The Assassin Princess (The Legacy Novels Book 1) Page 16

  But it bothered him, and Adam found himself again on his feet, walking to the window.

  He’d never been subject to hallucinations, not even at the greatest moments of anger and hatred, but he’d seen her face at the window, peering in at him. It had been Ami, he was sure of it…

  But the window was half way up the castle wall, facing out to the eastern sea. There was no land for her to stand on, and she was nowhere near the mountains of Noxumbra.

  Adam walked back across the shadowy room and sat in his chair. It was a wingback chair, ornate and comfortable, an exact copy of one his father had owned. He liked to have it in this room, in front of the fireplace, lit with green flame that looked sickly, dancing with the shadows.

  He looked now into those flames and watched them part. He could see the bridge and the destruction Ami had wrought. He could see her climbing up into the tunnel, looking around her and back the way she’d come. No, he thought, dear sister, you must go onward. Let’s go home.

  He grinned into the green, his eyes reflecting and flashing as he watched her enter the tunnel at a run, pursuing her prey.

  Then the image changed, replaced by a woman he hardly recognised. Her eyes were opening, and Adam’s heart raced.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She peered through the gap between branches, her bare feet up to the line where the dark earth met the grass. Woodland debris dug painfully into her soles, and she yearned for the feel of the cool green blades nestled between her toes again. She wished she could twirl under the open sky, become dizzy and collapse to the ground, staring up at the cotton clouds. What would it be like to sit on the white steps once more, and climb them one at a time onto the platform? To look up at the archways and columns towering above her? She’d walk around and through them, dancing barefoot on the marble and stone. She’d run through the walkway and up to the castle tower that joined it, grey stone and flint—

  And it was from here that the girl now appeared again, as she’d done before, stepping from the walkway to the grass. She touched the roses that grew against the wall. Oh how it would be to touch those smooth petals…

  But there was another with her, a man dressed in black. His face was white and she didn’t like the look of him at all. She’d lingered too long. She felt them near her, behind her, watching her. She saw only the man now, rising from the ground in flames of green. He was running toward her and he was on fire.

  *

  Grace stifled her scream and sat up, reaching for the goblet of water by her bed. She drank it down, stale but wet and needed. The other place lingering in her mind, her visits never truly leaving her as dreams did. Instead they remained as thoughts and vague memories, like a story once told and mostly forgotten. There was something vital in this one though that she needed to remember…

  She placed the goblet down and looked around the room. It was dark and quiet, musty as always. She could hear faint noises from other parts of the castle, the clatter of pots and pans, the clip-clop of hooves in the courtyard, voices everywhere, and from the shaded windows the subtle songs of the morning birds that nested in the walls. A candle burned against the glass panes, the flame the only movement against the blue sky that seeped from the curtain’s edge. It was the flame of her hope and despair, a tribute to her beloved husband, and a sign to his city that she’d not given up hope.

  Many times Grace had thought of letting it burn out—hadn’t all hope been lost long ago? But then a unicorn had ridden into the city with news of a discovery—there lived a daughter of Graeme, an heir. “She’s already under threat,” he’d said, his muzzle lowered toward her. “Your son is alive and in possession of the broken horn. He, too, witnessed the connection she made with us. He knows she lives. He is a cruel man and Xavier believes he will try to kill her.”

  A race had begun, and the Captain of the Guard had been sent out to bring the heir home. That had been days ago. Had Adam found her first? The thought made her shiver.

  She set her feet down on the carpet and stood, catching her reflection in her dressing table mirror. She winced. When had she gotten so old? Her skin hung from her face in folds of grey, and her hair that’d once been her pride was now no more than white straw, thatched upon her skull. The only thing she recognised from youth were her eyes, as they still held the same striking blue they’d always had.

  Leaving the reflection, Grace walked to the window, pulled back the curtain and looked down upon the great eastern slope of the city. Her husband’s city.

