Soulkeeper Read online

  After Adria, Tommy, and even Lyssa had pulled him from his grief over Brittany’s loss, he thought he’d made peace knowing he’d never love another in the same way. Now he wondered at how many relationships he’d starved himself of in the name of that supposed “peace.” Jacaranda was hardly the first to show him interest over the past few years, but she was the first with whom he’d dared wonder at the possibility of a future.

  “Are you worried for your sister?” she asked him. Devin pulled his thoughts back to the here and now. Indeed he did, and those nagging questions as to what happened to his sister had brought him to the rooftops. Adria slept in his bed, and had for several hours. Though she showed no sign of physical injury, he couldn’t shake the fear that something had to have been done to her. He just didn’t know what. Tommy had left for the Wise tower promising to research into it, but Devin doubted his brother-in-law would find an answer in his old musty tomes.

  “I am a little worried,” he said. “But she’s tough as nails. She’ll pull through, I’m sure of it.”

  Jacaranda drummed her fingers against his ribs.

  “I don’t know how you do it, Devin. I never worried before, but now I’m worried for her, and for you, and even for myself. Does anything ever stop the worry? It’s so… tiring. I’m not sure I’ve experienced a more bothersome emotion.”

  “That’s one way to describe it,” Devin said. “These doubts don’t go away, not really, but you find ways to overcome them. The Sisters are that strength for me. What we do, from the smallest of daily actions to the once-in-a-lifetime decisions, it shapes us, defines us. We choose who we are, and who we want to be. The Sisters granted us a soul to forever remember those choices, and to fill those eternal memories with compassion, love, and joy. We are light from the stars brought to earth, and so I do my best to shine in the time I am given.”

  Jacaranda squirmed uncomfortably.

  “What of me?” she asked. “I was given no soul for the longest of time. Did… did my choices not matter? Do I even matter? Maybe something was always wrong with me, or they judged me and found me wanting, and that’s why they never sent my…”

  Devin knew there were a thousand better ways to handle this but he was tired, he was hurting, and he couldn’t stand listening to Jacaranda belittle herself so. He leaned in close and pressed his lips to hers, silencing her with a kiss. At first she remained still from shock, but when Devin moved to pull away she thrust herself at him, locking him in place with her sudden desperation. Devin closed his eyes and let it last, and last, until they gradually separated amid trembling breaths and melting bodies.

  “Nothing is wrong with you,” he said. “You’re as wonderful and beautiful and close to perfect as this imperfect world allows.”

  Jacaranda returned his arm around her shoulder and held his hand in hers.

  “That’s not true, but it feels good to hear, so you may say it again.”

  “What, that you’re beautiful?”

  She winked at him.

  “Oh, I know I’m beautiful. I meant the rest.”

  Devin moved to kiss her a second time, but she flicked him on the nose as if he were a misbehaving puppy.

  “Control yourself,” she said. “We’re both ready to pass out from exhaustion. Let’s save the rest of our kisses for somewhere warm and private.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Jacaranda snuggled closer against him.

  “I look forward to it.”

  They stayed together for what felt like hours, though he knew it was perhaps twenty minutes or so. Clouds drifted along the gray sky. Thin smoke lines floated up from a hundred chimneys. The road they lived on was peaceful, which made the clomps of hoofbeats from the occasional carriage and the laughter of scrambling children sound that much more distinct in the quiet. A soft ping, like a landing pebble, sounded not far to his right. Jacaranda shuddered slightly in his arms. Devin glanced in the noise’s direction, saw nothing, and turned back to find Jacaranda staring at him with a puzzled look on her face. A circle of blood spread across her red shirt just shy of her left breast.

  “Devin?” she asked. The name slurred on her tongue as she collapsed. Devin was too stunned to do anything but catch her. Warm blood flowed across his hands and into his lap. The eyes of some other person (certainly not his eyes, this wasn’t happening, this was happening to someone else) stared at a hole in the back of Jacaranda’s coat.

