Shattered Souls (Guardians of the Maiden Book 3)

Since that night on the frozen hill, both darkness and light had walled Dyna’s life. Right now, it was dark—and so dreadfully cold. The wind wailed outside, blowing against the tent like a spirit demanding to enter. She couldn’t see anything, but she felt Tarn’s vice-like hold on her body, his frosted breath on her cheek as he waited for her response to his revelation.

Immortality.

The word repeated in her head in an echo that wouldn’t fade.

He wanted to become immortal.

But her mind latched on to two things. Her chest was cracked open and hollow from the bond taken from her—and they were sitting in pitch-black darkness.

Dyna’s breath came in heavy with panic. She shoved Tarn away, but he was unyielding and the force pushed her off the bed instead. Her back hit the hard ground. She gasped for breath and clawed at the heavy metal brace on her throat. Shadows were swallowing her.

Hard fingers grabbed her arm, quickly letting go at her scream. “What is this?”

“I can’t breathe…I can’t…I can’t…” She gasped for air as the walls of her reality closed in. Her heart pounded in her ears. She yanked on the brass collar, but it only seemed to squeeze tighter. “I…” She wheezed on the ground and curled into herself. “Please, I…can’t…”

A dance of purple lights broke through the dark, illuminating Tarn crouched in front of her, his brow pinched.

“Maiden.” He reached out, making her recoil.

Von entered the tent, and his wide eyes bounced between them. “Master?”Belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

There was a snap of a match, then fire flared in the brazier, and the tent’s interior filled with warm light. Dyna gasped, weakly clawing at metal strangling her. Her vision dimmed.

“She’s suffocating,” Von said in alarm as he rushed over. “The witch collar. You must remove it.”

Tarn’s pale eyes narrowed at him.

“She will die, Master.”

He watched her struggle to breathe, perhaps enjoying the sight of life leaving her body. Idly rising to his feet, Tarn and went to his desk and took out a brass ring with several brass keys, each with sharp teeth and small, red gems embedded in the bow at the top.

His icy fingers slipped around her neck, then there was a click and the collar fell with a heavy thud by her head.

Dyna sucked in gulps of air, panting with each one.

“There, lass.” Von helped her sit up. “Are you all right?”

Dyna didn’t answer. Her tender throat was bruised and raw from her nails and from all the screaming she had done in the grove. She closed her wet eyes, relishing in the heat of Essence refilling her veins. It immediately banished the chill that had settled over her, and it hummed on her skin—ready. Dyna braced her legs, calculating how fast she could escape. But she kept seeing Zev’s face, the black blood spilling from his eyes. Her shaking fists clenched with the anguish building inside of her.

He couldn’t have survived the silver poisoning without her.

They killed him.

The exit was at her back and all she had to do was run, but two of her enemies stood before her and she wanted them to suffer as much as Zev did.

She wanted them to bleed.

Static crackled above her head, and the charms on the ceiling flickered. The wards. A blood-red crystal clutched in a clasp of dark talons glowed bright red, making the hairs rise on her arms.

“I thought so,” Tarn said derisively, in his northern brogue accent. “You’re a wonderful performer, Dynalya. However, I don’t recommend what I suspect you are about to do.”

She bared her teeth and shot a blast of Essence at Von. The flare of green threw him back into the table, and she stood.

Tarn’s ice-blue eyes gleamed as if he enjoyed this, the challenge she was presenting.

Von groaned, pushing on his arms. “Lass.” He shook his head. “Don’t.”

“I will never allow you to be immortal,” she hissed.

Tarn’s mouth faintly curled at one end. “I’m amused that you think you can stop me.”

The mocking on his face, the snide arrogance, it filled her with a blinding rage.

Magic flamed in Dyna’s hands. It fired up her arms, and the inside of the tent seemed to hum. The blood-red crystal smoldered, and it picked at her being like a thousand needles. But she didn’t care how much it hurt as long as she hurt them, too.

Dyna released a blast of green Essence at Tarn—only for it to disintegrate into nothing but a waft of smoke.

Then the needles impaled through her body and every nerve was on fire. Screams tore from her throat. She was on the ground, completely immobile beneath the power of the glowing wards as they peeled her open and dismembered every fiber of her being.