  Graeme had been the most wonderful man she’d ever met, and Legacy had been his playground. With the help of the sceptre, he’d transformed the city into a wonderland of joy and productivity for all people. The poor became rich, the rich became less greedy, and all walked through clean streets, sunlit parks, and meadows of flowers that Graeme had created. When he’d gone and no one had returned, the city had fallen apart.

  Of course, she’d never held it against him. He’d been old, and it’d been his time to pass the baton. A long time ago she’d hoped the baton would pass to Adam, but it was prohibited, and for good reason. Absolute power corrupted absolutely, and Adam had become jealous and twisted. He’d used the power against his kin and kindred, and was known in some circles as the Little Prince of Hatred. He would curse those who crossed his path with disease and disability, or kill at will, anyone or anything. The people had called for his banishment, but Graeme had loved him despite his actions, and couldn’t banish him from Legacy. He would talk to Adam, plead with him, but Adam would disappear from the city for weeks at a time and hide in the Edorus mountains; always he would return, meaner and more vicious than before.

  When Graeme had left the city for the last time, Adam had followed, and her son’s fate had become a mystery.

  It was the fate of their people, Grace believed, to be eternally and naturally destructive. They had to be held together by their lord, because without a leader, the city would burn…and burn it did.

  Within the first few months without a lord, the city had broken into unrest. “Where is the heir?” people would ask. “Why has he not come forward?” After a year, the Guard of Legacy took a more active role, creating animosity in the city. What right did the Guard truly have to rule over them? A few years after that, the burnings started, the riots, the lynch mobs. Extremism took hold of some, while others languished in apathy. But no matter which end of the scale people found themselves, fire seemed the ultimate answer to any conflict.

  Now, every night the city would burn. Grace would hear the Guards leave the castle on horseback, a legion forced to protect the city from itself. Thirty years on and the younger men, women and children no longer knew why they took to the streets at night, masked, with torches in hand.

  Grace herself held only minimal power, for the people would not listen to an old woman. She couldn’t trample through the streets at night and rally the people together, bring peace to the masses. The Guard followed her orders, though what orders was she to give after thirty years? Time was slipping away and carrying her with it like a stream. She’d stopped changing with the flow, and had become stagnant in her own form of apathy.

  Princess Ami was their only hope.

  She looked down to the walls of the city where beyond the gate the mountain sloped down, curving back to join the pass. It was from the mouth of the tunnel that light now appeared, shot through with green flame.

  *

  Dense trees and groping branches were tangled and uncaring as the wise trunks birthed space enough for the gathering of only the two of them. The fire was smoky sweet with pine and bark, the flames licking an outline of gold around the hooded figure beyond.

  “Hero of the Guard, you’ve lost and gained much. Now you must leave this place. Do not linger. Your adversary is closer than you think—you must use the girl.”

  The fire cracked and a shower of red-tinged ash shot far above them to the highest branches, fading, disappearing.

  “What about the girl?”

 
; A blade shot through the flames and lanced his midriff.

  The pain was instant, and he growled through gritted teeth; but he couldn’t move. Held in place by a force unseen, he could only watch as the metal entered him through dirty and blackened robes. A thousand lights of purple energy flooded his body and pulsed inside him, beneath his skin. He felt himself grow large inside, his muscles strengthening, his lungs filling with invincible fire.

  The blade was pulled back.

  “This is my last gift,” she said. “Use it well, for it’ll not last forever. The girl is more than she seems…” The forest shivered and the woods grew dark, the trees grey rock, and then only shadows.

  Hero had risen with a start.

  Soon they were riding through the Pass of Legacy, torches flaming at their approach, lighting the way and snuffing behind. All three had swords drawn. Florence guarded the rear with Hero behind her, back-to-back with Raven. He saw no pursuit, but if the stranger-girl was right, then Ami was there, somewhere in the darkness. Hooves echoed a herd around them, the only accompaniment to their own ragged breathing.