  “Jac,” he said. It was hard to speak with every muscle in his body locked in place. “Jac, no, no, don’t…”

  But she wouldn’t look at him. He forced those shaking hands to lift her up (stranger’s hands, not his) and though her eyes were open they weren’t seeing anything, not a thing, not a goddess-damned thing. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe, wouldn’t breathe…

  A man’s laughter struck his mind like thunder. Devin tore his gaze to the nearby rooftop, and the man casually strolling across the slanted shingles. His long, unbuttoned coat flapped in the cold wind. Smoke wafted from the barrel of the rifle slung over his shoulder. His pristine white trousers and shirt matched the color of the thin snow. His smile matched the lifelessness of the fog.

  “I warned her,” Tye the White said. “I said I’d put a bullet through her heart before she knew I was near. And to think you of all people were working with her, Soulkeeper.” He laughed again. “You deserve one another. Shall I have your Pyrehand combine your ashes into one sad little pile for all eternity?”

  The mercenary hopped over the slender gap to the adjacent rooftop. A calm haze washed over Devin, burying his shock and horror deep down into a pit to be suffered later. Cold rage breathed life into his limbs. He gently lowered Jacaranda’s body, hesitating only slightly to ensure that it did not slide upon the shingles. Once that was done he rose to his full height, donned his tricorn hat, and pulled it low over his face. His hand drifted to the handle of his pistol.

  “Yes, let us play a game,” Tye said. “Do you think you can draw faster than I reach you with my sword?”

  Devin pulled the hammer back and tilted the pistol to show that it was empty. Then he dropped the weapon to the roof and held his sword in a two-handed grip.

  “I won’t kill you from afar,” Devin said. “When you die I want your blood on my hands.”

  Tye drew his sword and lazily sauntered to the edge of the rooftop.

  “Overconfidence suits you,” he said. “But you’re out of your depth here, Soulkeeper. I’ll be impressed if you manage to stain my clothes with your blood, let alone draw a drop of mine.”

  “Then let’s find out.”

  Tye jumped the slender gap. His coat fluttered in the wind. The moment his red shoes touched the stone, Devin initiated the battle with a reaching slash with fully extended arms. Tye easily parried it aside and then slid closer. He feinted a counterthrust, but Devin didn’t buy it for a second. He had a feeling for how Tye battled, and a sneaking suspicion that Tye relied on no one surviving their first encounter with him. These early parts of the fight would be spent on the defensive, the goal to tire out his foe.

  Devin refused to play along. He kept his dodges to a minimum. His sword hardly moved more than a few inches to bat aside the occasional thrust. The combatants paced one another, analyzing weaknesses, sensing openings. Devin swept his long sword in waist-high arcs from side to side. There’d be no parrying those, only dodging away or hard blocking. Blocking wasn’t what Tye preferred, and the dodge expended energy he was trying to save. Still Devin did not stop. Back and forth. Keeping him dancing. Daring him to take the offensive.

  “Amusing, really,” Tye said as he turned sideways, Devin’s sudden thrust tearing a hole in his red coat. He was trying to act relaxed, unbothered, but Devin heard the heavy breaths slipped in between every other word. “This isn’t even the first rooftop battle I’ve had this week.”

  Devin increased his intensity the slightest amount. To an unskilled watcher, their fight would look lethargic, almost bored. Thei
r bodies kept loose, their attacks only single slashes and thrusts with no follow-ups. Tye wanted him to attack in the midst of his rage. He wanted him to burn out like wildfire. The fool. He could never understand his smoldering, seething anger.

  “Are you hoping I’ll make an error?” Devin asked. He steadily advanced, deciding he’d observed enough to have a feel for Tye’s preferred reactions to his various attacks. His sword never stopped moving, one slash immediately followed by another. It was time to be as relentless as the tide. Tye parried some, dodged others, always ensuring that he continued in a loose circle to prevent being pinned against the rooftop’s edge.

  “Do you think I’ll tire?” he continued.

  Another increase in the speed of his steps. Tye was fully retreating now, for Devin had solved the puzzle that was Tye’s fighting techniques. Redirecting the energy of Devin’s attacks didn’t help if Devin was relying on those redirections to keep his sword in motion for another strike. More and more the mercenary was forced to block, and each contest only conveyed what Devin already knew: He was the stronger fighter.

