Soul Catcher Page 10

  She gazed around the room and searched for the exit from the sanctuary when she spotted a flashback upon the wall. Aleco was scribbling a short note to Father Giloth. Accacia recognized the secret language the old man taught her years ago. It was the language they used to speak in code. Accacia presumed this was the memory she had initially sought.

  As before, Accacia repeated the actions to access the memoir and soon found herself in the midst of a conversation between Aleco and the frightening guildsman. Now, Accacia understood why Aleco had kept his mouth shut.

  Accacia gasped as she listened. Aleco vowed her recovery to the Serpentine Guild, but never revealed he already contained her in his possession, which confused Accacia. Why not disclose that information? Accacia realized he had no such plans of handing her over—he was going to let himself be killed. Accacia couldn’t allow him to make such a sacrifice.

  The discovery that Aleco was a long-standing member of the Serpentine Guild, an organization reputed for its superior skills in assassinations, theft, and illegal commerce, failed to surprise Accacia, and didn’t lower her opinion of him. Knowing a sliver of his past life increased her understanding of his attitude and actions. At the time, he probably had no alternative to joining the guild. He needed protection, coin, and shelter from his moonstruck, yet powerful, sibling.

  The words being exchanged in the flashback suddenly became muted. They continued to speak, but no sound could be heard. The lighting of the cloudless day began to dwindle and flash, blinking from light to dark. Something peculiar was happening—someone was tampering with the memory. She was pulled away.

  The lick of the flames warmed Accacia skin and dispelled the coldness of her body. She sat on the stone floor adjacent to the roaring hearth, the exact position she had been in before she entered the sanctuary of the stone. She opened her eyes, expecting to see the flames of the fire, but met Aleco’s furious glare instead.

  “WHAT DID YOU SEE?”

  Accacia leaned back. She was affronted by his unbridled ferocity. Aleco squeezed her arm and dragged her to a stance.

  He shouted into her face again. “I’M NOT GOING TO ASK YOU AGAIN!” He squeezed her forearms like a jungle snake suffocating its prey.

  “Stop, Aleco,” she cried. “You are hurting me.” Her arms were throbbing with the lack of circulation. She yanked her forearm away, but her body didn’t flinch. Aleco’s grasp was too strong and he held her still. Aleco clinched his jaw as he watched her writhe in his grasp. The veins in his forehead were popping and his eyes widened in anger. Accacia was afraid.

  Aleco squeezed harder. “THEN I SUGGEST YOU TELL ME QUICKLY!”

  The pain shot up her arm and she whimpered in response. “Aleco, please stop,” she begged.

  He squeezed her arms tighter.

  “I saw what happened to your parents,” she yelled. “I know Drake framed you.” She waited for Aleco to release his hold but he didn’t. Accacia cried in anguish at the pain. “Let me go,” she begged. “Stop it!”

  Aleco’s eyes widened even further at her confession. His anger didn’t dim at the sound of her plea. “What else?” he asked.

  “I saw your encounter with the guild,” she said. “That’s all.” Accacia pulled her arm away but Aleco held on. His hands shook with fury, and it increased her pain tenfold. “Please stop,” she begged. “You are going to break my arms!”

  He released his hold. Accacia stepped away from him and rubbed her arms. They were already blue and bruised. She looked away from her injury and saw him stare at her with the same look of fury. She had never seen him so angry.

  “Your actions are unforgivable,” he said. Aleco hung his arms at his side, but still adopted a defensive stance. The thick muscles of his arms were flexed and prepared for imminent battle. Accacia saw the concrete contours of his body through his thin shirt and noticed his powerful physique. He could break her body instantly— and without a weapon.

  “So are yours,” she said.

  He stepped towards her and she stepped back. “After everything I have done for you,” he said. “This is how you repay me? How many times have I saved your life?”

  “Get away from me.” Accacia shut her eyes and prepared for another attack.

