Sūnder (Darksoul Book 1) Read online

  The largest of the three, whose hair was an unusual pitch black, whispered words of encouragement to the other two. “It shall be all right.”

  The male with shocking green hair, who looked to be the youngest, cried openly as he was dragged along. The slender, blue-haired male fought like a scared, untrained desert cat. Their clothing told Akirá which clans they had been taken from; their families would be frantic at their absence. Faeborn they might be by birth, but once they were accepted into a Faelÿn clan they became Faelÿn. Akirá’s blood boiled that the L’fÿns would dare kidnap his people.

  Now, Akirá understood why the Speaker of the Stars had been so specific in how he should cross the Shattered Lands, and where he entered Braeden. Meeting Tālia of Nellá led him to these three abused faeborn, and they were somehow wrapped up in his primary mission. He could not, would not, leave the River Walk without them.

  The large, dark-haired male met Akirá’s gaze, giving an infinitesimal nod of recognition. Akirá curled his left hand into a fist and tapped his knuckles lightly on his sword hilt in the ‘be at peace’ sign, letting the faeborn know Akirá would do everything in his power to keep them safe.

  Tālia moved to the opposite side of the table, out of reach of the faeborn as they were shoved toward the dying plant.

  “You still haven’t told me what you need from me.” Akirá wasn’t sure what was going on, but by the signs of distress the plant showed, no doubt the faeborn would be involved.

  Tālia shot him an irritated glance. “The only thing you need to know is that you’ll be keeping these creatures until three days after the Festival. A meeting has been called for the leaders of Slorèx. I will give you the time and the location. You are to bring these three back to me in the same condition as I give them to you.”

  “And how am I supposed to handle them?” Akirá asked, and Ronan’s grip on his arm tightened painfully.

  “They have been fitted with a control anklet.” From a fold of her robe she withdrew a remote device, giving her full attention to the three faeborn as she waved it at them in a threatening manner. “If you misbehave, one press of this button and you’ll find out what else those anklets are capable of.” Tālia turned her attention back to Akirá. “I have already explained what is expected of you, now get to it,” she snapped. “I don’t have all day to wait on you.”

  The larger, dark-haired faeborn sneered at Tālia, muttering something Akirá couldn’t quite catch. The other two automatically reacted, hastily grabbing the dark-haired male before he could step away from them, saying, “Shaefer, don’t,” and “Shaefer, no.”

  Akirá couldn’t see magick, but like every person from his planet, he could feel it. The energy flowed like electricity across his skin. Ronan stiffened, and Akirá wondered if he also sensed the faeborn using their talents. The plant sprang back to life; Shaefer slumped with a gasp, and would have fallen if not for the grips of the other two faeborn on his arms.

  “Don’t do that, Shaefer, let us help!” the blue-haired faeborn pleaded. Shaefer fell to his knees, the other two wobbling on their feet.

  Akirá didn’t stop Ronan when he surged forward, going to their aid.

  “What happened?” Akirá asked as he followed Ronan at a more calculated, leisurely pace, not sure what he could do. The L’fÿn guards blocked Ronan’s path to the faeborn.

  “Let me look at them!” Ronan demanded hotly. “I’m a nurse.”

  Tālia sighed. “There is nothing wrong with them that I didn’t intend. Certainly nothing a human nurse can cure.” At a flick of her wrist, the guards moved out of the way. Ronan hurried to kneel next to Shaefer, who was on his hands and knees, dry heaving.

  “They have been tainted and are turning darksoul.” She grinned maliciously, laying the remote control on the table. With a slight shove, it slid across to Akirá. “They need to be kept out of the public eye until the assembly. Do you think you can do that?”

  Akirá grimaced. He’d been afraid that was what Tālia had done. Perhaps, if he could acquire a sample of the pollutant…? He glanced around the table, searching for the vial she’d used, and found nothing. One of the L’fÿn guards picked up the leather case and joined the others surrounding Tālia.

  “You’ll be escorted to the rear driveway where your vehicle awaits you.”

  Akirá swiped the anklet controller off the table, as well as a card with the address of where they were to meet Tālia in a few days’ time. Tālia moved closer to Akirá. To his sensitive senses, she still reeked, yelling wrong in some indefinable way.

