The Shadow Soul (21 page)

Rhen took a deep breath, darting his vision in circles, waiting for the crack of daylight. His body tensed, all muscles contracting in preparation to strike.

Suddenly, he was drenched in whiteness. The sun enveloped his gaze, blinding him.

Rhen blinked rapidly, waiting for hands to grab him.

A black silhouette haunted his vision, slowly coming into focus.

"You're awake," a voice said—a somewhat high-pitched voice that Rhen recognized.

"Jin!" A goofy smile wrapped around his face as the boy's features filtered into view—the short hair, the small grin. He still wore Rhen's clothes, far too loose and far too Whylkin for this city.

Rhen sat up. "How…what…?"

Jin lightly tapped his arm.

"I will explain in a moment," he said and offered his hand. Rhen ignored it, standing slowly on his own.

When his feet touched land, Rhen realized they stood in an alleyway, a metal enclosure open to the sky. Everything was gray, dull—not at all like the golden palace.

He spun. Behind him was a small box strapped to the back of a golden carriage—a royal carriage. Rhen stepped to the side, just in time to view a head covered in gold, hidden behind a draped veil.

He gasped—breath stopping—and stepped closer.

But the woman wasn't looking at him—she was looking past him at Jin.

"Good luck," she said, her voice soft and full of emotion. And then she leaned back, hidden behind a heavy curtain. Two knocks and the cart started rolling away.

Rhen fought the urge to chase after her, stuck in his spot by one thought—she was Ourthuri. And by the look of it, royal.

His mother would kill him if he fell for a foreigner.

Would kill him.

His eyes closed and the vision returned. Heat flooded his veins at the sight of her, almost as though his body remembered something his brain did not.

Rhen shook his head.

Another time. When he could process the information. When there weren't a million other questions filtering through his mind.

"Jin," he said, awed, "how in the world?"

"It is a long story." The boy sighed and handed Rhen a plain brown robe, keeping one for himself. "Put this on."

In a daze, Rhen nodded and pulled the garment over his head. His hip was weaponless, he realized, disheartened.

Jin pulled a second robe over his head—it pooled on the ground by his feet, far too long for the small boy.

"In short, I managed to escape the ship, break into the palace, and convince a princess to help smuggle you from the castle." The boy took a deep breath, as if he couldn't even believe his words. "Oh, and in return I promised her safe haven when she runs away from her father."

Rhen choked.

"And the long version?"

Jin shook his head. "We must find a place to hide. Do you know anyone in the city? The princess said she could take us no farther than the lower districts."

"What was her name?" Rhen asked, still lagging behind Jin's words.

The boy's eyes narrowed and his head titled slightly to the side. "Leenaka…" He said slowly.

Leenaka.

Odd. Foreign.

He let the sound roll over his tongue.

Lee. Naka.

Leenaka.

He could get used to that. Now he just needed to see the face hidden behind the veil. 

"Rhen?"

"Yes?" He said, jerking up. Then he remembered. "Wait, when she runs away?"

"Rhen, the king will soon be looking for you. He wants to kill you. We must find a place to hide. Now."

Rhen looked around, pushing his distracting thoughts to the side. They were hidden in this alley for now, but the boy was right—more than he realized maybe. Rhen lifted his hand, running his fingers over the ridges of the cut on his forehead. King Razzaq wanted him dead—but now he needed him dead, needed to stop this story from making its way to King Whylfrick.

The robes would help, but even still, Rhen would be noticeable. Jin's darkened skin and black hair hid him a little. But Rhen, with his reddish white skin and cherry-auburn hair, would stand out from the crowd.

Sons of Whyl weren't made to blend in.

"Come on." He motioned for Jin to follow. "I know just the place."
And surprisingly it's not a brothel
, Rhen thought, proud of himself.

It was a ship. One had luckily been sitting in the harbor earlier that day. And Rhen prayed it was still there.

He walked closer to the busy street, checking once to make sure Jin was ready before stepping into the crowd. Carts rolled, pulled by neighing horses or the owners themselves. People walked. Children ran. Merchants shouted.