  Aleco grabbed a bottle of brandy and smashed it against the wall. Accacia covered herself from the flying shards. He upturned the bed on its side, threw the dresser across the room, and severed a wooden chair against the stone hearth. He screamed as he ransacked the enclosure, upturning anything in his sight. Accacia hid in the corner. “What if I suddenly decided to read your journal,” he asked. “Browsed through a written log of all your personal experiences?”

  Accacia knew she needed to subdue his anger or he would kill her. “Aleco,” she whispered.

  “Shut up,” he commanded her. Aleco pitched a chair into the snapping flames of the hearth. “Do you understand how easy it would be for me to steal your journal, read it, and return it to you without your knowledge? It would be all too easy, but I refrained from doing so. Instead I asked you what I wanted to know.”

  Aleco ran to Accacia and pinned her against the wall. He had nothing else to break, and Accacia flinched at his sudden advancement. “I needed to know your story,” he said. “I needed to understand what your relationship was with my brother, my chief nemesis, but instead of beating it out of you, raping you, or threatening to kill you—I simply asked.”

  Accacia lost the sensation in her legs. She felt his powerful arms against her sides and her heart raced in response. He was going to kill her, she knew it. She wondered what Father Giloth would do when he discovered the truth. The familiar anxiety curdled in her stomach as Aleco towered over her. Aleco no longer stood before her—it was Drake. It was the same fear that gripped her body when the duke screamed at her. The twins shared, in addition to their identical features, the same unrestrained anger. She knew she would never be free of him.

  “Maybe I should have just been like every other man you have met,” he said. “I could have ravished you when I felt like it, bloodied you anytime you spoke since I despise the sound of your voice, and then dumped your corpse into the ocean when I was through.” Aleco stepped back from her. “I did consider it—once or twice.”

  Accacia was crying, the unstoppable tears poured down her face. “Listen to me—”

  He didn’t. Aleco tossed the large wooden chest at his bedside across the room. Accacia dashed out of the way before it hit her. The weight of the impact could have killed her. Accacia prayed he had nothing left to throw.

  Accacia focused on the man Aleco really was, the man hidden behind this outstanding rage. Aleco risked his own life to spare hers—more than once, and she knew his heated words were meaningless. Her Aleco was still in there—somewhere. She put the thought of the evil twin from her mind.

  “I trusted you, Accacia,” he screamed. “I actually trusted you. Now I wished I hadn’t. I feel like an idiot.” He slammed his fist against his chest.

  “Aleco, I’m sorry.”

  “Please don’t.” He raised his palm to her face. “I should have recognized you for what you are—a lying whore.”

  The insult wounded her, and her tears turned to heavy sobs. She made another attempt to calm him, a risky one. She reached her hand out to him. “I regret what I did,” she sobbed. “I mean it, Aleco. I’m sorry I hurt you.” She walked over to him and her hand almost touched his.

  “Accacia, get away from me or I will hurt you,” he threatened. “Don’t doubt me.”

  She stepped back—she believed him. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “That means nothing to me.”

  “But you mean everything to me, Aleco.”

  Aleco stopped his chaotic destruction and stared at her. It was the truth. Other than Father Giloth, Aleco was the first man she knew she could trust implicitly—she trusted him with her life. The menace on Aleco’s face was replaced with a different emotion. “Do you betray all the ones who mean everything to you?” he ask
ed. His scowl deepened into a frown and the light of his eyes dimmed. “Your pledges contain even less value—no wonder you were such a successful whore. They have to be skilled liars,” he said. “Now I understand why Drake values you so much.”

  Accacia sobbed at the insult of his words. He vowed he would never speak of her past but he violated his oath. Now he used it against her; he wanted to hurt her. “Leave,” he said. Aleco walked to the entrance of the cave. “I want you out of here.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to leave,” he shouted. Aleco grabbed her pack from the rubble and shoved it into her arms. “I never want to see you again.”

  “Aleco—”

  “Don’t worry, if you are wondering about work, there’s a brothel in Aequor,” he said. “I’m sure they will take you in.”

  She broke down at his final words. She hugged her pack to her chest and looked at the floor. She never meant to hurt Aleco; that was never her intent. She would take back her actions if she could, but that wasn’t possible. She wanted to work past their dispute but his last comment snapped a nerve. She wiped her tears and turned towards the exit.