Pain throbbed all over Dyna’s body. Groaning, she sat up in a cot with a scratchy gray blanket, once again in another stranger’s tent. This one was a fourth of the size and humbler than Tarn’s. A second cot across from her held neatly folded quilts. A chest sat between them with an oil lamp flickering on top. She turned to sit on the edge of the cot, her feet landed on a bamboo mat covering the ground.

Where was she now?

Dyna swallowed thickly, and pressed on her aching head. Water, she needed water.

On the left of the entrance was a chair and a table with a small mirror and a pitcher. Dyna lurched to her feet and the sound of jingling made her glance down. A chill licked down her spine. Tarn had traded her collar for two brass bangles on her ankles, and they were engraved with odd symbols. By her lack of Essence, it could only mean they were enchanted, too.

The pitcher shook in Dyna’s hand as she poured herself a cup of water and swallowed it in one gulp, the cool contents like a balm in her parched throat. Her reflection stared back at her from the small wood-framed mirror. A mess of mottled bruises flowered on her neck. Angry raw lines marked her chest where her nails had dug last night when her bond with Cassiel broke.

She lifted a trembling hand to her torn skin and fresh tears sprang to her eyes. The emptiness in her chest turned her body into a shell. A thing that was decaying without that presence that had somehow become the life she breathed.

They had cleaved him from her soul. The only way Dyna could swim out of the sorrow she drowned in was to remind herself of the cloaking spell placed to separate them.

Her mate was out there. Alive.

But everything that mattered was gone.

Her bond.

Her magic.

Her freedom.

Her cousin.

Grief ripped into her, gnawing its way through her heart. Images of their childhood as they grew up together filled her mind. She heard Zev’s laughter, felt the warmth of his embrace, and saw the sadness in his green eyes at the end.

She would never see him again.

Dyna’s legs gave out, and she sank to the ground. A broken cry lodged in her throat, and she wrapped her arms around herself. One minute. She would give herself one minute to cry. The dam holding back her pain lifted, and her whole body heaved with wracking sobs.

Everything will be fine. Zev told her that at the fjord, when she was in another helpless situation. He had believed in her and so had Cassiel. It wasn’t until she also believed in herself did she find the strength to get up.

That’s what she had to do now.

Dyna exhaled a heavy breath and wiped her tears. Her one minute was over. She buried everything in a deep pit somewhere inside of her being and stood. Cassiel and Rawn must be searching for her, but she wouldn’t wait to be rescued. She was Dynalya of North Star, a descendent of Azeran Astron, and she had people counting on her.

She left her home to fight for them.

This time, she would fight for herself.

A quick search of the tent proved there were no weapons here. She found her satchel resting against the cot she’d laid on, but it was empty. They’d taken her notebook with her inscriptions on plants, her balms, and other nonessential things. They weren’t leaving her with anything that could be used against them. But if they were being so careful, why leave her untied and unguarded?

Dyna went to the tent entrance and peered through the cracks, listening to the activity outside. They had camped in a clearing in the middle of the woods. Judging by the sun’s position in the sky, it was early morning. The distant hum of several voices and the nicker of horses reached her. Rows upon rows of black tents circled a massive one at the center. It stood tall with a sharp peak, towering above them all. That had to be Tarn’s. This tent was set away from the others.

Rather…convenient.

Waiting until the area was clear, Dyna slipped outside into the brisk chill. She pulled up her hood and moved quickly, avoiding tents and dodging Raiders. Her torn dress dragged through the mud. She kept going, staying quiet and alert. Her heart jumped with each neigh or barking curse, every nerve anticipating someone would grab her any second.

But as she passed the latrines, she realized no one was truly vigilant.

Men dressed in all black passed by, going about their duties, brushing down horses or polishing weapons. Others huddled around campfires, laughing and eating. One of the men broke out in a merry song about big-bosomed women and their flapping skirts.

Dyna kept going until she looked up. Her steps slowed and she gaped. A massive translucent dome spanned the sky, containing the entire camp like a soap bubble, shimmering and whirling with iridescent colors in the sunlight. It must be some sort of shield, a much stronger than the one she’d seen Lucenna make.

And it had to be the way out.

