Pieces of Her Soul Read online

  Pieces of Her Soul

  Soul Tenders Series

  Book One

  By Serena Lindahl

  ©2017 Serena Lindahl

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying or recording without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Dedications

  To my family – just skip over the steamy scenes (they get much hotter in the next book).

  To my wonderful partner, Steve W. – for inspiring the steamy scenes.

  To Leigh H. – for being my alpha reader and saving my story.

  To Mark P. – because all my covers look like five year olds drew them.

  Prologue

  A knock disturbed King Demetrius Caden in the middle of a difficult conversation with the Head of the Military House and his Information Advisor. Reports from the border threatened to disturb the centuries’ long peace enjoyed by the kingdom of Megreria.

  "This had better be important," the King grumbled. The servant stammered and shuffled his feet. The High Commander of the Military, also the Head of his House, growled. Master Brantley hated being interrupted. The steward glanced nervously at the larger man but returned his attention to the King, puffing out his chest even as his face reddened.

  "Your Majesty," the steward stepped into the room and bowed at the waist quickly. "I apologize for interrupting, but I arrive with a message from the Soul Tenders. They have received a vision."

  King Caden raised an eyebrow, his gaze imperious. "The Soul Tenders are always having visions. What could possibly necessitate interrupting an important state meeting?"

  The steward dropped his eyes. He stammered again but said nothing of substance as he stepped forward with a parchment in his hand. The King broke the seal and glanced at the message, his face paling to the shade of his white beard. The message was deceptively simple. The prophecy will be fulfilled.

  "I must leave you for a moment, Master Brantley and Advisor Carson. Another matter requires my attention. We will resume this meeting on the morrow. Please make arrangements with my steward."

  Master Brantley was irritated, but he retained his complaints. He wouldn't utter them in the King's presence.

  King Caden wound his way through the stone corridors of the palace. Servants and Advisors bowed or nodded as he passed but he didn't acknowledge them in return. Rounded flights of stairs passed away beneath him as he climbed towards the Tenders’ domain. Unlike the southern tower, the northern tower was larger, more than a pinnacle of rounded stone despite its name. An entire wing of rooms and corridors existed at the apex of the tower, so built because the Soul Tenders' visions improved upon proximity to the stars.

  The boy waiting at the door wrung his hands. He had been told of the King's imminent arrival but he had probably never set eyes on the King himself. The servants were imprisoned in the tower, similar to the Soul Tenders. They volunteered for service and were never permitted to descend the stairs of the tower lest they share the secrets hidden within.

  The servant bowed, his skin pasty white. The Soul Tenders availed themselves of the verdant rooftop garden, but the staff rarely exited the windowless corridors and rooms. Torches lit the dim halls although midday shone bright outside.

  The King was led into a large room. Typically, four Soul Tenders attended the capital city but only three occupied the tower at the moment. The last one died several months ago. The next unknown male would be called when the Fates sent him his first vision, which would lead to him being pressed into service. The Soul Tenders' visions were known only by the King and those he chose to tell. Their work affected the kingdom in many unseen ways. The Tenders were all different ages, one in his thirties, one in his forties, and one in his fifties. Three identical pairs of blind eyes turned toward the King upon his entrance.

  "Demetrius," Gabor, the eldest Soul Tender, greeted him. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

  The King nodded. The Soul Tenders didn't acknowledge his status. In a way, they were equals. "What is it?" the King asked without preamble, taking a seat. The servants had slipped from the room and sealed the doors.

  "Gabor believes we have information regarding the prophecy," Blick's tone dripped with disbelief.

  "You don't believe the vision is accurate?"

  "It cannot be," Blick scoffed. He was the youngest Soul Tender, having only occupied the tower for a decade and a half.

  The remaining Soul Tender spoke for the first time. "I believe the vision is true. Gabor's visions are ever clear and concise," Evander began. He ran a hand over his rough chin. The otherwise silent room echoed with the sound of rasping whiskers. "The prophecy states an atypical matching may save Megreria while challenging everything our kingdom is built upon, in layman's terms. That is what every analysis has determined since it was birthed over a century ago. Gabor's vision is in line with the translations."

  The King's impatience grew. "For the Five Saint's sake, will someone please tell me what the damn vision was?"

  "We have received news of a match," Gabor began with a chuckle. Being trapped in the tower served to make the men difficult when they received visitors. The province of a Soul Tender was to pair citizens believed to share a soul. The statement was not news to the King. "But it is not a typical match. It is not one woman and one man." Gabor paused and waited, allowing King Caden's mind to seek other options. Sometimes same-sex pairings happened. "The match is between one woman and five men."

  The King exploded from his chair. "What?" he roared.

