The Spirit Heir (Book 2) Page 3

"If we can hold the city, it will mean everything," Rhen said, reaching out to rest his palm on his brother's shoulder, feeling nothing but tension in those coiled muscles. "But we must be prepared."

  Whyllem set his lips in a thin, determined line, and met Rhen's stare. Hesitation passed between them. This was new territory, a new relationship sprouting to life. Without Tarin, it was just the two of them. And suddenly, it was Rhen's words that held weight, his advice that would guide the kingdom.

  Rhen could read the apology in Whyllem's hollow look. Because Rhen had been right, and his family had chosen to ignore him. But he could tell it would never happen again. The ultimate price had already been paid. Two kings dead—a brother and a father. Their family could not afford any more mistakes, could not afford to overlook him any longer.

  Whyllem blinked and the moment passed. He swallowed once, as though he understood the transfer that was about to happen, understood that with this one question Rhen would take Tarin's place, and asked, "What would you have me do?"

  A lightness entered Rhen's chest, lifting him up and dulling the pain. For a brief instant, he truly felt like he belonged. In this room, in this castle, in this family. An invisible chord somehow linked his heart to his brother's, uniting them for the first time, the way a family should be connected. Tarin was there too, his memory connecting them, a common cause to fight for, an honor to uphold.

  "We must put ships in the harbor," he said, pressing past his emotions, "our captains and any merchants that will fight for the crown. The Ourthuri will come through the Straits, it's only a matter of time. And if we want to keep the city, we must hold the White Stone Sea."

  "What of the land?"

  "The city will fight for itself," Rhen assured, remembering words he told Jin not too long ago. "We have three walls of defense, a landscape that works against foreign invaders, and a complete garrison ready to defend us. Put men on the walls night and day, ready to sound alarm when the enemy becomes visible. Start a mass production of weapons, arrows especially, and swords if we have metal to spare. Collect whatever oil we have and keep it stored near the gates. See what commoners will join us, offer them money or affluence, whichever holds more weight."

  Rhen paused, watching Whyllem tick his fingers, counting off chores to do, intently listening to and heeding Rhen's words. Despite the wound cutting his stomach, Rhen felt strong, empowered.

  "Whyllem?" His brother looked up, slightly startled at the interruption of his thoughts. "You are king regent. You must relax, even if it seems impossible, you must hide behind a face of ease. Be confident or else we have already lost. Our soldiers must believe we can win, and the only way they will believe that is if we believe it first."

  "Do you really think we can?" his brother asked, eyes wide, expression hopeful.

  Maybe, Rhen thought to himself. There was always a chance. But he knew what his brother needed to hear. He knew what his people needed to hear. And thoughts of his perfect baby nephew, far too young to be buried underground, made him push all doubts to the side.

  "I know it," Rhen said, unwavering and strong. His brother might be king regent, but Whyllem had always been the second son, groomed since infancy to let someone else make all of the decisions. With Tarin gone, it seemed that only Rhen was left to lead him.

  His brother smiled, comfort loosening his body. He was back in a role he knew how to play.

  A knock sounded, startling them both.

  "Enter," Rhen shouted the command. The door opened and one king's guard stepped through.

  "The prisoner has been taken to your sitting room, my Lord."

  A flurry energized Rhen's heart.

  "Good. Thank you," he said, ignoring his suddenly awakened body and turning back to Whyllem.

  For a second, Rhen thought Whyllem might speak. Might utter some protest. The urge was in his gaze, Rhen sensed it, the caution. But it passed.

  His brother stood, straightening out the red robes around him, and looked down with a soft glance. Trust and slight admiration glinted in those eyes.

  "Feel better, brother. I'll be back again soon."

  Then he turned, leaving Rhen alone in his bedroom. Alone with his suddenly pounding heart.

  Easing slowly up, Rhen's entire side burned. But he did not stop until he slid his feet from the bed and rested his toes on the ground, halting his movement. Cautiously, he lifted his shirt. Which was, he noticed, freshly cleaned and black for mourning.

  Inches from his belly button, a red, ragged scar cut across his formerly unwounded stomach. No longer than his finger in size, slightly raised with inflammation, but mostly healed. Such a little thing to cause so much pain, to create so much damage.

