to the side where the four Ourthuri sat, hands chained behind their backs and ankles locked to one another to keep them from running once the boat docked. Their faces were stoic, unreadable and hard like their mountain homes. Storm clouds brewed in all eight eyes. "But I hope we have not brought them to their deathbeds."

"And you will not stay the night?"

"No." Rhen shook his head once. "I will use the news of my nephew's birth as an escape if I must. I will engage in conversation, stay for the meal he will offer, and try to uncover as much as I can from the sights around me. But too much foul play happens under the cover of darkness, I won't risk it."

"That is something at least." Pygott sighed, worry weighing his bones down into a slouch that wasn't normally there.

Rhen slapped his back.

"Getting soft old man?" A teasing glint lit his eyes. A grin picked up the left corner of his lip.

Captain Pygott raised his brows, blue irises going crystal clear. "Still young enough to whip you into shape."

"A futile effort I'm sure."

"That's what they tell me." He shrugged, lips fighting to keep from laughing. "In serious though, the queen will kill me if you leave an Ourthuri bastard behind. Bad enough I'm assisting another reckless adventure. Try to keep on the mission, for my head?"

Rhen cracked, breaking his calm composure. A second later, the captain did too.

A horn sounded across the water, announcing their arrival at the port. Both Rhen and Captain Pygott turned. Somehow, the city had snuck up while they weren't looking, towering over their heads, sparkling to an almost blinding degree.

"Better change your clothes, Whylrhen, it's time to become a prince once more. There are royal silks in my chamber left over from our last journey."

Rhen looked down at his chest, bare, as he liked to be on a ship, so the sun sank right into his skin, searing him like fire. It was the only way he felt connected to the flames, the only way that wasn't in the least magical or noticeable.

Sighing, he nodded and made his way below decks. Steering clear of his room, trying to give Jin the peace he needed, Rhen walked to the captain's rooms, pulling open the closet until he saw the bright red silks of Whylkin. Throwing a white undershirt over his head, he shrugged into the royal jacket, embroidered with diamonds and secured with pearl buttons. He found a pair of thick black leather breeches, dyed from the best hides in the kingdom. Next came his boots, tall to his knees and lined with secret pockets for the few small daggers he would bring as a precaution. Belting his scabbard around his waist, Rhen secured his golden sword. This palace was the only place in the world where it would be unimpressive, but still, Rhen felt more secure with his weapon at his hip, especially without Ember by his side.

Taking a deep breath, Rhen prepared himself.

He had never been alone with King Razzaq. And it was still not the safest plan to venture into the Mountain City without guards at his side, but the sailors on this ship were not guards. It would be more suspicious to bring them, more alarming, more aggressive. 

Rhen thought of Awenine, his brother Whyltarin, and their newborn baby boy. The future of his kingdom. Was the baby's hair shocking red like his father's? Or brown like his uncle's? Amber eyes like his grandfather or emerald like the queen's?

Would he act like Whyllysle did as a newborn? Chubby and full of laughter? Never silent and commanding the attention of an entire room? Would he grow to a toddler who ran around the castle playing with wooden swords and talking of legendary battles?

No matter what, Rhen's nephew would not share the same fate as his younger brother. Rhen had come so far to keep that child safe, to keep his family safe, and though the path was uncertain, he could not stop now. Not when answers might be within reach.

Besides, attacking a Son of Whyl would be seen as an act of outright war. Surely, King Razzaq would not take it to that point, not after being so careful to keep his tracks hidden thus far.

The ship shuddered, wood screeching in protest.

The anchor dropped.

The ship was docked.

Rhen cracked his knuckles, balling his hands into fists, squeezing tightly, getting all of the anxiety out of his muscles, before relaxing and straightening his spine.

It was time.

He emerged to the craze of the docks—men shouting, ropes whipping, carts rolling, goods shifting from platform to platform. Almost like Roninhythe, but this dock was made of metal, not wood. And its people spoke a guttural language mostly foreign to Rhen's ears.

As he expected, farther down the metal walkway a servant in the bright gold robes of Ourthuro was sprinting toward the ship, jingling as his metal jewels clanked together. Rhen moved beside Captain Pygott, waiting for the man to scurry within hearing distance as the crew lowered a bridge to the dock.