Chapter 8
Eight
With my new cloak obscuring most of my face, I trek into the outskirts of Brimhall, the cozy lanterns of the inn disappearing behind me and the dark expanse of night merging with my black clothes.
I cross the boundary where the well-trodden path merges into wild underbrush, each step sinking into the damp earth. The cool night air carries a hint of rain. Tree branches, gnarled and ancient, reach above like broken fingers trying to grasp as much of Nox’s moonlight as they can.
Ahead, a flash of movement catches my eye. A shadow darts between the trees, quick as a serpent. My hand instinctively reaches for my hood’s ties at my neck, pulling it tighter around my face.
Another flicker of movement comes too close for comfort. I keep my grip on my cloak and conceal myself under a massive luminmoss tree’s branches, its rough bark scraping against my back.
It’s all too tempting to return to the safety of the inn and enjoy another bowl of stew.
Lyndsey’s is the first kindness I’ve experienced since my life took a precarious turn for the worse.
But no, I can’t go back. Not when innocent lives hang in the balance, their very souls at risk of being rendered from their bodies and traded like livestock. I have to find Falcen and tell him.
Emerging from my hiding spot, I press onward, my footsteps muffled by damp leaves.
The brothel squats just over the stone bridge at the far end of the muddy street, its red lanterns glowing like an eight-eyed Voidspider. Laughter and discordant music skirt around the building and travel to my ears, making my brows furrow and my steps slow.
This doesn’t seem like Falcen’s preferred environment. Granted, I don’t know him spectacularly well, but what I have figured out is that he despises people he’s not forced to converse with. Why would he immerse himself in such bawdy noise?
Or did he rent a private room and render it soundless with his magick while he indulges in the pleasures of a woman? Or more than one?
I blow out a breath. This is not productive thinking.
Despite the inner scolding, I can’t help but imagine Falcen inside, his ink-black hair tousled, those striking blue eyes with their ring of gold half lidded in lust as some voluptuous temptress runs her hands over his honed body.
The thought makes me burn with a confusing elixir of jealousy and desire.
Stop it, I chastise myself. Focus on the mission. Lives will be lost if I don’t intervene.
But as I approach the stone bridge, a different sort of sound pierces the air. A scream.
I freeze on my side of the bridge. The brothel on the opposite bank of the river remains the same, their joyful, drunk noises too loud to catch the terrified cry coming from … where?
Another scream, abruptly choked off.
There. Under the bridge.
I clench my hands around the fabric of my cloak, torn between finding Falcen first and the instinct to immediately help whoever is in trouble.
While my mind stumbles with indecision, I creep closer and crouch beneath the beginnings of the bridge’s arch.
The river gurgles and froths, but beneath the calming white noise, hushed voices hiss urgently.
“Hurry up and get the soul bottled. We need to move out before the visiting Elite catches on.”
“This one’s putting up a fight. Hold her.”
Another muffled scream slices into the air, then a quick flash of light, followed by cursing.
“Did you get it all? They paid for the full soul.”
“Struggled more than I anticipated,” his companion responds. “But they will fetch a high price.”
“Aye, full souls are all the rage these days, what with the rifts spitting out more creatures. You’d think the academy would do something about it, but instead, they still hoard and ration like the selfish pricks they are.”
“That’s what we’re for. Now get another. We’re almost done.”
I grip the stone bricks until my fingers hurt. They have a Soulren bottling the souls. It’s unmistakable. Only one type of being can extract resonance so efficiently.
I should run and find Falcen. Together, we’d stand a better chance of stopping this. But even as the thought crosses my mind, I know there’s no time. Every second I delay is a second closer to another innocent life being snuffed out, a vibrant soul bottled and sold.
Inching closer, I’m finally able to spot them.
Seven dark figures are clustered at the water’s edge under the protection of the bridge.
Two men, one in the patchwork cloak I saw at the inn, restrain a young woman and a teenage boy.
Chains rattle beside them, and another two prisoners are seated on the pebbled shore.
A tall figure with his back turned holds a glass vial that glints in his spindly fingers.
Two other bodies are crumpled near the water, their heads nearly submerged.