  “Go,” he said.

  She left the cavern without a backward glance. Aleco didn’t bother to watch her go.

  Roslyn Keep

  15

  The Lord Aleutian finished his third drink while he waited for the meeting to commence. They still expected Steward Josiah from Morkarh, a powerful ally and Drake’s close friend, to enter the library, the meeting hall of the council.

  Lord Drake spotted Father Giloth across the room. The old man sat in silence in his chair by the window, gripping the staff of his order, which Drake considered to be a security blanket. They never spoke in public, each man notably hating the other. Father Giloth hated his possession of Accacia, his adopted daughter who seemed to arrive from nowhere, but Drake couldn’t care less about his quarrels.

  At the first meeting since Drake had claimed Accacia as his own, Father Giloth took him aside.

  “Did you bring Accacia along?” he whispered in the hallway. There was no hiding the excitement in his voice at the possibility of her presence.

  “That is none of your concern.” He smiled. “She belongs to me, remember?”

  The old man’s wrinkled face fell into the lines of a frown. “I just want to see my daughter, even for only a moment,” he said.

  Drake’s smiled widened. “It’s none of your business, but yes, I brought her along. I never make a trip without her,” he said. “And no, you may not see her.”

  “Drake—please have mercy.”

  The duke walked away and left him standing alone in the hallway.

  Now Father Giloth ignored him just as much as Drake did. They only conversed during the council and even then it wasn’t a direct conversation. The other sovereigns of the Continent wondered what had transpired between the two men but refrained from asking.

  The Steward of Morkarh entered the library and took his customary seat beside Drake. His red robes symbolized the color of his realm and his customary necklace of stone was a token of his main mercantile product. The one vacant chair in the room was reserved for the Duke of Paso Robles, who had recently perished. It was rumored to have been an unfortunate heart attack and his healers had been powerless to save him. The funeral had taken place two days ago. Now the council met to discuss what should be done with his vacancy.

  “Steward,” Drake acknowledged his friend.

  Steward Josiah smiled in turn. “I’m glad to see you are well, Lord Aleutian.”

  “You as well.”

  “Tis’ a shame about Lord Lukein,” Josiah said. “What a fine leader he was.”

  “Yes,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye. “It is quite a shame.”

  Father Giloth finally looked at Drake. He knew he was somehow responsible for the untimely death of Lord Lukein, but couldn’t prove that fact.

  Lord Artremian looked around at the congregation of rulers. Every man seated before him had an investment in the political hierarchy of the Continent, and with their opinions they would decide the next actions to take. The Steward of Morkarh, Lord Aleutian, the Duke of Roslyn, the Nature Priest of Orgoom Forest, and Father Hyphalia, Guardian of Channeled Souls, were present within the meeting room. Lord Lukein’s absent laughter was immediately noticed in the dead space, his presence sorely missed. The council members, Geon Kirklandar, Rancar Steel, Zybiconia Rin, and Qualdo Renador sat silently within their seats, waiting for the their host to speak. Gatherings were always held in Roslyn since the province was in the center of the Continent, easily accessible to the other factions. Letumian was the capital seat of the Continent, but was centered too far east for timely travel. Drake would change that soon.

  Artremian addressed the room. “We all know why we are here,” he began. “Lord Lukein’s untimely death has led us to this discussion. As we all know, Lukein fathered no children, therefore, the realm is without a ruler. How should we proceed?”

  Councilmen Rancar cleared his throat. “The council holds the opinion that a new leader should be elected from the province. A man who served directly under the instruction of Lord Lukein who knows the laws of government.”

  “The leader of the Continent needs to be someone from the royal line,” Steward Josiah said to the council, “descended from the ancestors who claimed this land. It cannot be a mere peasant.”

  “Yes,” Drake added. “The man needs to be worthy of the position. Only those from royal descent are credible of such a role.”

  Father Giloth spoke from his corner. “Just because someone is born into an honorable family does not make him more imperial than a peasant with humble beginnings,” he said. “Honor is established through life, not by birth, Lord Aleutian.”

