Soul Fate (Soul Hate #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Fate help me. Help me please. In your mercy show me the way forwards.

Save me. Save Halice.

Colours rain from the domed ceiling of the High Chamber.

Watery hues of yellow, red and green drip down the gilded columns, pretty pinks and weak blues splayed like a ghost of the heavens against the creamy stone.

Whether gentle or vibrant, the beautiful display of human ingenuity working in tandem with the power of creation once filled me with a deep, spiritual pride.

Turning my chin skywards would fill me with peace, strength, purpose and duty.

Now every drained pigment is a lead weight squeezing my neck. Behind every brick or gleam of light are the watching, expectant eyes of every single Halician that came before me. Watching, waiting, judging.

Their entire legacy rests on me.

Desperation has led me to things I never thought I would do.

I have lied and schemed and betrayed. I have killed.

I took the mantle of Maestrus, temporarily dissolving our precious democracy, in the hopes that it would give us a fighting chance against our invaders.

In the hopes of turning things around. In the hopes of one day restoring it to its glory.

If I fail, if the Holy States win their bloody conquest of our city, then I have destroyed the work of the millions of dreamers and fighters that came before me. I will have destroyed the most wonderful thing this city ever built – its soul, its democratic chamber – for nothing.

I rub my temples as Maggia slides another piece of paper over the table. The numbers thankfully punch higher than the last time, but not as high as I’d like. As we need.

“We’re waiting on another shipment from Coari, but I think a second would make things more comfortable – if the Red Sands can do that,” Maggia explains.

I nod as she hands me the purchase order authorising payment.

“We need to be able to feed the people who have fled here from the rural communities.”

“How is accommodation progressing?” I ask, deftly signing the page and handing it back to her.

“It’s been tricky,” admits Maggia, securely filing it away. “More and more people arrive every day and space is limited. People have started erecting camps outside the walls of the city.”

Camps? That’s a breeding ground for trouble of all kinds. Illnesses, fear and desperation, not to mention a ghastly hunting ground for those who seek to prey on the scared and vulnerable. Halice is barely holding itself together at it is. We don’t need even more unrest than is already brewing.

“We need to house them safely inside our walls. For their own protection.” I groan, leaning back in my chair. The warm wood creaks as I move. Tilting my head to the side, I rub my aching neck. I’ve been up since the small hours looking at numbers, and my muscles are now locked in position.

“Without swarming the streets with tents, I’m not sure what else there is to do. We need the streets themselves to be free and clear for movement, security and order,” Maggia points out. I nod as I take a deep breath.

“Tents are not adequate or hygienic housing arrangements. The last thing we need is people getting sick. Not to mention the darker issues that could come with that. Can you gather costs and identify good locations to open temporary public bathing facilities? At least we can address the issue of hygiene quickly. Then we’ll need to speak to some architects about building safe, temporary housing around the city. ”

I let out a sigh, adding this to the mental list of things I need to sort.

“Of course.” Maggia nods, pulling out a report from her stack of papers and leaving it on the table for me to read should I need it.

I smile my thanks at her as she retreats from my table, the movement aching the tired muscles of my face.

I reach for the dry paper covered in familiar black scrawl and tug it closer.

On the front are the headlines, and I hope there are no glaring issues that’ll insist I read this fifteen-page report right now.

The High Chamber is so different from the way I’ve always known it.

The observation pews have been cleared from the Great Hall, stored I don’t know where.

Tables cover the black and white tiled floors, as do a smattering of mismatched chairs.

People sit and stand, working and writing and counting and talking.

Too many City Guards to count stand pristine and proper by the doors and the windows, lining the space for our protection.

The High Chamber has been transformed into a hub of activity and action.

In stark contrast, the Electi chairs are empty, standing like statues in their positions behind the gate, a lurking, sombre vigil to the democracy that came before.

The democracy we’re all fighting for. The central white marble stage lies vacant and empty, a gathering of pale light collapsing against the perfect stone.

