Page 2 of Legacy of the Heirs
“Soren, there are endless matts in your hair. Do you ever brush it?” Her sister scolded, pulling unnecessarily hard with the brush. Soren did not bother to respond; only a minute apart in age, they read each other with ease. Folding her arms in the mirror, her eyes narrowed at the dress hanging in the reflection. It was breathtaking—undeniably so—but Soren was destined to destroy beauty, not behold it. The dress was a partner to the one expertly clinging to Sadira’s figure, the dark greens bringing out the golden hue to her blonde curls. While it smoothed and complemented Sadira’scomplexion, Soren was certain it would dull her pale skin, the dress highlighting her muscles rather than feminine curves. She favoured her leathers and armours.
“How are you feeling?” Sadira asked, pulling Soren from her thoughts. A spark flickered in her sister’s green eyes.
“How should one feel when they are to become a Queen?”
Sadira gave a soft smile.
“No one would judge you for saying something about this, sister.”
“Do you have something to say about it?” Soren bit back, their eyes meeting in the mirror.
“I know the part I am to play, Soren, but I am allowed thoughts on the matter.” She placed the final clip in Soren’s hair and flattened the stray pieces before exiting the room without another word. Soren rebuked her inability to control her tongue. Over the next month, and perhaps longer, Sadira was to be her closest ally—a sister, not another soldier to command.
Soren’s discomfort was evident as she tugged at the fabric suffocating her abdomen, quick to correct herself as the doors to the castle opened. She and Sadira followed their parents and grandmother out into the courtyard until reaching the opening at the east of the island. Branches expertly weaved along the forest floor to create a pathway, while vines formed lanterns with a black petunia atop it: a symbol of mourning. More flowers appeared until the entire opening of the forest was surrounded by them, creating a ring around the oldest tree on the island.
Sadira wavered upon noticing the flowers as the fallen family reached the tree and turned to their people. Groups of men set the tables down, while others began to fill them with foods. Tension lingered. No one knew how to feel—sorrow for what was to happen, or joy at the prospect of reclaiming Garridon? Silently, Soren and her family stood, and watched the procession filter into the clearing before they all took a seat. Eyes locked on her grandmother.
“You all arrived on this island from different realms, and yet you pledged your allegiance to the fallen family of Garridon. You recognised our honour and our pride in equality for all—the very reason the usurper wished us to be removed.” Lyra paused, gazing at the people she held so dear. “Now, you pledge your allegiance to my granddaughter, Soren. Your future Queen, and her sister, Sadira. The Princess of Garridon.”
Soren and Sadira bowed their heads.
“With the deaths of the royal families, there are four heirs. Heirs with generations of power in their veins. I have seen the prophecy; I have seen who will lead you and Garridon into the darkness to come, and who will ensure its end. Yet for that to happen, your Queen and Princess’ power needs to match that of the other heirs.”
The people rose in respect as her grandmother knelt, alongside Soren’s father and mother. Reaching for the knife at her hip, Sadira sliced her palm and coated the blade in blood before passing it to Soren. With a steady hand, Soren grasped the handle and stepped behind her grandmother.
“Do you willingly give your power to your chosen heirs, Soren and Sadira Mordane of Garridon and Doltas Island?” Soren asked her grandmother, who stared straight ahead.
“I do, child.” And with those final words, Queen Lyra closed her eyes: the only surviving founder of Novisia. Soren grasped the hair on her head and sliced the blade across her neck. She had not known what to expect when sacrificing her grandmother to their God, but she did not expect to feel nothing—numb—her body’s way of protecting her from the onslaught of agony likely to ensue in coming days. Warm liquid pooled in her hand as she laid her grandmother down on her back and proceeded to her parents. It was as if Garridon himself had possessed her, as if he knew of the prophecy and aided Soren in the swiftness of the kills.