  But I survived, Rhen thought, letting a grin lift his lips. The shadow had not taken him. It would not take him. It was luck, mostly, that saved his life—Rhen was sure. He had seen men die from smaller wounds than this, saw their skin turn green with infection from an accidental scrape inflicted during a training session.

  Luck, he thought, and the woman waiting next door.

  Rhen glanced up, across the space at the door to his sitting room, wondering what she might look like, wondering what she had possibly been through while he rested on silk pillows, lost in dreams he couldn't even remember.

  There was only one way to find out.

  So Rhen stood, immediately stumbling, grasping for the chair to keep himself upright. A shooting pain ran down his side, from his wound to the very tip of the toes on his left leg. His body could barely hold his weight, weak from so many days spent still.

  Gritting his teeth, he stepped forward, grunting. His body was ablaze, but he pushed on, shuffling as best he could to cross the space that had seemed small, but now felt like an ocean.

  Half falling against the wall, Rhen steadied himself, taking deep breaths, gulping them in before he dared open the door.

  I'm a mess. He sighed. Weak was not something Rhen's body was used to. Muscles sore from a day spent in the practice yards, yes. But this? This feeling like he reached in vain for strength, this emptiness—this was new. And he did not like it.

  But it would not stop him.

  So Rhen stood, biting his inner lip until it almost bled to distract his mind from the pain in his torso, and steadied himself before opening the door before him.

  There she was.

  Smaller than he remembered, but still strong, still defiant.

  His heart clenched, tightening, the longer he took her in. Skinny legs and even skinnier arms, eaten away by lack of food, covered in dirt and dust, stained with sweat yet ridged with goose bumps. Torn clothes hung like rags. And her wrists. Rhen could not stop his eyes from widening in horror, his breath from sucking in sharply.

  Ghastly cuts shredded her lower arms, caked over with blood that dried only to run fresh and dry again. Layers that looked dark, while others looked like the color of the royal family, bright and fresh. Jin looked like an unnamed Ourthuri, fresh from having her tattoos removed, skin and all, with no regard for human life.

  Tearing his eyes away, Rhen's gaze traveled further. An apology tightened his thoughts, but there were no words he could even think to say.

  And then he met her eyes.

  Warm, like he remembered. Brown but glowing bright, golden highlights reflecting the sun.

  Knowing she was a woman had shifted something. Rhen felt it stir, the sense of change, a desire sprouting to life in his veins. Strong, but new and uncertain. Even at her worst, covered in grime, she looked beautiful to him. All because of those eyes, staring at him like he was a dream, a god come to life, the spirits themselves. Eyes that had spent hours in his dreams when he thought her a princess of Ourthuro, suddenly more powerful now that they belonged to someone he knew, someone he trusted, someone he called a friend.

  She bit her lip, and Rhen was pulled from his mind. That move, it was one he had seen Jin do a hundred times. Jin the boy, the unsure lad he had come to think of as a brother.

  Against his will, R
hen retreated. The lies flooded his thoughts. The mistruths. The times he had opened himself up like a fool to someone who had only been playing him. Like a poison, it washed the warmth from his body, filling his blood with pain.

  She took a step forward.

  He could not move a muscle, not closer, not farther away. Stuck.

  She halted before him, barely a hand's length away from his body, so small, but not delicate. Not fragile. Stronger than him somehow.

  Her hand rose, slowly, so Rhen had time to step away if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

  Jin's palm came to stop on his cheek, warm and reassuring. Her eyes were hesitant, gazing at him like he might disappear, like he was not real.

  On instinct, Rhen's hand followed, holding hers in place as though she too might disappear. He felt his resolve soften the longer he met her stare. He had seen his friend, this friend, in pain too many times. It had become second nature to want to ease her hurt. Boy or girl, in that moment it hardly mattered—he would do what was needed to erase the ever-present haunt in her gaze.

  "You're alive?" she asked, awed.

  Rhen smirked, feeling his lip rise on its own, as he spoke the truth to the one person he had always been able to speak the truth to. "Barely."