Only two guards patrolled the perimeter at an idle pace as they talked. As soon as she was beyond their line of sight, she ran for it. The touch of magic crackled in the air as she neared the edge of the dome. It rippled and hummed with a power that made the hair rise on her arms. The land beyond it was visible but hazy and discolored, leached of pigment.

As if it wasn’t part of this realm anymore.

She reached out a hand, hovering a foot away, and an electric charge prickled against her palm.

“I wouldn’t.”

Dyna jumped and spun around at the sound of the voice. A familiar young man sat in the shadows of a tent by a dying campfire. His brown hair fell over his face as his amused, dark eyes met hers. A staff rested on his lap with a jagged orange crystal at the top.

“If you attempt to cross the veil, it won’t go well for you.”

Dalton, she recalled, recognizing that cocky face and the brown robes on his reedy frame. A mage.

Veil? Her mind worked to recall where she had heard of that spell, but her thoughts were too jumbled.

“Do you mean to stop me?” she asked. Perhaps he was extra security.

His smirk grew. “Oh, no. We’re all very curious to see what you will do, Maiden.”

She turned to find a growing group of Raiders watching her silently. They made no attempt to stop her. The veil’s power continued crackling at her back. It felt the same way Tarn’s wards had, and Dyna sensed if she touched it, the veil would attack her as well.

She stepped away.

Dalton chuckled and poked at the fire with a stick. “Wise choice. The veil is in place to keep us in as much as it’s to keep unwanted people out.”

It reminded her of a containment dome, but this felt different.

Raiders frowned and left, seeming almost disappointed that she didn’t attempt it. She wondered what would have happened if she touched the veil. If it was anything like the wards, she imagined the pain would feel a hundred times worse.

Dalton shifted in his seat, causing the bangles around his ankles to clink.

“What are these?” she asked, looking down at her own.

“Witch bangles. Pretty, aren’t they?” His smile turned sharp. “The badge of a slave. They’re enchanted with different uses, depending on the wearer, but all keep us confined in some form. In your case, it prevents you from using magic.”

“But not yours,” she guessed. “You cast spells in Landcaster, even when you had those on. How did you leave the veil?”

“Some of us are occasionally afforded privileges, but everyone always returns. Even those of us without bindings.” Dalton looked past her and she followed his gaze to where Von stood a few feet away.

Dyna’s heart lurched at the sight of him and a churning twisted in her stomach. He looked the same as usual. Dressed in all black with several knives strapped to the bandoliers on his chest and a hard expression that looked both tired and almost…sad.

He approached. “Did you explain to her what would happen if she touched the veil?”

The young mage stood and propped his staff across his shoulders. “We all learn by experience, Commander. It would have been rather amusing to see her discover how well the spell works.” With that, Dalton strode away, winking at her as he passed.

“Dyna,” Von called.

She stared at a spot past him, seeing the image of the knife in Zev’s stomach. The way he fell to the ground kept flashing in her mind, the black veins webbing beneath his ashen skin, his black tears. Dyna ground her teeth as her eyes burned.

“How are you feeling?”

She almost laughed at the question. The only thing she felt was a bitter anger and the constant stark pain in her soul. Dyna looked at the weapons strapped to Von’s chest and a dark thought rose in her like bile. She had never wanted to kill someone before, and the vileness of her thoughts frightened her.

Von glanced down at her clenched fists. “Are you hungry? The Master is preoccupied at the moment, so I will take you to Sorren. He’s a good cook. I’m sure he will have something for you.”

His sea-green eyes were bloodshot, but open and concerned. Pretending to care wouldn’t work on her. Yesterday, he stabbed her cousin and now he was offering her a meal?

“Come along, lass.”

The last thing she wanted was to be anywhere near him, but she might find another way out without having to sneak around the camp. And it wasn’t as if she had a choice.

Dyna trailed behind Von as he led her through the maze of tents. There were hundreds, it seemed. Tarn truly had a small army at his command.

Her boots squelched in puddles left from last night’s rain, giving her a glimpse of her pale face. Her hands hadn’t stopped trembling. She was surviving on pure adrenaline.

A chilly breeze blew through her clothes and splinters of the broken bond seemed to tremble with her. Dyna’s fingers brushed her lips, feeling the phantom caress of Cassiel’s last touch.

Wait for me.

Always.