The final slice tore through the air, and she laid her mother down. Soren squeezed her own hand around the dagger, adding her own blood to the mix until the blade was coated with the bloodof five. Five from the Garridon lineage. Dipping her finger in the blood, she painted a symbol on the trunk of the tree—a wreath of branches—an emblem that glowed in the firelight behind. When she turned, the bodies had been moved, and in their place stood a wooden throne. Sadira’s face was blank, seeming to refuse Soren’s eye as she gestured her sister to the throne, who trod through the blood-sodden grass to reach it. As she sat, Sadira gripped an emerald-encrusted crown and stepped behind her.
“All hail Soren: The Fallen Queen, Queen of Garridon, and Doltas Island.” Sadira called, lowering the crown onto Soren’s head, who closed her eyes as the people recited her name. It was then the sisters felt the power, the essence of Garridon singing in their veins.
It had worked.
They had never doubted their grandmother’s Wiccan heritage, who promised the blood magic and sacrifice would transfer their powers equally. As the true heirs to the Garridon throne, Soren and Sadira both required power to seize it: Sadira to protect herself in King Caellum’s web, and Soren to usurp the throne from the sidelines.
“The time has come to reclaim what is ours,” Soren exclaimed to her people. The power hummed in her veins as she watched every black petunia turn white under Sadira’s gaze: an effortless display of her power. “Tonight, we feast. And tomorrow, we begin. You know your orders. At sunrise, you travel to Garridon and begin planting doubt around King Caellum’s claim.” All cheered and raised their glasses to Soren, who smiled as she leaned back on her throne. It would not be long until the King succumbed to the demands of the Garridon people and sailed to her shores in request of a bride.
Chapter One
Larelle
The revelations weighed heavily on Larelle’s mind, as deep and dark as the waves holding her below the surface. She arched her back, allowing the inkiness to cocoon her, keeping her mind grounded. Opening her luminous, deep blue eyes, she breathed in; despite how at one she was with water, it always took Larelle a moment to adjust to the feeling of breathing in the sea.
Upon bidding the Historian farewell outside Mera castle, Larelle immediately sought the comfort of the ocean, her feet guiding her to the spot where she was crowned. Perhaps she needed a reminder that she was indeed the Queen of Nerida and being queen entailed carrying the weight of secrets that could forever alter the path of her people.
Larelle floated effortlessly beneath the waves, maneuveringthe water to hug her body and keep her in place as she gazed into its depths and saw only darkness. It served as a reminder of what the Historian had said.Watch for the dark one that will bring suffering to all: the rise of old power, the Kingdom will fall.The Historian had simply told Larelle to do with the information as she wished before requesting she escort him out. But the passing time had done little to advance her muddled thoughts.
She imagined Kazaar floating opposite and furrowed her brow, struggling to summon a clear image. Larelle had never been concerned enough to pay significant attention to the details of Vala’s commander, but she would have noticed if there was a darkness about him. Surly, yes. The scowl on his face and the clench of his jaw were commonplace. Powerful, of course. Flames licked uphis inked arms as she pictured him. But dark? Capable of causing a Kingdom to fall? She did not know. Larelle wondered what Elisara’s judgement would be, who had spent much time with her new commander. When Larelle had last seen them before the pair left for Keres, they were on good terms, even friends. She could not imagine the Queen of Vala was someone who would allow darkness to seep into her mind and sway her thinking.
Something brushed Larelle’s hand, tugging her from her thoughts. A blur of faint light washed away Kazaar’s image. She glanced at her extended fingertips but saw nothing. When she turned back, only darkness remained.
Sighing, Larelle released the water’s hold on her body and kicked her feet until breaking the surface, the air cool as it kissed her skin. Blinking the water from her now grey eyes, the setting sun greeted her as light danced across the rippling ocean. It appeared she had been below the surface for several hours, confirmed by the rough texture of her fingertips. Larelle leaned back, her hair splaying around her.
Dusty-pink tendrils of clouds floated across her vision as she sensed another presence approach the stone steps behind her. If it had been anyone else, Larelle would have immediately shielded herself with the water before addressing the visitor. Instead, a wave of calm washed over her.
“Either the meeting has just finished, and you are coming to drag me to say farewell, or it finished hours ago, and you have been kind enough to give me some peace.” Larelle smiled at the deep chuckle following her words.