  "And that is not all," Blick muttered. "Gabor believes each of the men is from a different House."

  King Caden swiped a hand over his face. "And the woman?" A moment of uncomfortable silence filled the air. The Soul Tenders shifted in their chairs.

  "I cannot view the woman clearly, she or her House," Gabor admitted with a frown. "She doesn't appear to belong to any House."

  "A Commoner? This is catastrophic," the King paced back and forth, stroking his beard in agitation. The untraditional match challenged the precise foundation of their society. The timing couldn't be worse either, not when they were dealing with threats of war from neighboring Acclesh. The implications of the prophecy were too dire to be ignored, however. "How can a match such as this possibly save our kingdom?"

  Gabor shrugged. "That remains to be seen. She is important, she and each of her partners; the Fates insist upon the significance of their match. Accepting he
r into the royal family may be the optimum way to ensure her, and her mates', cooperation should it be needed."

  "The royal family does not accept those not of royal blood," the King growled. "Tell me immediately of any other visions associated with this matter," he commanded. The men around the table nodded, their expressions dark with the stress of the Fates upon them.

  Chapter One

  Kiarra

  I shifted nervously in my seat, smoothing down the breeches I had donned the moment school ended, thinking I could relax for the evening. The arrival of my secondary teacher at our family unit was unexpected. My mother wasn't as disturbed as I; it seemed I was the last to know. I was always the last to know. My father was absent, likely occupying his usual stool in the pub down the street.

  "Are you certain you'd like Kiarra present for this discussion?" Master Blevins fidgeted in his seat, looking out of place in our cozy living area. The well-worn couch tried to suck him in and I restrained a smirk at his attempt to avoid its embrace. Our home challenged his dull, priggish nature and I was enjoying the entertainment far more than appropriate.

  "Of course, Master Blevins. Kiarra is nearing adult age and deserves to hear firsthand how her actions and behavior shape her future." Mum smoothed her unwrinkled robes. As a second tier researcher in the Scholar House, she was two levels above my schoolmaster. While Mum would never use her status to lord over anyone beneath her, she shared my low opinion of the secondary teacher. I wasn't certain if her words were a threat or a compliment to me, though. Mum's words often held many meanings.

  "Very well." Master Blevins sighed heavily. He twirled one end of his mustache in his long, pale fingers and took a sip of the herbal tea I had prepared on Mum's order. I waited impatiently, playing with the tuft of my braid. School was done for the day; I had thought my interactions with the stuffy teacher were complete until the next torturous morning.

  "As you are aware, aptitude tests are mere days away for Kiarra and her classmates. It is customary for students to complete the tests before their nineteenth birthday. Thrice now, Kiarra has been granted leave to delay. She can stall no longer."

  "Yes, Master Blevins, we are well aware of this information. We have considered it in the best interests of everyone that she waits until her eighteenth year. What seems to be the actual problem?"

  Master Blevins face reddened. He did so love to beat around the bush but Mum wasn't letting him stall. She had better things to do; he probably didn't.

  "I have consulted with her extracurricular teachers. The common consensus is your daughter," the teacher paused and his beady eyes shot toward me, "isn't prepared for the testing."

  "And why would this be? Isn't it the job of the third and fourth tier Scholars to prepare our teenagers and young adults for their aptitude testing?"

  I glanced at Mum. She didn't typically push so hard. I wondered at the set of her mouth and came to the conclusion that she had been stressing over my testing far preceding Master Blevins darkening our doorway. I couldn't bring myself to fret over the issue, honestly. If I tested poorly in all the Houses, I would be assigned manual labor, grunt work, or scribe detail. I would be a Commoner, an expendable. The social structure of Treleaven City had assignments for people like me. Everyone had their place in the structure of our society, no matter how disagreeable.

  "Of course that is our lot in life," Blevins sputtered. I recognized the beginnings of anger in his expression. First, his face reddened, then his shoulders tensed, and then he started spitting. Every student in my class avoided the front row because he would inevitably reach the spitting stage before the last bell rang. "Your daughter is unteachable."

  Mum's chin rose, her spine stiffening. I looked back and forth between them, enjoying the drama far more than I thought I would when I opened our door. If Mum had told me he was arriving, I would have escaped our unit before he arrived. Now, I was surprisingly pleased she hadn't warned me. It was a shame my older brother, Rowan, was attending his apprenticeship. He would have enjoyed the scene as well.

  "No one is unteachable, Master Blevins. My daughter is just different. Maybe if you were more precise, we could uncover whatever problem you have with Kiarra."

  "She is erratic!" Blevins flapped his arms. His light blue Scholar robes fluttered with the motion, resembling the wings of a doomed bird cartwheeling towards the earth. I expected he wanted to rise and pace the room as he did in front of our class, but such agitation was considered impolite when visiting another's home. His grip was so tight upon his teacup, I feared for Mum's china.