  Drake stared him down across the room; he would pay for his words later. The priests of Orgoom Forest are prohibited from procreation so the office never descended through a familial line and Father Giloth referred to this custom. He had proven himself worthy of the office by his abilities and valor alone, not his bloodline.

  The council nodded at his words. They appeared to be in agreement with him. Drake clenched his teeth at their response. This meeting was already spiraling out of his control. “I suggest we elect a current ruler to preside over Paso Robles, in addition to his own province,” Drake said. “All the Dukes of the Continent are acutely aware of the various governments and regulations of the provinces of this land. There should be no trouble there.”

  “I agree,” Steward Josiah added.

  Lord Artremian shook his head across the room. “I am opposed to this solution. Not only would it be difficult to control two provinces spaced leagues away, but it would bring too much power to one sovereign,” he said. “Any individual can be worthy to rule a nation.”

  Drake knew he would lean this way because of his peasant wife. If he voiced the opposite opinion, he would be a hypocrite. Artremian’s choice didn’t anger him; he had expected it. Now the vote was two to one. Drake’s plans were falling into place. His dominion will reach across two lands by tomorrow afternoon.

  “I agree with Artremian,” Father Hyphalia said. Drake snapped his neck at the sound of his unwelcomed words. He looked at the Guardian. “The power over the Continent needs to be dilute. Having one ruler over two provinces will increase his hold on the trade commerce and overall influence of the land. I think the idea is a bad one.”

  Drake ground his teeth together at Father Hyphalia’s unexpected declaration. He had no authority to cast a vote. Drake had not foreseen this problem. He tried to control the anger in his voice as he spoke. “Your Grace,” he stated kindly. “We appreciate your thoughts on this matter, but your vote does not count in our politics. Thank you for your wisdom.”

  “We are honored by your opinion, Your Grace,” Rancar spoke, “and it will be taken into consideration since Lord Lukein is unable to cast a vote himself.”

  Drake glared at Rancar.

  The lea
d councilman ignored him. “Lord Lukein sent an advanced directive granting Father Hyphalia the power to speak on his behalf in the event of his death,” he said. “His vote counts.”

  Drake cursed under his breath. Now the vote was tied.

  “The council will make the final judgment at our private meeting,” Rancar said. “We will announce our decision tomorrow.”

  The council members rose from their seats and left the room. Artremian followed them down the hallway, escorting them to their private chamber. Steward Josiah looked over at Drake and frowned. “You can’t always be in control, Drake,” he whispered.

  Drake squeezed the arm of his chair. His knuckles turned white under the force of his grasp.

  Father Hyphalia embraced the Nature Priest across the room. They spoke for a few moments before Father Hyphalia left the library. Drake rose from his chair and approached Father Giloth. “You will pay for this behavior,” he hissed. “Mark my words, old man.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, m’lord,” he replied. “Your words are hollow shells. I will not be intimidated.”

  “I’ll remember that,” he threatened. “When I set fire to your beloved forest, I will recall your words, Father. Expect no mercy from me.”

  “Nor you from me,” he said.

  “You can’t stop me,” Drake said. “This will come to pass, despite your efforts. And when I gain full authority over this land, I will begin my celebration with your death and the death of that forest.”

  “We shall see,” he said as he turned away.

  Drake grabbed his arm. “And we will.”

  The following afternoon, the councilmen gathered behind their chestnut desk while the dukes took their designated places. The two holy men remained off to the side, watching the congregation in silence.

  Father Giloth already knew the decision they had made. Father Hyphalia had spoken with them in private and urged them to choose an unbiased outside candidate to lead the province of Paso Robles. He also relayed Father Giloth’s concerns about Drake as a hungry dictator, and his desire to overtake the province for himself and then move on to the rest of the Continent. The council nodded their understanding. They also recognized the lust within the duke’s eyes. The purpose of the council was to balance the power of the leaders with the other factions, to prevent the hoarding of influence to one single leader. Drake’s ambitions had been obvious to them, and they were determined to drench his fire of control.