  Once their fight took them back to the rooftop center Tye attempted to steal the initiative. He parried, adjusted his feet, and then slammed his shoulder toward Devin’s exposed chest. Devin accepted the surprise hit. Good. He wanted Tye searching for openings. Parry and riposte. Thrust and counterthrust. This was the dance he’d trained years for, all the way back to when he was a child sweating under the hot summer sun in the training yard within the Cathedral of the Sacred Mother.

  Tye tried following with an upward-curling slash. Devin trapped it low, stepped inward while shoving the steel in a reverse arc, and suddenly he had Tye fully exposed before him. All his strength poured into a downward punch against his neck, the blow easily disorienting the mercenary. He tried to retreat, but not before Devin swung his sword around for another blow. The sword’s edge cut across Tye’s forehead, opening up a shallow wound that bled profusely given its location. The mercenary smacked away the follow-up thrust and then retreated a step to gain his bearings. He wiped at his forehead, trying to keep the blood out of his eyes.

  “That’s a lot more than one drop,” Devin said. His voice sounded strangely hollow. He wished he could feel enjoyment in the mockery. He wished he could take satisfaction in seeing the man suffer. He didn’t. Everything was locked away in a vault of cold horror, and it would stay so until Tye bled out at his feet.

  Tye twirled his sword before him, deftly switching its hilt from hand to hand.

  “At least Soulkeepers are somewhat worthy of their bloated reputation,” he said. “Let me show you how I earned mine.”

  Tye kicked off the shingles into a ferocious leap. His sword slammed against Devin’s block, and the moment he landed he slashed again, and again, hammering away with all his strength. The distance between them shrank, and suddenly it wasn’t just the sword attacking him but fists and elbows and knees. Devin had experienced this barrage already, unlike the surprise it’d been when infiltrating the Ellington estate with Jacaranda. The memory of her fueled his defenses with a surge of rage that broke free of his emotional cage. Tye relied on the shock of switching from a passive, energy-redirecting combat style to overwhelming savagery. That shock almost always meant his foes went on a panicked defensive, but not this time.

  Not this goddess-damned time.

  Devin met Tye’s fury with fury. He howled like the wolves of Alma’s Crown. He kicked and head-butted as if he were weaponless. Their swords slammed into each other and groaned with constant contact. Tye unleashed a flurry of punches into Devin’s gut, and Devin responded with an elbow to the throat. When the mercenary gasped for air he followed it up with the hilt of his sword to the face, knocking out two teeth. Tye swept his leg, but even falling didn’t stop Devin’s attack. He swung while dropping sideways, a shallow cut across Tye’s arm that was mostly deflected by his thick coat, and then they both rolled across the shingles.

  Devin’s feet found purchase and he dove back into the offensive. He forced two rapid parries with lethal slashes toward the throat, then snap-kicked Tye in the crotch. Sheer will kept the mercenary going. Devin’s legs pumped, and their swords collided. They glared through the gap of their blades, each shoving their weight against the other.

  Their swords separated, Tye roundhoused Devin across the cheek, Devin kicked in two of Tye’s lower ribs, and then they staggered apart. Tye crouched down as if preparing for a lunge, so Devin retreated further, wanting enough space to react in time.

  Except Tye wasn’t preparing an attack. The rifle slipped from his shoulder. His speed rivaled Lyssa’s as he slipped a flamestone out from a belt pouch and into the chamber. Devin knew he had to prevent the man from finishing, but his momentum had him traveling away from Tye, not toward him. He had a half second to react and so he went with the first idea to come to mind. His own pistol was nearby, and he dropped to a skid and scooped it up with his free hand. Loading it faster than Tye with his head start wasn’t feasible, but that wasn’t the plan.

  The pistol sailed end over end through the air. The flat of its hilt smacked Tye directly in the forehead, further tearing the cut already there. The lead shot slipped from Tye’s fingertips, and though he reached for another Devin was already moving. He leapt feet first at Tye’s chest. The mercenary shifted his rifle to block, and they collided in a tangle of elbows, knees, and fists.