  "There are five Houses within this city and she cannot manage a firm hold on the skills of a single one. At times she seems to have masterful proficiency. Other times, her brain forgets every morsel of information she has ever received. And that is not just written proficiency, Mistress Walton. Her scores in the physical classes of Military strength and Information Exchange agility suffer the same. There is no telling how she will perform on the day of testing. She may have a good day and score highly in every aptitude, or she may fail miserably in all five skills. I have never, in all my years of teaching, encountered the disaster that is your child."

  I didn't believe Mum's form could stiffen further but it did. A light breeze could collapse her straight to the floor. It was acceptable to point out my faults; people had been doing exactly that since I started walking and speaking. I was quite aware of them. It was another thing entirely, however, to call me a disaster in front of the woman who birthed me. Mothers were biased and often took their offspring's failings as an indication they had failed somewhere along the way.

  Mum did not take kindly to accusations of failure. She had tested into third tier Scholar House and elevated herself to second tier within a year. When my sister and I graduated and were incorporated into our apprenticeships, she would have more time to devote to her research and reach first tier. If her husband had assisted more with household duties and childcare, she might have achieved first tier years ago. Instead, he became a useless drunk when he lost his House designation to Mum's superior aptitude.

  "Kiarra is not a disaster, Master Blevins, and you would do well to never say so again. She is well-rounded; something this city has a difficult time countenancing." My eyes widened and Blevins's fingers tightened on his teacup. Challenging the city structure was akin to treason. While the King was not prone to hauling people in for speaking their minds, he didn't appreciate discontent filtering through the ranks. "Testing day will arrive and Kiarra will perform well or not. She will have to put in hard work from that point forward to either maintain her standing or earn her promotions. There is nothing more we can do. That is all, Master Blevins."

  My school teacher stared at Mum for several long moments, disbelieving she was thoroughly dismissing him. To help him understand, I rose from my seat and crossed to the door. He set his teacup down with a rattle and rose, his motions as uncoordinated as a marionette's. He muttered under his breath, something about the child taking after her parents. I peeked at Mum, grateful she hadn't caught his misguided slander. I chased him into the hallway of the Scholar's second tier housing. He could find his way from there. Every step he took down the stairs and down the terraced street towards the outskirts of the city would remind him my mother was above him in status and brilliance.

  I shut the door and Mum deflated, her shoulders drooping. She looked at me, her blue eyes so like mine when they had a mind to be blue. My eyes were like my brain, always changing. They shifted from blue to green to gray to a combination of any or all of those colors depending on my mood, what I was wearing, or the light. The scribe in charge of creating my student identification card had a difficult time deciding which color to place in the description.

  "I am sorry, Mum," I began. I wasn't, not really. I couldn't help how my brain worked. I had tried since primary school to change, but I'd had no luck. I was either on top of my game or far below it. My apology was more for her distress than my faults. Mum waved her hand, the gest
ure far more elegant than Master Blevins’s disjointed flapping.

  "You can't help your mind, Kiarra." She sank onto the couch, willingly submitting to its plush acceptance. She patted the cushion next to her and I perched on the edge so I could watch her expression as she spoke. She crossed a hand over her face, and I noticed new wrinkles around her eyes and mouth that I was certain hadn't been there a year ago.

  "I do not understand how your brain works, daughter, but I have realized you don't have much control over it. I was quite serious about what I said to your teacher, love. The tests are going to be difficult for you in one way or another. You will excel or fail as is your habit, nothing in between, and you will have to deal with the consequences of your success or failure. If you are even two points above Scholar in your Military aptitude, you will end up in the army. More frightening than that, you may score a few points higher than the others in Information Exchange. You would have an extremely difficult time if you were assigned to a House where you couldn't fake a skill if you have a bad day." She made a face and my heart sank. I had a bad habit of not looking to the future according to my brother. Perhaps I subconsciously avoided thinking about how my life would change after testing.

  Mum lifted the edge of my braid, stealing my nervous custom of playing with the tuft of fuzz at the end. My hair was erratic as well. Most of the strands were dark brown, but there were enough red hairs, black hairs, and blonde hairs that my locks shone different colors according to the available light. Mum called me a chameleon, capable of adapting to anything with the speed of the wind. I wasn't convinced she still considered it a good trait.

  "There is the other option, of course," she murmured.

  "Mum," I complained. I was nearly nineteen, but I admit I still whined occasionally. I tried to limit the habit to the company of my mother, however. I attempted to be the approximation of a lady in other situations. As in all things, I sometimes dramatically failed at that undertaking as well. "I don't want a husband. I am only eighteen."