  “And if you decide to back out of our agreement, mercenary, I will ensure your clan is eradicated,” Tālia promised in a low voice.

  Keeping his countenance blank, Akirá refrained from laughing in her face. She wouldn’t even know where to look for them.

  “Don’t be late to the assembly.” With that final warning, she swept out the door, once again surrounded by most of her guards.

  An L’fÿn pushed Akirá to the door as another forced Ronan to his feet.

  “Let’s go.”

  Ronan shrugged off the guard’s hold and moved to Akirá’s side, scowling when the faeborn were hauled up and dragged along behind them.

  To keep Ronan from arguing with the L’fÿns, Akirá grabbed his forearm and pulled him out of the room. He could practically feel Ronan’s anger, and wondered if this incident had lost him not only a friend but also a possible lover before he could even explain. With a falling heart, he put aside the worries for his personal life, concentrating first on getting the faeborn to safety.

  They followed the L’fÿns, eventually exiting at the rear of the castle where a large hovercraft waited. The faeborn were ushered into the back and buckled in. Strangely, Ronan climbed into the driver’s side. Akirá didn’t argue, taking the front passenger seat. The L’fÿns didn’t say a word, not even after all the doors were closed.

  “We cannot go to the hospital,” he told Ronan in a low tone.

  “Do you have somewhere to take them?” Ronan asked.

  Reluctantly, Akirá shook his head. He hadn’t been given time.

  “I have a place.”

  Akirá glanced at Ronan’s hard, unforgiving expression, and sighed. He turned to look at the three faeborn in the rear. Shaefer looked terrible; sweat glistened on his skin, and he was noticeably pale. The vehicle rocked as Ronan turned a corner abruptly, taking them away from River Walk.

  “What are your names?”

  “I am called Milāni, Holy Chalice,” said the one with the brilliant blue hair. He fiddled with the lacings for his neck corset as he stared at Akirá’s armband with the ten-pointed star.

  “Quinlān, sir,” said the green-haired faeborn, his breath coming in quick pants. “He’s Shaefer.”

  Shaefer attempted to sit up in the seat, but Milāni and Quinlān encouraged him to remain lying down.

  “How severe is the infection?”

  Milāni stroked Shaefer’s dark hair. “He took the brunt of the wrongness upon himself. Quinlān and I are sick, but not as bad as Shaefer.”

  The youngest, Quinlān, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen seasons, wiped at the tears painting his dusky cheeks. “Are you going to bring justice, Holy Chalice?” Anger tinged his words.

  Akirá lifted his upper lip and hissed. “So decrees the Speaker of the Stars.” The three faeborn responded with vicious snarls of their own, causing a feral grin to spread across his lips. Their spirits had not been broken.

  ~:~

  A while later, Ronan pulled the vehicle up next to a well-maintained warehouse. Akirá immediately climbed out and strode to the rear vehicle door. Ignoring Shaefer’s feeble attempt to rise to his feet, Akirá lifted him into his arms. They then all followed Ronan onto a rickety elevator that took them to the third floor. Akirá watched carefully, noting the code Ronan used to open the door. The flat was open and spacious, smelling of life and soil. Oddly, a hint of wild magick zipped across his skin.

  “Br
ing him here to the bedroom.” Ronan moved across the floor to an open doorway.

  Akirá followed, alarmed at the coolness of Shaefer’s skin. After laying Shaefer down, the other two faeborn crawled onto the bed with him. Ronan brought in a large glass of water that Shaefer gulped greedily down. It was not a good sign.

  Drawing Ronan aside, Akirá said, “I have to move the vehicle. They would have used a tracking device, and they should not know where we are.”

  Ronan’s hard expression hadn’t eased, but he nodded in acknowledgement. Thin-lipped and wordless, Ronan handed the fob to the hovercraft over before turning his back on Akirá. There was no hope that Ronan would have anything to do with him after this.

  Biting back a growl, Akirá hurried out the entrance, knowing there wasn’t much time. He needed help, and he knew of only one ally in the city. As the rickety elevator made its way to the ground floor, he placed a call.