  “We’ll be out of the tunnel soon, and then we’ll be at the city.” He’d relayed the visitation to them as soon as they’d taken flight, though little was to be said about it. Florence held a mystery for them all, and if she were in fact a part of the larger puzzle, then their path had been guided well. Kane remained roped between Florence’s legs, a most forlorn cargo well-guarded by her sword.

  Very suddenly his blade lit its own light in the gloom, a small purple bead running the centre of the blade. It reached the tip, flashed, and winked out, leaving a curious trail that pointed above.

  Hero raised his eyes.

  In the shadows beyond the reach of light was rapid movement.

  “Above!” he shouted.

  A green flame lit the roof of the tunnel. Ami was revealed, sliding parallel to them on her back, long hair hanging low, framing her face. Her eyes were shining gems.

  “Hi there,” she said, and green fire rained down upon them.

  *

  As she ran, she flew.

  Ami had risen to the very roof of the tunnel, letting the power guide her flight. Her back was to the rock, buffered by a thin sliver of air beneath her, and within seconds she’d caught up to the trio, unnoticed. From her position she saw them clearly: Raven bent over his mare, racing her hard through the tunnel; Hero holding his next-girl, her pretty face marred with dirt.

  Hero called out and she set her blade alight with flame.

  “Hi there,” she said, and the flames dropped.

  The shroud of their fallen Guard caught alight and burned between the girl’s legs, and while Hero tried to shelter his next-girl, Ami threw a blast of power Raven’s way. The green light slammed into him and pushed him to the side, the horse cantering to the left. His robes caught and he ripped the cloth, throwing it aside, straightening their course.

  Hero flashed his blade toward her, the power gathering at the tip in bright flame.

  But then something unexpected.

  The next-girl threw her hand out, and with a blast of white light and flame, Ami was thrown to the ground.

  All became dark and still as the last set of torches extinguished and she heard the horse gallop away, echoing far down the tunnel. She was stunned, sluggish, and her eyes didn’t want to open. When they did, she saw the walkway in front of her and a rose in her palm, her fingers curled around the petals. From the trees, someone watched.

  Ami shook her head and crawled to her knees, her feet, and ran.

  Her hair flew behind her as she sprinted forward, the ground rising at an incline. There they were! Rounding a bend, the pass flooded with daylight from the open mouth of the tunnel, and shimmering beyond were the walls of the city; Ami couldn’t let them get that far. She raised her sword again and shot flares of flame toward them, but the horse had already leapt from the orifice and out into the open. The flares died in the day, and Ami jogged to a stop.

  “You’ve gotten away for now,” she whispered, melting into the shadows, “but I’m here to take Legacy, and with it I will take you and your next-girl.” She climbed the rock and rose back to the roof of the tunnel.

  *

  The keep was regally furnished, the lord’s chambers positioned centrally within the tower, and all the lord’s rooms opened out onto a long, wide hallway that led to the main staircase. Tapestries covered the walls there, showing Legacy’s history, and underfoot was a carpet of lush red, laced with patterns of gold and silver. All was wood and polished stone, marble and steel.

  Grace cared for none of it.

  She descended the stairs and entered the hall below where there was much commotion, with maids milling around, Guards and servants busying themselves, cooks coming from the kitchens, bringing with them the wholesome smell of cooked meat. All crossed each other’s paths and dithered before the large windows. Some stared into the courtyard while others only gossiped in fast tongues and hushed voices. When they saw her they bowed and made themselves scarce. Guards were on hand to open the main doors for her and she stepped out into the bright mid-morning, a warm breeze caressing her face. She breathed it in.

  It wasn’t often that she left her rooms, and when she did she usually stayed within the confines of the keep; it felt all new again, as people smiled and bowed, addressing her as Lady Grace. When was the last time she’d been out in the city? She couldn’t remember.

  Beyond the courtyard and out onto the roadway, people gathered and cheered. She made her way toward them. There was a sense of hope in the air, and Grace caught herself hoping with them.

  Princess Ami had arrived, and a new era was to start.

