Page 39 of Between Soul and Vessel
Hoisted up high, in a private balcony, was a group of women, all dressed in expensive-looking clothes. The one in the middle, a blonde, stood up from her chair. She straightened her slinky, silk garb before she strode up to the front of the balcony.
She raised her slender arms, adorned in gold bangles. “Good citizens of Lorphiah. The female you see before you has been condemned to have her soul crushed.” She pulled her hand down, clenching her fist closed, her theatrics stirring more cheering from the crowd. “It is my honor to present a soul crusher from my house, the noble and revered House of Cinphius, the greatest ludus in Lorphiah, to carry out this execution. In honor of the empress, I give you Norvenia, the scourge of the bloody south. Behold, your soul crusher—” She gestured to a gate, six times the size of the one I had been shoved out of.
Metal groaned, and slowly, it began to lift.
Boom. Boom.Boom.
The ground trembled beneath me as a horned giant stepped out from the gate, dressed in armor. A skeleton of some monstrous beast curved around her shoulders, its sharp spikes sticking straight up. Its skull hung over her breastplate—empty eye sockets forever keeping watch. She thrust her gauntlet into the air, and the crowd exploded with excitement. The gauntlet looked like it was made of massive scales, the fingers tipped with sharp, deadly claws. Whatever creature it had come from had to be huge.
Immediately, I knew that was the soulius Avriel had spoken of.
The giant pointed her brutal ax at me and let out abloodcurdlingroar. If a cave that feasted on horror could scream, that was exactly what it would have sounded like. And although it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand, the instincts that kept me alive, those natural fight-or-flight responses, were drowned out by my grief.
I would do as the guard suggested . . . I wouldn’t fight.
And maybe, just maybe, when I reached the shores of oblivion, I would be reunited with my child.
Von
Folkoln, Ezra, Kaleb, Soren the worm, and I were in one of my private offices, made up of mahogany shelves full of ancient tomes and relics. A large, ravenous fireplace was surrounded by a sitting area comprised of four wingback chairs and an exceptionally long settee—the length customized to fit my vast height. A handmade rug anchored the furniture, providing warmth against the cold, obsidian floors.
The rug, among many other improvements, had been one of Sage’s ideas when she lived here. That short span of time made up the happiest days of my eternal life.
Happy.
The word was a foreign one now.
Soren was seated at one end of the settee. Ezra was in the middle, Kaleb on the other end. His knee hadn’t stopped ticking since he sat down. His fists were clenched, and I wassomewhat surprised he hadn’t pummeled Soren yet. For Sage’s sake, I knew he hadn’t.
Folkoln stood by the fireplace, an elbow placed on the stone mantle, hand propping his head up.
“I’m supposed to drink this?” Soren asked hesitantly as he peered down at the cup in his hands. Inside of it was a bubbling, slimy liquid that smelled worse than the shit-filled streets of Norwood.
“You sure are,” Folkoln crooned.
Soren swallowed harshly. “Can I ask . . . why?”
“Because you broke Sage’s unconscious mind barrier, you two are linked, but you can’t contact her because she has passed. With the aid of my elixir, it will restore your connection temporarily, even through death,” Ezra answered, her hands resting on the curved handle of her cane.
“So I’ll be speaking to her ghost?” Soren asked, complexion paling.
“In some sense, yes. In others, no,” Ezra replied, tipping her head from side to side as if it were a balance, weighing her response.
Now I understood why she’d wanted the Lost Soul’s tears—because a Lost Soul could link the living with the dead. I looked at Ezra, my expression flat as I said, “I take it you hadmorethan just a hunch about what the tears of the Lost Soul would do.”
Ezra gave me a wink. “Sometimes you need a taste of your own medicine, Von.”
“The tears of what now?” Soren squeaked, voice trembling. I eyed the cushion he sat on, wondering if I shouldhave put a piss-pad down.
“I don’t believe anyone gave you permission to speak, fingerless,” Folkoln drawled.
“Folkoln,” Ezra scolded.
“Yes, love?” he teased, biting his lower lip.
Ezra shook her head and let out a huff. “Remind me why you are needed here?”
“Would all of you just shut up?” Kaleb snarled. He looked at Ezra, then Folkoln, before his gaze landed on the window. “Sage is out there. Whereverthereis. She needs us, and all we are doing right now is wasting time.” He looked at Soren. “Find your fucking balls, Soren, drink the damn liquid, and help me get my sister back.”
