Page 1 of Legacy of the Heirs
Prologue
Soren
The Day of the Explosion
The smoke rose thick and fast above the tree line in the distance: the Hybrook Forest of Garridon. Soren’s eyes travelled from the smoke and over the peaks of the trees carefully acting as a barrier to block her view from Doltas Island to the City of Antor—the seat of the Garridon Royal Family. It was one of the first things King Jorah built upon seizing the throne. He erected a forest so tall it spanned the entire coastline of Garridon. He killed her grandfather, the rightful King Errard, but in Jorah’s haste and greed, he missed the careful escape of Errard’s wife, and Soren’s grandmother. Lyra.
Soren was raised on Doltas Island and forever heard the tale of Lyra’s escape. Jorah was power hungry and foolish, and failed to view the Queen as a threat, despite being the true Garridon Heir, and the family Errard married into. Lyra’s father, however, descended from the Wiccan of Ithyion, and so she had inherited gifts from that family line, too. Her expertise lay in prophecies and predictions. Lyra had foreseen the death of her husband and was gifted with a prophecy.
Jorah only became King because Eddard allowed it, having sacrificed himself for the sake of the prophecy and the future his beloved had foreseen. His death created a distraction for Lyra’s escape, and the only place she knew to hide was Doltas Island. While many married for politics, Lyra and Eddard had married for love, and Lyra wished to raise her unborn daughter and fulfil theprophecy once the day came.
That day had indeed now come.
This was it. The moment the prophecy predicted would arise, and now it was time for Soren to reclaim what was rightfully hers. She smiled as she calmly watched the waves crash against the high rocks of her island home before returning her gaze to the mainland.
Spiralling plumes gathered, a swirl of charcoal tendrils choking the bright, early afternoon sky. A blanket of darkness trailed in its wake, and all eyes that turned to it would wonder the cause, speculating what disruption had permeated the peace of the Neutral City while unaware of the chaos soon to ensue.
Those close enough would have felt the explosion and heard the rising panic as inhabitants of the city scattered. Others would have suffered, buried under the flying rubble of crumbling buildings, while those too close burned within the flames of destruction, their screams forever ingrained in the minds of their loved ones.
Word would soon spread across the realms as destruction unravelled in the city. Soren closed her eyes, wishing she could smell the smoke and feel the burn. Forcing her eyes back open, she watched with excitement, and desperately wished she were there to reclaim what was rightfully hers.
Turning her back on the realm she would soon set foot on, and guiding the winding tree roots from her path, she walked further inland. More trees appeared until she was fully engulfed by the tall evergreens expertly nurtured by her younger sister.
Soren’s mother, Ellowyn, had decided to take a page from Jorah’s book. If the royal family were going to hide Garridon from them, then they would hide all that Doltas Island had become, and what a prosperous island it was.
They set contingencies in place for hiding Doltas for the day the new King of Garridon arrived on their shores, who would be met with ruins coated in overgrown ivy and foliage, and a small collection of people coated in dirt and patchwork clothes.
When King Jorah had learned of their family fleeing to DoltasIsland, he had not questioned it, understanding it to be an abandoned island where they would likely struggle to forage for food until slowly dying out. The reality was far different.
When the original royal families settled on Novisia, they sailed the high-profile prisoners to Doltas and abandoned them there, unknowingly creating an army, who possessed a burning hatred for the royals. The rulers had unwittingly provided the land for those from all realms to build their own world within Novisia, which is exactly what they did. When Lyra and her unborn child fled from Garridon, the people did not hate or recognise the fallen queen as a descendant of someone who had imprisoned them, but a Wiccan who saw all Doltas Island could—andwould—become.
Over the years, the few people from Nerida who wielded water, as distant relatives to the royals, ventured into Novisia, hidden as they journeyed to Keres. From there, they spread. Infiltrating the realms had been easy; the difficulty came in solidifying roots while also providing means to transport goods back to Doltas Island. It soon became apparent the nobles were ignorant to those of lower ranks, so they hid in plain sight as servants in the homes or as the homeless: a hidden collective, gathering information to provide for their Island.
The people under Ellowyn and her husband Arryn began to prosper, but it only excelled when Soren came of age at sixteen and formed alliances of her own. Her parents were rightfully King and Queen of Doltas Island, but Soren was the fallen princess that would one day reclaim Garridon. She would need all the inside help she could get.
Over the past ten years, she had formed alliances in all four realms ranging from sailors in Nerida to healers in Vala, the common people of Garridon, and the Red Stones of Keres. It was in Keres that Soren had found friendship while learning the skills in battle she now possessed. She wondered whether the Queen of the Red Stones had discovered Soren’s infiltration into the Courtesans, where she planted the prophecy in the mind of the King.
Soren smelled the gifts of Keres in the air as she reached the town in Doltas, the many spices floating on the wind as the people prepared for the feast to be held that night. She motioned with her hand, untwisting the branches from the stone wall to reveal an archway, and through it, her sister who nurtured the flowerbeds. Gently, Sadira held her palm to the buds, easily flourishing the flowers from within.
Sadira was Soren’s equal, but her opposite. Where Soren was powerful with battle, Sadira was powerful with words. Where Soren could lead armies, Sadira could lead nobles. Where Soren’s power could destroy, Sadira’s aimed to grow. It was those reasons, and many more, which made Sadira the obvious choice to marry the new King of Garridon. Jorah’s grandchildren were not the true heirs; therefore, they were all hopeful the plans had worked, and Caellum was the last to remain. Her target.
Soren crossed through the courtyard towards the modest stone castle adorned with every flower imaginable climbing alongside it. She nodded at her soldiers as she passed their training grounds, the Keres steel a welcome sound to her ears. Pushing the wooden doors to the castle wide, she dominated the entryway. Kicking the door closed, Soren ascended the flagstone staircase until reaching the sitting room, where she expected her mother and grandmother to be. The room was her grandmother’s favourite, the view from the window across the distant seas reminding her of all the stories her parents told of Ithyion. During her travels to Keres, Soren heard snippets of tales about Ithyion, learning what she could about the original settlers of Novisia.
Soren reached the archway to the sitting room, and sure enough, her mother and grandmother sat by the window, while her father stood before the roaring fire, staring mindlessly at the flames. The three of them turned when she entered.
“Well?” asked her father. Soren nodded, and her grandmother turned back to look out the window.
“They will all be dead,” her grandmother confirmed. “And nowwe know what must be done.”
“I will inform Sadira,” Soren spun on her heel, and left the room, unable to continue the discussion. The plans were formulated many years ago; there was no need for further discourse.
The window on the second floor offered Soren a view of Sadira, blissfully calm and unaware. Part of Soren’s day was to hike to the top of Doltas, checking for signs of disruption on the mainland, while Sadira’s daily tasks involved tending to the gardens and foraging for ingredients for potions and poisons. Not only blessed with the gifts of Garridon, Sadira also possessed power from the Wiccan blood running through their veins.
Soren focused on the small sapling in Sadira’s palm and halted the growth of the flower. The princess frowned until realisation dawned and she glanced in Soren’s direction. Sadira calmly placed the sapling back in its bed and brushed her palms against the cloth apron tied around her waist. She murmured instructions to the fellow gardener before heading to the castle to join Soren in preparations.
***
Soren hated many things about today, but this was the top contender. She glared at her reflection as Sadira tamed the blonde mess on her head.