  She stepped onto the road, Guards either side of her, and looked down the mountainside and across the winding streets to where crowds rallied round a lone horse as it pushed its way through the people. Taking a deep breath she held her head high and readied herself to receive the new heir, her step-daughter, Princess Ami.

  *

  Hero took a breath and released it as the gates to the city were closed and barred. He knew it wouldn’t keep her out, but it felt better than leaving them wide open for her. The Guards on the ramparts gave him a nod, though a lot of looks were directed at Florence; they’d been told the heir was arriving, and from the looks, smiles, and gasps, Hero suspected they thought Florence to be the princess.

  Raven didn’t stop or slow their pace as he headed to the far left of the outer wall, starting up the main roadway into the city. This would take them round the mountain, passing through all major districts of Legacy, before arriving at the peak and the castle upon it.

  “Are we safe?” Florence breathed, looking back at Hero.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Closed gates will not keep Ami out. She has come this far.” He held onto her waist and kept her close. Her hands were upon Kane’s shrouded body, keeping it steady.

  “I see the castle!” she said, looking over his shoulder. Hero followed her gaze and nodded.

  “Yes, forged from the very rock of the mountain,” he said. “It’s where we’ll meet with Lady Grace.”

  Crowds gathered on the road and Raven swerved this way and that way to avoid them; every pair of eyes touched Florence, each quivering mouth on the verge of a cheer or a smile. Some were in tears, on their knees, hands in the air.

  Hero turned back to the rear.

  “So, I do have a power,” Florence conceded. “I just didn’t know. I still don’t. I don’t know why I have, or what I have—”

  “But you have nonetheless,” Hero said, his whisper against her ear, shielded from the noise of the ever-growing cheers. “You took Ami down and saved us—saved us again. The stranger-girl was right, and you were right. There is a reason for you being here.”

  “So, you approve of my company now, then?” she said, raising her face to his and looking into his eyes. Their lips almost touched.

  Hero pulled back. Ami.

  Florence bl
ushed and turned her eyes to the crowds. “They think I’m the princess, don’t they?” Her voice was bitter sweet. She looked back to him. “You wish I was, don’t you?”

  Hero said nothing, but instead looked to Raven who pulled the horse to a different road, the wide thoroughfare a market street where all trading had stopped and all eyes were on them. The road then split again, up a rise, and to the castle gates.

  Here Hero saw his Guards, Bain and Claw, and between them, an elderly woman who he was soon to shame. He’d failed to save Ami, and he would pay the price.

  Raven pulled the horse to a halt, and the three of them dismounted.

  *

  Long after the gates had closed, and the city had been sealed tight, Ami emerged from the tunnel. Her hands gripped the ceiling of rock as she crawled, upside down, out and up the sheer face of the mountain itself. Her black dress was a shadow between crevasses, her hair covering her white face. Only a trained eye could pick her out.

  The ground sloped from the mouth of the pass, where long grass and trees grew tall and full, lining a path to the city walls and gates.

  Ami focussed on the men opposite, posted upon the wall. With just a burst of her power she could take them out, though it hardly seemed necessary. Their attention was elsewhere, tuned to Hero’s return. She heard the cheering of the masses, and the Guards talked freely and gestured large. They believed their heir had arrived.

  How right they were.

  Ami’s fingers gripped the moss covered rock, her feet adjusting as she looked around her. The mountains were desolate and alone, grey in clouded grey, their slopes dangerous drops. The cheerful blue sky did nothing to raise the mood of the Edorus mountains, and Ami felt a sudden pang for her old life, left an eternity ago it seemed, though surely only a few days? The city was different though, unnatural in its contrast. There were meadows cut into rock, trees that covered the whole northern face, with flowers of yellow, red and blue, blooming too garish. Buildings, houses, streets and temples massed and littered the eastern slope facing her, throngs of people, everywhere colour and movement—so much movement—like a disturbed anthill, it was almost obscene—and yet so incredibly beautiful.