Every single person who dares to step close, be it the cleaners or someone walking towards the stairs leading to the roof, every single soul veers widely around it.

No one dares to step foot in the hallowed space.

The stage lies empty and has done ever since that fateful vote, that awful night.

When I thought Idris was dying. When everything was crumbling around us.

Traitors and schemers abounded and in my distraught desperation, I called my colleagues to vote and make me Maestrus.

It worked, but it cost me more than I could bear.

And now, I am in charge of it all. Gone is our democracy. I am running everything. Every decision, every command, all of it is mine. A king by another name, I am Renza Di Maineri, Maestrus of Halice.

Fate’s Fury, how I wish there was another way. That I had found one. But even now I can’t see another path. We were losing. Things had to change.

Maggia returns to her group of workers and starts delegating responsibilities amongst them.

I turn my head to Leone, who takes the opportunity of me having a free second.

He starts talking about infrastructure improvements that will ensure our access to clean water cannot be interrupted, should the city be besieged.

“Several spots for wells have been identified. If we build six wells out of the fifteen identified areas, that should be enough for emergency rations should the river become unusable,” Leone continues, running a hand over his slicked-back brown hair.

The general smug, grimy feeling I used to get when I spoke with him has evaporated.

Something about Ulrico’s betrayal and scheming to make Leone his fall guy shook this man to his core.

Leone’s confidence has never quite recovered.

True, he is still privileged and power driven – but now he is using that for the city.

He could’ve run, like so many other rich and wealthy citizens did.

But he refused. He stayed and now he ensures we seize the assets deserters try to steal and put them to use. He chose to fight.

For that, Leone will have my undying respect.

I nod along with his words as a familiar dark heat starts to sizzle on the back of my neck.

I don’t flinch. I don’t turn around. I don’t have the time, let alone the energy, to spare.

I refuse to acknowledge the eyes that haunt me, that furious black gaze burning across my spine and charring my bones.

Idris lurks like a fiery spectre, glued to a wall at all times, as he chases his ardent desire to never be closer to me than forced.

Silent as the grave of our relationship, barring his occasional muttering to Alfieri or Savino, he mans his obstinate position alone and wordless.

He doesn’t contribute, doesn’t offer his aid or opinion.

No, he just stands there, burning and watching.

Judging. No doubt collating a list of my every mistake and calculating the moment of my downfall.

My Soulhate. The man Fate decreed was destined to destroy me.

And Idris did his best to do just that. Despite everything we’ve done together, everything we’ve declared we were to each other …

he threw it all away. Abandoning me when everything was falling apart, loathing me for my desperate attempt to fight back against our enemies.

We haven’t spoken since the night he almost died, the night I took the title of Maestrus.

The pain of his rejection and disgust hollowed me out for weeks after our confrontation.

The barbed lance of his words twisted and contorted me in a thousand ways.

Even now, I can’t help but shudder at the dark thoughts that must be circling his mind, the rage that must still burn beneath that frozen exterior.

A fury that burned in his eyes on that stormy night.

Now, all these weeks later, my own anger almost masks the pain of his abandonment. Almost. It’s at least hot enough to distract me from the emptiness of his absence, something to latch on to and push me forwards.

I will not engage, I will not scream. I won’t waste a scrap of energy or a second of time I don’t have.

Not on him. I won’t allow him to know how badly he hurt me, how the wounds still gape and bleed when I lie awake at night.

He doesn’t get that satisfaction. The man I fought Fate for, the man I loved despite every burning fibre, the man I chose and who I thought had chosen me, he turned his back faster than lightning strikes the ground.

I have other priorities now.

“If you think six is the minimum, let’s have eight,” I answer, sweeping my finger across the dry parchment of the map to point at the spots I think best. “Keep the details of the work and construction on a need-to-know basis. We don’t want to invite sabotage.

Keep it cheap, functional but easy to maintain in the long term.

We don’t want these measures becoming safety concerns in a decade. ”