  And with that, his body rebelled, giving out and slipping toward the floor.

  As usual, Jin caught him, saved him.

  But Rhen felt her arms wobble, her body shake. And before he knew it, they were both on the ground, a mass of arms and legs. Two pairs of pain-filled groans echoed across the sitting room, bouncing around the empty walls, until finally Rhen had no choice but to laugh.

  "We make a sorry pair." Rhen sighed, using his elbow as an anchor against the ground to hold his chest up.

  He looked over to find Jin smiling. Silent, but still smiling.

  Using the back of a chair for leverage, Rhen pulled himself upright while Jin slowly got to her feet, turning on her side and using all four limbs to ease upward.

  "Do you want to sit?" Rhen asked, unsure of what to say.

  "Yes," she murmured.

  They both collapsed into separate pieces of furniture, taking a second to still their exerted breaths. But the silence continued, extending further. Jin kept her eyes on the ground and Rhen watched, completely uncertain of what to say, of where to begin.

  Apologize for his brother? Demand her answers? Thank her for fighting the shadow? Every instinct was at odds with the other.

  "Rhen."

  "Jin."

  They spoke at the same time, and then stopped, only strengthening the silence until the room felt heavy.

  "It's Jinji," she said softly, looking up at him cautiously. "My real name, it's Jinji."

  "Jinji," he whispered. It seemed more feminine, rolling off of his tongue, but still odd to his newworlder ears. Or maybe just odd because it meant even her name had been a lie. "I'm sorry," he said. Not clarifying. He wasn't even sure what it meant. Sorry for the awkwardness? Sorry for the dungeons? Sorry that he could not forgive her, not totally, not yet? He chose one, the easiest option. "I'm sorry that they locked you up in there, for all of the pain you must have endured."

  She opened her mouth. Closed it. Met his eyes again, squinting. "So you did not know I was there?"

  He flinched, taken aback. "Of course not, Jin—Jinji. I only just awoke. I promise, I ordered you removed as soon as I heard the news."

  "Thank you." She shuddered, hugging her arms in close. But something about her seemed more at ease somehow.

  It grew quiet again.

  "I'm sorry too, Rhen," she said.

  But it did not ease his pain. Quite the opposite. Hearing her admit it, admit to all of the lies, it made the betrayal burn. Brought it right back to the front of Rhen's mind so he could not ignore it any longer.

  Was he ready to hear this? To hear every lie? To question every aspect of their friendship? To feel it ripped away, one mistruth at a time?

  No. Rhen was not.

  He was not ready to say goodbye to the memories he used to blanket his doubt, to the first true friend he had ever known, to the first few weeks in his life where he felt like he belonged. To the boy who had become his younger brother, brought back from the grave.

  No, he was not ready to say goodbye to that. He had buried too many brothers already.

  "I," Jinji started, but Rhen interrupted.

  "Guards," he yelled toward the door at the far side of the room, startling Jinji. She winced as the door opened, revealing the same guard who had escorted her here from the dungeons below. Rhen felt his resolve weaken, but he pushed on. "Please escort Lady Jinji to her own rooms. Tell the maids to prepare a warm bath and fresh clothes. Make sure she wants for nothing."

  "Yes, my Lord."

  Rhen looked at her one more time, utter confusion coiling his stomach in knots, and then turned away, easing to his feet.

  The guards would respect her now if they didn’t before, with the prince commanding she be treated as a lady of the court. And for now that was enough, Rhen told himself.

  Yet, despite his resolve, Rhen felt his heart drop as the door shut, leaving him alone once more. More alone than ever before.

  3

  JINJI

  ~ RAYFORT ~

  The air was warmer than she remembered. Could three weeks in the damp dark really make such a difference? Or did the sun beat down harder on this gleaming city, blinding, boiling?

  Jinji sighed as a breeze tickled her cheek, slipping through the open window, bringing a patch of goose bumps to her glistening forearm. The spirits were whispering to her, reassuring her. Though she was stuck in this castle, the far off promise of trees and grass and blue skies waited. She yearned to run.

  But she wouldn't. Not this time. Not again.

  "Oh, Rhen," Jinji murmured.