Rhen looked around, trying to spot a marker and catch his bearings in this strange city. When he looked left, his gaze traveled up an incline. When he looked right, it slanted down.

Right
, Rhen decided and stepped forward. Down meant farther from the palace and from the king. Down meant closer to the docks and to freedom.

An instant after they started moving with the crowd, bells sounded from above. At first, it was just a dull twinkling, distant and musical. But with every passing step, the sound grew, almost as if the notes were raining down from the palace, pelting Rhen in the head the farther he ran. By the time they reached a bend in the street, the ringing had grown to a furious roar—menacing and omnipresent. There was nowhere to hide, to escape.

Spotting a street vendor, Rhen pulled Jin to the side and casually grabbed two scarves from the cart when the man was busy and not looking. The material was coarse and scratchy, but it would do.

When they disappeared from eyesight, Rhen lifted the rectangle over his head, draping it like a hood down over his forehead.

"Jin," he whispered, looking over his shoulder, "put this on."

The boy took the cloth and copied Rhen's style, but still, the two of them were being stared at. The hood hid a little bit of Rhen's skin and hair, but it could not cover everything—especially his size, which was almost double that of the men around him. But more so than anything, people stared at their covered arms, hidden beneath the robes. No visible tattoos. A sure sign that they were not from the Golden Isles.

They needed to get to the docks and fast.

Reaching back, Rhen tugged on Jin's robe, urging him to move faster.

An iron bridge slipped into sight on the horizon, leading down to another plateau of the multilevel city. Guards in deep conversation blocked either side. In the archway, a bell shook back and forth, joining in the cacophony.

And suddenly Rhen realized what it was—an alarm. The city was being locked down, which could only mean one thing—the king had just learned of Rhen's escape.

Letting his thoughts wander for a minute, Rhen prayed for the mysterious princess's safety. But—he glanced at the soldiers as they weaved into the busy streets with weapons held high—his own safety was clearly the more pressing issue.

The bridge was close.

But a gate was being cranked across it, sealing the opening shut.

How would they make it through unnoticed?

A commotion filtered into Rhen's ears—shouting and yelling. He shifted his gaze to the left, smiling when he saw a man sitting atop a wagon. A man who was fighting with two Ourthuri soldiers and gaining more attention by the minute.

He couldn’t understand much over the din of the crowd, but it sounded like the man was a merchant trying to return to his ship with the goods.

Which meant one thing—the next platform had to lead to the docks.

Reaching out his arm, Rhen halted and stopped Jin behind him. He shifted to the right edge of the street, across from the fight about to break out, and kept creeping slowly closer to the bridge.

More soldiers stopped patrolling, instead turning to the noise of the argument. A few walked out of the guardhouse beside the bridge, joining their comrades against the sailor. The rest of them moved past Rhen, who was bending his knees to shorten his stature.

When he was a hand's length away from the now half-closed and abandoned gate, he stopped.

It was a miracle.

The gods were smiling on him today.

All of the guards had left their station, distracted by the sailor, who now waved a dinged weapon in the air. All of the townspeople watched, hunger for justice in their eyes. The guards stood in a straight line, trying to intimidate even though their numbers were few.

They were one breath away from a riot.

"On my count," Rhen muttered, and Jin nodded in understanding.

Rhen held out one finger.

Two fingers.

And then he moved, holding his breath as his foot stepped across the entrance of the bridge.

No shouts.

No clanking swords.

No arrows.

He looked down. The metal below his feet was a marvel. Sturdy and unlike anything he had seen before. Bridges were supposed to be made of stone, and even then surpassing a deep river was near impossible. But—he eyed the edge and looked down to the ocean deep below his feet, nestled between the rocks—this seemed held up by magic.

Rhen glanced at Jin, comforted by the boy's wide, staring eyes. He was not the only one impressed by the scene.

Farther over his shoulder, the sailor was sitting back down. The crowd started to disperse.

"Run!" Rhen gasped as a guard started to spin.

The two of them took off, not waiting to see if they were being followed.