  17

  RONAN WAS FURIOUS. He would never have thought Akirá could be involved with the Keeper of the Jade Forest. For the last week, meeting up with him at the different galas, Ronan had thought they were becoming friends, possibly more. Then, when he realized Akirá could be a paladin, he’d wondered—hoped—Akirá was the same mysterious paladin he’d been negotiating with. Gods, he hoped Akirá wasn’t one and the same; his people could be in more danger than he’d thought. He already felt foolish for flirting with a possible enemy, and he briefly wondered if Pip’s harsh criticism was correct. Did his inexperience weaken his ability to shield the innocent from the machinations of a society bent on destroying them?

  While he waited for the pitcher to fill with cool water, he sent a quick message to Gabe. Ronan desperately needed to get the faeborn help, and Gabe was the only person he trusted. Tucking his data pad in his pocket, he grabbed the cold compresses and the water. When he entered the bedroom, Shaefer didn’t appear any worse, at least, which was a blessing. Giving quick instructions to Milāni and Quinlān, he left Shaefer in their care and closed the bedroom door behind him. After moving the furniture to the edges of the room, Ronan then dug through his bag for his weapons. When Akirá returned, he wouldn’t know what hit him.

  Before he was ready, the door’s locks disengaged. Where did Akirá get the code? Ronan shrugged off his suit jacket as the door swung open. Akirá’s expression was almost comical when he took in the room’s transformation.

  “Ronan, what goes on here?”

  Ronan pulled his dual short blades from his bag and turned to launch himself at Akirá, intending to knock him out with the hilt of his blade. However, Akirá was quicker than Ronan gave him credit for and moved out the way, pulling a sword of his own in one fluid movement.

  “I think it is time you told me what you know of the Keeper’s plans,” Ronan spat, his anger almost blinding him. “I can’t believe I didn’t see the duplicity in you. Not once did your scent give you away.” Ronan attacked again, not to hurt but to gauge Akirá’s level of skill.

  Akirá defended, but to Ronan’s consternation he didn’t counter-attack. “I can explain if you’d but give me the chance. I’m not going to fight you, Ronan, but I won’t let you take my head off, either.”

  Beyond furious, Ronan let out a wordless yell as he attacked again, the dual blades mere blurs. Frustratingly, Akirá deftly defended against the onslaught.

  Moving to keep himself across from Akirá, it didn’t escape Ronan’s notice that Akirá circled along the edge of the room, keeping as much distance between them as possible.

  “We were talking about misunderstandings earlier. You have information on the Temple of the Stars that isn’t discussed outside the Shattered Lands, and with good reason. I was wary of your unexpected knowledge, but I was willing to hear you out. Can you find it in yourself to do the same for me? You were going to ask me something. Did I know of a green what? Finish the question. You were excited I was a paladin. What’s changed?”

  Internally, Ronan flinched at the reminder that he’d almost given not only himself away, but also those who depended on him to keep them safe. He pressed his lips together, determined not to answer.

  “Why do I feel as if I should know what you meant?” If Akirá was anything, he was persistent. It was one of the attributes Ronan had admired. “Green? Green, what? Oh.” Akirá stopped in his tracks, his gaze boring into Ronan. “Are you a green sentinel, Ronan? Was that what you were trying to tell me? Are you the Sentinel who has been communicating with Paladin?” Inexplicably, Akirá dropped his sword. It clanged loudly on Gabe’s hard wood floors.

  Ronan snarled, kicking Akirá in the stomach. Akirá stumbled back into a bookshelf and before he could right himself, Ronan was on him, his dual swords crossed and pressed against Akirá’s throat. Why had Akirá quit fighting? Why had he relinquished his sword?

  “What was the plan? What were you really looking for, Akirá?”

  “It’s true, then? You’re the Sentinel I’ve been communicating with since I came planetside?” A small smile tinged with pain lifted the corner of Akirá’s lips. “You and I are on the same side. It is time your people came home, Ronan. The faeborn and guardians are needed. You are needed.”