  Two days had passed since she last saw him. Days of silence. Days of solitude in ways more deafening than the prison cell. His eyes haunted her. Their pain. Their confliction. Rhen had been so close to forgiving her. Jinji had sensed it in the softness of his voice. But then those eyes hardened, tightened, closed up and he was gone, sending her away to a new cell.

  Jinji looked around. It was not the same room she had last stayed in—this one was clearly meant for a woman. But not a woman like Jinji, a woman of the court. Silky dresses sat untouched in the closet. Makeup rested unused on the tabletop. Shimmering jewels lay still in unopened boxes.

  In the dungeons, everyone at least was the same. Vermin. But here, Jinji felt her otherness like a wound. Already, Rhen was treating her differently. Not as a friend, but as a foreigner. As a woman he did not know what to do with.

  Jinji hugged the silk robe tighter around her body and curled her knees into her chest, turning her gaze back out the window. This robe was the only garment she could figure out how to wear—the dresses and their buttons were beyond her. But without real clothes, like the pants she yearned for, Jinji was stuck in this room until someone came to help her.

  I can help you, the voice whispered across her thoughts, sleek and smooth, somehow natural.

  Jinji had not heard from the voice since she left the dungeon. In fact, she had almost believed it gone, a phantom of madness from being trapped in the dark.

  Go away, she ordered.

  Just listen to me, unless you have something better to do…

  Jinji could almost feel the phantom mocking her, gazing around the empty room, somehow aware that she was completely and utterly alone. Lifting her head from the wall, Jinji paused. Slam back and force the voice from her thoughts? Or sit and listen, giving in to the insanity?

  The voice would just return. Jinji was certain of that now more than ever. But perhaps if she listened, she could be free of the infiltrator. Maybe then her mind would be her own once more.

  Impatience invaded her senses, foreign, spreading quickly.

  What did the voice want so badly to tell her?

  With a deep breath, Jinji leaned softly back. I'm
going crazy, she thought, resolved but also curious.

  No, you're not, it said. Jinji jolted, shocked that it could read her thoughts so easily, ones she had not directed at it. You would know that if you just listened to me.

  "Who are you?" Jinji asked. Somehow, saying the words aloud made her feel more secure, more separated from the voice.

  I am the spirit dragon, guardian of all living things. But I am also you. We are two souls trapped in the same human body. It is my power you use to weave the elements, my life force you channel to commune with the spirits.

  "How do I know you're not the shadow?"

  My shadow-self, the shadow dragon, is the guardian of all souls. I am his spirit-self. We are opposite sides of the same force. Whereas I weave the elements to create everything you see around you—the trees, the sea, the animals, the humans too—he fills my creations with souls, bringing them true life.

  "I don't understand," Jinji said, shaking her head.

  I have been with you for your entire life, but only recently in full. When you touched my shadow-self, you freed my soul from his grasp, allowing me to come fully alive in this world. Have you not noticed that your powers have grown stronger? They will. You have only touched the surface of what we're capable of.

  Jinji's mind wandered back to the dungeons, to the illusions she wove of Rhen holding her, embracing her. His arms had felt solid. His touch had been real enough to hold her weight. Far different from the illusions of Janu she used to weave in the clearing. Those were made of air giving no resistance as her fingers slid deftly through.

  But this voice, true as the statement might be, did not have her trust. Not yet. Jinji would admit nothing. "But why are you here? Why are you inside of me?"

  That is a long story…

  "As you said, I have nothing better to do."

  There is much for you to learn, many more important things. Do you know of the three realms? That is where we must begin.

  Jinji shook her head. Three realms?

  Where we are now, this is the spirit realm, the realm of all living things and the place I guard. But there is a secondary realm, the shadow realm, the land of souls. When a human or animal dies in the spirit realm, their soul travels to the shadow realm to rest until it is time for rebirth. And those two realms are tied by a third, the ether. The shadow dragon lives there, transporting souls between the two realms. And when I die, my soul returns to the ether to wait for rebirth. It is the only place where my shadow-self and I are supposed to commune, where we live in our proper form, the only place we can be together without destroying the balance.