Vesselless (The Merciless Realms Series Book 1)
Chapter 1
To look upon the worst and see the best is true sight. To behold the whole and find no flaw, only then can one be right.
—Love From a Blind Prince
Everything here is black. Black walls, black floors, and black chandeliers which rain down in deadly, metal points, lit with electricity instead of glo stones. Everyone here is sharper than in Zo, as if the people of Zarr are honed for violence and callousness from a young age; my new maid, Preysee, has a pink scar reaching up her lip which whispers of horrors unknown.
She stalks to where I stand clutching the only book I was allowed to bring from the libraries of Zo, the book I held during the whole car ride here.
“This isn’t your fault, child,” Preysee says. Her voice, like her face, is hard, but sadness laces her honey-brown gaze. They flick toward the bedroom door then back to me, careful to avoid my eyes. “You do not have to fear me. Do you understand?”
I find her gaze, and she conceals her flinch better than most who meet my pitch-black irises. My grip tightens around my small book of forgotten idealism in the face of her and this vast, unforgiving bedroom. My new bedroom, furnished with ottomans recently sat on, vanities used mere days ago, mirrors reflecting a new owner, and a washroom the size of which I”ve never seen. All black.
My father, still in his infantry general uniform, enters without knocking, and Preysee stiffens before leaving us, her expression somehow more piercing than before.
He gestures to the bed draped in black silks and velvets, adorned with more pillows than I could possibly use. “Do you like it?”
He won’t like my answer, so I don’t say anything, not after he lost his temper with me yesterday. He kneels in front of me, his face a portrait of fatherly love. A portrait only shown to me.
When no one is around. When no goblet of wine is near.
He holds out his palm to me, and I stiffen at the sight of the smooth golden ring resting in the crease of his hand. “You are my chosen heiress of the Zarr Kingdom, my successor to the throne,” he says. “It is time you take a vessel.”
My voice is small but unafraid, despite the rising panic in my chest. “Most nobles wait until their teens.”
His dark eyes crease around the edges as he pushes the vessel ring closer. “Your mind is mature enough for this power, and so is your soul.”
I swallow, having witnessed his lust for power grow over the last few months, changing him. “I do not want a vessel,” I say, a sudden fire taking my chest. “I do not want to be the heiress of Zarr.”
Simmering rage enters his gaze, his mouth dropping at the corners. A flicker of the man he’s been lately flashes in his eyes, and I catch the tiny, but sharp, smell of wine lingering on him. When I take a quick step back, he snatches my hand.
“I don’t care what you want,” he says through bared teeth as he fights my small but determined arms. “I care about what’s best for you.”
He knocks my book to the stone floor, and wrestles me to the ground, trying to jam the golden vessel onto the middle finger of my left hand as I thrash against him.
As soon as he rams the unremovable vessel to the apex of my finger, intricate tendrils jut out of the metal band, sinking into my flesh. I scream, and it echoes off black walls, dying in an empty castle still painted with fresh blood.
An invisible energy creeps from the vessel over my skin, humming in a near silent frequency.
“There,” he says, a smoothness reclaiming his face as he lifts me up and returns my book to my hand, an unspoken apology already lingering in the air between us. My chest is still heaving from panic and rage as the ring on my finger burns my skin where metal buries into the flesh of my hand. “We have many enemies. This will protect you, Nizzara.”
I glare at him with every shred of hatred an eleven-year-old girl can muster as he says, “I know spirits scare you, even if you don’t admit it. You’re right to be wary of them. So, I’ve found one who will take care of your soul.”
From the rafters, a pinkish presence separates itself from other near-invisible orbs of energy. From conversations I’ve overheard, I know humans shouldn’t be able to perceive spirits like I can. I’ve always been more sensitive to their dimension.
“Her name is Liha. Let her into the energy that surrounds you now—the caster’s shield.” He clears his throat, a warm depth returning to his face as his gaze darts from my furrowed brows to the firm pinch of my lips. “You are a caster now.”
I feel Liha’s presence, a more concentrated form of warm air nudging the caster’s shield now clinging to me like a body glove.
“I don’t want to be a caster,” I say, clinging to my edition of Love from a Blind Prince, as if it can siphon my tears.
He bows his head, voice trembling with so much emotion, I feel it clogging the space between us. “If you never trust me in any other matter, please trust me in this. Accept her into your shield.”
I close my eyes. My mind is screaming not to do it, but my soft heart wins, falling for his warm voice all over again.
I open my mind, energy, and soul to Liha.