  Tye retreated closer to the rooftop’s edge, desperate for some separation. Instead of following, Devin swept up the rifle in his left hand and slammed the hammer back with his sword hilt. He stood with the rifle out as if it were his pistol. Tye glared at him from his defensive stance. Blood trickled down from the cut on his forehead. His sword wavered in his grip, which he no longer held in his easy, comfortable way but instead with white knuckles.

  “It isn’t loaded, you damn fool,” Tye said.

  Devin’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  “I know.”

  The hammer dropped, its spike piercing the flamestone and detonating its power. There might not have been a lead shot to fire but the energy still burst out of the barrel in a flash of smoke. Tye screamed as both light and powder stung his eyes. Devin dropped the rifle, braced himself, and hesitated for a half second. Tye anticipated an attack and dove blindly—and the moment Devin saw the direction, he lunged with the full power of his legs. His arms shoved the blade forward, the tip piercing between ribs to rip into the mercenary’s chest.

  Tye gasped. He tried to breathe in, hitched, and then coughed blood. Devin rammed his sword all the way up to the hilt. True to his word, Tye’s blood poured across his hands. Devin twisted the hilt. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted the bastard to suffer and scream and writhe on his sword for years to make up for the sorrow festering in his heart. Let that sharpened blade of steel tear apart muscle and bone in retribution for a world so heartlessly cruel. Alma, Lyra, Anwyn: Devin felt betrayed by them all.

  Devin grabbed Tye by the jaw and propped him upright. The dying man’s eyes were still open. His lungs sucked in weak, wet inhalations of air. Good. Maybe he’d still hear. Maybe he’d still understand.

  “This world is not the end,” Devin seethed. “And I hope the Sisters burn you in the next one.”

  Devin ripped out the sword with a tremendous spray of blood. He kicked Tye in the chest as he collapsed, booting him off the rooftop to crumple upon the street below. It still wasn’t enough. It’d never be enough. Already his tears were starting to gather. His rage had nothing left to burn. His bloodlust was sated. All that remained was his sorrow escaping its temporary imprisonment, and oh how it consumed him like a river finally bursting free from a dam.

  Devin’s sword clattered atop the shingles. His shoulders sagged. He turned to Jacaranda’s body, his cruel mind taking in every detail and permanently burning it to memory. The confused expression on her pale face. The few errant strands of red hair fluttering across her nose. The drying blood surrounding the hole in her chest.<
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  “Why?” Devin asked the silence. Years ago, at that same spot, he’d raged at the Sisters for taking Brittany away. Now he wanted to do the same but he felt too damn old and weary. His insides were hollowed out. Even crying was beyond his body’s current capabilities. His feet moved of their own accord. His hands wrapped about her shoulders and held her close. The absence of any reaction stood out beyond even the stink of death. No acceptance of the embrace. No subtle shifting of muscles or hints of breath. Just a shell he clung to his body, embracing it with naked emotion he’d never allowed to show. He pressed his forehead to hers and looked upon a face both beautiful and lifeless.

  “Please, Sisters,” Devin said. No heart for the rage. He had only pitiful sorrow. “Don’t do this. Don’t hate me so. I can’t… I can’t do this again…”

  A single flicker of hope pierced through his darkening mind. Devin lifted her body with strength born of desperation. There was still a chance, however thin and fleeting.

  “Adria,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER 46

  Adria woke to a violent rocking motion shooting through her. She lurched to a sit as every part of her body flared with painful awareness. Concepts filtered into her tired mind. She was in a bed. It was dark from heavy blankets covering the window. Devin was beside her, his hand still on her shoulder from shaking her awake. He was crying.

  “Devin?” she asked. There was something different about him, a light within his eyes dimming with each passing moment. The sight of it frightened her, and she pretended not to see.

  “I know you’re exhausted,” Devin said. “But please, you’re the only one who can help me.”

  Help? Help with what? The last thing she remembered was being encased within a gigantic heart of steel and skin, and a blue ethereal liquid filling the entire chamber. All else had become a blur.

  “Devin, what happened?” she asked, still struggling to find her bearings.