Neither struggles, because they’re now husks, their life essence gone.
The tall figure puts a stopper in the vial and pockets it, then replaces it with an empty one. He’s the Soulren. He has to be. But his cloak doesn’t show any sort of insignia or academy designation. It’s black and plain.
A rogue.
The captives thrash against their two captors with such terror, I can see the whites of their eyes from my distant vantage point.
I hold my breath as the rogue reaches for the struggling woman.
I can’t let this happen. I won’t.
Closing my eyes, I focus inward, searching for that ember of magick nestled within me that came without effort when faced with the Void hounds.
It jumps and dances, playful flames lapping against my rib cage, as if sensing my anxiety and responding with childlike glee instead of urgency.
Come on, I silently plead. I need you now more than ever. Speak to me.
Slowly, tentatively, the ember warms, expanding into a pleasant heat but rising in temperature. Save them?
Yes, I reply, willing it to intensify even though it’s starting to burn.
The heat ripples out, into my arms and thighs, and up to my head. I let out a soft whimper when the burn hits the back of my eyes. Soon, miniature suns glow behind my eyelids.
Opening them, I blink against the sudden rush of magick. The world seems sharper, every detail thrown into stark relief. I can see the individual threads in the captives’ tattered beige clothing, hear the traffickers’ excited breathing as if I’m standing right beside them.
And I can see every single soul, rivulets of gold running through each body, twinkling, shimmering. Beckoning. Even the traffickers’ and oh my gods, I’m so hungry.
Eat them?
It takes me far longer than I’m comfortable with to respond with a commanding, No. Don’t eat. Save.
Remarkably, I think it listens, though it wobbles with childlike disappointment, my perfect vision flickering in and out.
Good. Now, grow just a little more. Just enough to—
A large, calloused hand clamps over my mouth, stifling the gasp that tries to escape. A strong arm wraps around my waist, hauling me backward into a hard chest.
I buck against the stranglehold. Panic blooms, my magick guttering like a candle flame in a strong wind.
No, no, no!
The arm around my waist hitches up behind my ribs, incapacitating me by shortening my breath.
“Veilbreaker,” a familiar voice hisses in my ear. “Stop fighting me.”
Falcen.
I’d know the salted caramel of his voice anywhere, even as a whisper. I relax in his hold, allowing him to pull me farther into the cover of the large trees. Only when we’re fully concealed does he remove his hand from my mouth and spin me to face him.
In the dim light, his eyes glitter with irritation, the golden rings around his irises catching the faint glow of the lanterns lighting the bridge.
“What in Nox’s name are you doing?” he demands, though he keeps his voice low.
I glare at him, ignoring the way my heartbeat quickens at his proximity.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I hiss back. “I’m trying to stop those traders from siphoning souls! There are innocent people down there. Two are already dead, their souls ripped out and bottled like fine wine for the rich.”
Falcen glances over my shoulder, an indecipherable expression on his face. “I can see that. But you’re not trained for this. Did you ever consider that if you charged in there alone, you might take those souls for yourself? Or be killed in the process?”
I jerk out of his hold, hating that he’s right and keeping my hood up so he doesn’t see. “How adorable. Suddenly, you care what happens to me.”
The skin around his eyes tightens, but the emotion is gone in his next blink. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“No.” I set my chin. “Not until we help those people. If I have to do it myself, I will, but then you might be forced to intervene and save this entire town because of the temper you’ve incited in me!”
His hand shoots out, hooking my upper arm.
“Keep your voice down,” he growls. “You don’t know what forces you’re provoking.”
I yank my arm away. “Then tell me! Instead of skulking around brothels while people are dying.”
Falcen flinches almost imperceptibly before his expression turns murderous. “You know nothing about me or my motivations, Remnant. I can’t interfere with every illegal dealing that crosses our path. I’m compelled to bring you to the academy. That mission supersedes any local matters.”
I ignore his strange use of the word remnant. “Local matters? Those are your people down there!”
“Nox’s cock, lower your voice!” Falcen steps closer, his breath hot against my face. “You stubborn, infuriating woman. You’re going to get us both killed.”