  “Why? So the noble houses can kill the rest of us? Do you not think we’ve looked into going home to Slorèx? That we didn’t send scouts to see what had happened to the Jade Forest? It’s dying. The people are dying. The planet is dying. L’fÿns killed every faeborn for the last five hundred years. Only Prince Sūnder’s birth stopped it, and still they haven’t accepted that the very people they want to kill could bring the balance back. Why should we sacrifice ourselves for a people who don’t want us? No, the only reason you have to lure us back is to murder those who remain.”

  “No—” Whatever else he would have said was cut off when Ronan pressed the blades harder into Akirá’s throat.

  “Sir! Please, don’t!” Quinlān pleaded. From the corner of his eye, Ronan saw Quinlān rush from the bedroom, Milāni following close behind. They raced to his side, their large, colorful eyes pleading. “Do you know who is before you? He is Akirá Kaukèx, the Holy Chalice of the Temple of the Stars. Not just a paladin, he’s the Holy Paladin, the right hand of the Speaker of the Stars, the one who wipes away injustice. Please, he’s come to deal justice in the name of the faeborn, the outcast guardians, and the Green Sentinels.”

  “What do you know of this? How do you know he’s not here to help Tālia?” Ronan demanded through gritted teeth.

  Milāni touched Ronan’s wrist. “Because all faeborn of the Shattered Lands visit the temple and meet with the Speaker at least once. She has promised our people would find retribution, that we would know justice was near when Sir Akirá left Slorèx. Please, let him explain.”

  The door’s locks disengaged again, and Ronan breathed out a breath of relief. Gabe’s help had arrived really quickly. Akirá glanced over Ronan’s shoulder, his eyes widening. “No!”

  Ronan ducked and turned, but his feet were swept out from underneath him.

  “Halt!” Akirá commanded imperiously, as if he were a royal accustomed to others following his orders without question.

  Rolling to his feet, Ronan growled when Akirá immediately shoved him behind Akirá’s back. A dozen silverhands spread out into Gabe’s loft. Where the hell had they come from, and how the fuck had they known the security code?

  Before he could demand an explanation the door opened again, this time to reveal a Panthrÿn knight, more behind him. “What is going on here? I’m Captain Paulo Dhanjal of Prince Sūnder’s Royal Guard. Where is Ronan?”

  ~ : § : ~

  Gabe shuddered, and not in a good way. He was in the lab with King Valiant’s physician, staring at the glass container holding the things he’d purged after cleansing Sūnder at the park. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Oh, yeah, because he was going out of his mind with worry for Ronan and needed a distraction. Gabe still couldn’t quite believe that all he’d had to do was tell Sūnder that Ronan needed help,
and it was done. Sūnder hadn’t questioned, only tasked Paulo to find and bring Ronan to the Oberon.

  The things in the container moved, unfortunately drawing him back into the moment. “Those look like scarab beetles,” he said, breaking the quiet.

  “You’re saying that you… purged… those after removing the taint of pollution from Sūnder’s magick?” Dr. Lashūl stood across the lab table from him, an arm across his chest, the fist of the other under his chin as he leaned on his elbow over the table to look into the glass container. He wasn’t as bulky as the average Panthrÿn, more slender and long limbed, Gabe didn’t feel as physically intimidated by Dr. Lashūl as he was by the knights.

  “I told you, yes. Ask the guards—they saw the whole thing,” Gabe replied impatiently. He’d repeated the events of that afternoon over and over again. Dr. Lashūl seemed to be having a hard time digesting the fact Gabe had taken something obviously metaphysical in nature and produced the very solid, animated things trapped in the jar. As if Gabe could forget where the beetles had come from, even if they were sort of pretty with their shiny, iridescent shells.

  “I understand that it defies many of the laws of science,” Gabe said. “I’m a nurse, and if someone had told me what happened, I would be skeptical too. The question I have is why did it happen in the first place? None of the information Princess Válora sent me about the faeborn and guardians of old said anything about something like this,” Gabe gestured at the beetles, “happening.”

  Actually, the documents were frustratingly vague about the relationship between faeborn and guardian, stating only that a faeborn always had a guardian. It was as if they were keeping secrets from the general L’fÿn population. Then again, perhaps not. Unlike the Watchers of the Jade Forest, faeborn and guardians lived in the heart of the wildwood, separate from other L’fÿns, where none went without an explicit invitation. Still, there had to be a reason for so much secrecy.