Their feet touched on solid rock once more, and Rhen shoved people to the side as he made his way through the winding roads, down and down, praying that the streets would soon level.

Through a boxy building, he saw the sparkle of blue.

"We're almost there," he shouted back, too excited to contain his enthusiasm. One more wide bend, and the ocean burst fully into view. The deep sapphire sent a wave of warmth into Rhen's chest that crashed against his heart, exploding down his limbs in a giddy burst. He felt like a child running from the castle guards, hiding from his father. It was a game.

A game he had won.

Pure adrenaline kept his legs pumping.

The cloth fell from his head, slipping over his ears and free from his throat. But it didn’t matter. The docks were alive with men of Whylkin and Ourthuro—skin of every shade mingled and mixed, making Rhen and Jin just two more in a crowd of foreigners visiting the capital city. 

A laugh escaped his lips—freedom spilling through his system like a drug.

But he wasn't safe yet.

Not yet.

Finally, when Rhen reached the edge of the docks, he stopped and scanned the ships for the flag of his kingdom.

There.

At the end of the row.

A spot of red in a cloudless cobalt sky.

The air shifted, bringing the design fully into view. Rhen grinned—he would recognize that rearing black stallion anywhere. In fact, it might be embroidered on his breastplate underneath the Ourthuri robe that now felt heavy in the salty air.

Without wasting time, Rhen strode confidently forward, walking over the boards until he reached the base of the ship where a bridge already sat extended.

"Hello!" He called, but didn’t wait for a response. Turning to look back toward land, he saw the golden garb of King Razzaq's guard shimmering in the distance.

It was against protocol to board unannounced.

But, Rhen smirked, breaking rules was one perk of being royal.

He mounted the bridge and walked slowly on board.

"Where is your captain?" Rhen asked, louder so his voice carried. This time, he was noticed—and not kindly.

"Who's asking?" A sailor stepped forward, his skin wrinkled and hard from the days at sea, his nose upturned in disgust. Hostility prickled the air around him, almost tangible.

Rhen looked over his shoulder. High on deck where he stood, the docks below were mostly out of view. He prayed no Ourthuri would see him now, as in one swoop of his arm, the foreign robe was whisked from his body and dropped into a pool on the floor. In its place rested the royal garb he had donned to see the king.

Sure, it was ripped and bloodied, but that just made the whole scene more intimidating.

"I am your prince," Rhen said, dripping with authority. He was in no mood for games. Now that he had stopped moving, the weary ache of loss taunted his bones. The threat of death was still heavy.

The man's eyes widened, shocked, and he immediately dropped to his knees in respect, dipping his body far lower to the ground than was necessary. "My Lord," he blurted.

Rhen rolled his eyes—now was not the time for overdone displays of loyalty. He walked closer to the man and leaned down to lay a palm on his tense shoulder. "It is no matter. Anyone would have made the same mistake. Your captain, please?"

The man stood—a speck of gratitude in his crinkled eyes—and nodded. "Right this way, my Lord."

As they walked down the length of the ship, crew members paused, staring with open mouths as Rhen walked by. Many men would go a lifetime with nothing more than a glimpse of their prince, but to have him aboard their ship—a merchant ship, not a war ship—that was something unheard of.

They reached an open door and trotted down a few steep steps until they were completely below decks. Rhen's guide knocked on a closed door. A gruff "come in" sounded through the wood.

The captain sat behind a desk, hunched over maps and charts with a bulbous glass pressed against his eye. His hat hung from a hook on the wall, black with one white plume. He was bald. His features were sharp, angular despite his age—an age where skin usually began to sag. He looked like a man who did not like to be bothered. A loose, open white shirt hung over his frame. And the only jewel Rhen saw was a ruby circled in gold that hung from one ear.

After a minute, he looked up from his work, dropping the quill that had left small black stains on his fingers.

"What…" He trailed off when his eyes came in focus, settling on Rhen and studying him for a moment, confused. "My Lord." He stood to present Rhen with a deep bow. "I am Captain Jelaric, and I am honored to have you on board the
Skipping Stone
."