I tilt my head until our faces are a breath apart. “Then at least we’ll die heroes.”
Another scream sounds out, this one small and young. My head whips around. The rogue Soulren has his hand on the young boy’s chest, glowing tendrils seeping between his fingers, the poor boy’s face twisted in agony.
I bolt.
Falcen curses and grasps at my billowing cloak, but I slip free. My boots pound in the dirt, sprinting down the slope and to the group under the bridge, the backs of my eyes growing hot.
“Stop!” I shout.
The Soulren’s head snaps up. His hand jerks away from the boy’s chest, and the boy slumps forward, gasping.
Two other men, the ones from the inn, turn at the sound, one releasing the young woman to grab for a weapon at his belt. The second shoves the boy behind him.
I skid to a halt at the other side of the river, breathing hard. What now?
The ember inside me bursts to life. Heat courses through my veins. My vision sharpens. I can see their wrinkles, every freckle on their exposed arms, the beads of sweat on their brows.
And the souls. Oh, the souls. They glow, pulsing with life. The traffickers shimmer with greed and fear. The captives flicker weakly, but they’re still inside them. Still whole.
But the third man—the rogue Soulren—his is a dark plum color.
How strange. My mouth waters, anyway.
Eat?
No! I fist my hands at my sides. Save them.
The Soulren cocks his head at what he reads—or sees—in my face, under my hood. “What have we here?”
I raise my hands. The remnants of Edon’s soul crackles at my fingertips like lightning. “Let them go.”
The rogue’s cold gaze pierces through my flex of power. His slight shift in posture sends a ripple of tension through the traffickers. They hold their daggers high, metal edges glinting.
Falcen’s warnings ring in my mind. My untrained magick, the risks it poses.
But I can’t stand idle.
“Who are you?” The rogue steps closer to the river’s edge, shadows swallowing his features.
Until Falcen materializes behind me, the soul-glyphs on his neck blazing.
“Idiots,” Falcen snarls. “Did my presence in your town not motivate you to take the night off?”
A dagger slices through the air. Sparks fly where metal meets soul-magick, and the dagger falls into the gurgling water between us with a plunk.
Falcen’s eyes burn brighter when he deflects the second dagger with a flick of his summoned sword. The blade clangs off the shimmering barrier and embeds itself in the mud near my feet.
Falcen’s voice drips with cold fury. “Release the captives, and I’ll consider sparing your miserable lives.”
The Soulren laughs. “Nice try, Resonant. Your little pet here seems barely in control of her own.” He advances into the water, his hand outstretched. “Such an interesting soul. She should fetch a pretty price.”
Revulsion and rage twist in my gut. I lash out, flinging what remains of Edon, a bolt of crackling cobalt energy, at the rogue. It sizzles against his chest, dissipating harmlessly.
Dammit.
Falcen yanks me behind him, growling at me, “Don’t. You’ll only make it worse.”
He releases another burst, a wave of force sending the two traffickers stumbling into the icy river.
But the rogue remains unfazed, watching us on the opposite bank like a shark appraising a minnow. He extends his arm, and an amethyst light snakes out from his fingers, cutting through Falcen’s sword, weaving effortlessly around him, and aiming straight for my chest.
Time seems to slow as it approaches, even as my little ember screams in fear.
“No!” Falcen bellows—too late. The tendrils latch on.
Pain explodes behind my eyes. Blinding, white-hot agony rips through my nerves.
It’s like fire and ice and thunder and horror all at once.
My skin feels like it’s peeling back from my bones in order to escape.
His magick pierces my chest, burrowing deeper, seeking to rip my soul from its mortal tether.
Distantly, I hear Falcen roaring my name, see flashes of cobalt light as he collects the downed traffickers’ souls and unleashes their energy against the rogue Soulren. But it’s muffled, drowned out by the searing anguish consuming me from the inside out.
The ember within me flickers and gutters, its warmth receding as the ice of wrongness invades. I’m fragmenting, cracks spider-webbing over my skin.
NO!
My desperate cry rails against the intrusion. I claw at the foreign presence, my nails tearing into my own flesh in a frantic attempt to dislodge the insidious hooks he sinks into my soul.