Defiance Read online

  Defiance

  Her Soulkeepers #2

  Sadie Moss

  Copyright © 2020 by Sadie Moss

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Also by Sadie Moss

  1

  The crackle of the fire beneath my mother’s familiar cooking cauldron should be soothing.

  For two decades, my life has risen and fallen like the tides by this hearth. I’ve experienced tragedy, heartache, victories, and the warmth of love at this scratched wooden table. But tonight, I feel as if the flames are a reminder that the life I once knew is over, and I will never, ever get it back.

  “What do you mean you have to leave?” Mother says, her voice tremulous. “You only just arrived.”

  She sits across from me at our kitchen table. Her flaxen hair—shot through with gray—is shoved beneath a scarf, and she’s wearing her favorite apron, the one I sewed for her several years ago. She was cooking dinner when I arrived at our old hut to deliver my bad news, and the warmth of the hearth fire tinged her face with a healthy blush. The longer we sit, though, the more that healthy flush falls away to reveal the paleness of her skin and the dark circles beneath her eyes.

  I hate to think that my recent death contributed to deepening those shadows.

  “The messengers and I have been summoned back to… where we came from,” I hedge, still unsure just how much I can tell her of the afterworld—the world beyond this one. “Something unfortunate has happened to call us to return, and we must go at once.”

  “You’ve been… summoned.” My mother hesitates on the last word, eyeing me as if she doesn’t quite believe me.

  I can’t blame her for the distrust. I’ve refused to give her the full story of the events surrounding my sacrifice to Zelus. She knows the villagers found my limp, lifeless body on the sacred altar in the southern foothills, and she knows she said her final goodbyes to my cloth-wrapped form and buried me six feet under.

  It’s everything that came after the burial that she doesn’t understand.

  How am I supposed to tell her I died and went to the afterworld, where three god-like men found me wandering in the Unclaimed Expanse? That they took me to their god, Kaius—the sworn enemy of the god whose name I was raised to revere—and Kaius gave them each a piece of my soul, leaving us irrevocably connected. That when I realized my little brother was dying of a terrible injury on earth, my men brought me here to save him.

  And that apparently, because we intervened on a rival god’s domain, we’ve started a war between Kaius and Zelus.

  Even thinking about it now, after experiencing all of it, I can’t believe it’s true.

  “Well, no…” I say, “I wasn’t summoned specifically. But Callum, Echo, and Paris have been called back to their god’s side. And I travel where they go. I must.”

  Her tone goes sharp, her lips tightening at the corners. “I don’t understand why you have to leave with them, Sage. Surely you could stay behind with us while they attend to whatever crisis is drawing them home.”

  I smooth my sweating palms over my knees, drying my skin on the soft cotton. This dress is like nothing I ever wore in life. It’s far more luxurious and well-made, and I feel guilty for sitting here in such a nice frock while my mother’s dress has holes that need darning. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  I haven’t told her anything about the afterlife, and Ironholde, the city where I’ve come to live with my three messengers on the other side of the veil between this world and the next. But I especially haven’t told her that the men aren’t just my friends. They aren’t just my masters.

  Each man holds a piece of my soul, and more than that, I feel them each beginning to claim a piece of my heart as well.

  I’m so tied to them, I can’t not go where they go.

  But it’s impossible to put that into words my mother could comprehend. Even if I tried to tell her, she wouldn’t understand.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” I say softly, reaching across the table to hold her hand. Her skin is dry and thin, and her knuckles are already knotted with arthritis. My mother is still young, but this hard, unforgiving life has made her seem old before her time.

  When every day is a fight to survive, it ages a soul.

  She makes no move to remove my hand from hers, but she turns her head to gaze into the fire, tears shimmering in her eyes. “For a time, I thought I would lose both my children. First, you and your ridiculous sacrifice to Zelus.”

  Stung by her dismissive tone, I say, “I did it with only the best of intentions.”

  “Sweet Sage, intentions only take you so far.” She sighs, eyes still on the flames and tear tracks glinting like stars on her cheeks. “I know you thought sacrificing yourself on the sacred altar to Zelus would help our village.”

  “It should have.” My voice hardens, fury swirling inside me at the mention of our god’s name. “If Zelus were an attentive and compassionate god, if he were a fair god, my sacrifice would have been enough to make him save this village.”

  Mother finally returns her gaze to me, swiping at the wetness on her cheeks. “I know. But that’s just it. If Zelus were an attentive and compassionate god, our village wouldn’t have needed your sacrifice to begin with. But instead, he ignored your offering. I lost you, and I thought I was going to lose your brother.”

  “I know,” I murmur. “But we’re both here now.”

  “Only for you to leave me again.” She sounds almost childish in her disbelief and grief, and I nearly laugh at the absurdity of it. This may be the first time ever that I’m not the petulant one in a conversation with her.

  There’s a thump from the bedroom the three of us shared during my lifetime, and a moment later, Nolan appears in the doorway.

  My brother looks like a brand new person. The healing magic my messengers worked on him didn’t just banish the infection threatening his life and mend his destroyed leg, but the power of the weave also put color back in his skin and strength in his bones.

  “I thought you were sleeping,” I say, smiling so broadly it makes my face hurt. I’m so incredibly thankful to see him up and walking around.

  Nolan grins, leaning on the doorframe as if the short walk to the kitchen has fatigued him. “I was. I just woke up. What are you two out here murmuring about so fervently?”

  My mother’s gaze doesn’t leave my face. “Your sister is leaving us.”

  Nolan’s mischievous
expression falls away, and he looks thunderstruck. He makes his way to the kitchen table, walking as if he expects his legs to give out beneath him, despite the fact that his wounds are now fully healed. “Leaving? Leaving to go where?”

  I cringe. This conversation was difficult enough without adding my little brother to the chorus. “I have to return with Callum, Echo, and Paris. I wish I could explain this all in full, but you must trust me. There are simply things you don’t understand, things I cannot tell you.”

  “Cannot or will not?” Mother presses, an edge of frustration entering her voice.

  “Mama. Enough.” Nolan shoots her a quelling look. I know he’s on her side in wanting me to remain with my people in our village, but as always, my little brother has my back.

  “Cannot,” I say firmly. My mouth dries out a little as I speak the next words, but I know both Mother and Nolan need to hear them. “The truth is, I’m no longer one of you. I don’t belong here anymore. I have to go where the messengers go, and I have little to no say in the matter.”

  I know they both have a hard time understanding this. As far as they’re concerned, I’m alive, miraculously returned to them from the dead—they can see me, touch me, embrace me. But regardless of that, I’m not of this plane anymore, nor am I my own person.

  Callum, Echo, and Paris are a part of me too.

  And I’m a part of them.

  “Will you return to us?” Nolan asks. A tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows sends pain lancing through me.

  The thought of leaving him so soon hurts me to my core. The men and I may have saved my brother from certain death and chased away the raiders from a neighboring village who were determined to rob my people blind, but neither of those feats fix what’s ultimately wrong here. The core of the apple is still rotten. Long after I leave, life will continue to be hard and painful for my family and the rest of my failing village.

  All because Zelus, the god who should be caring for and providing for them, has turned his back on them.

  “I don’t know if I will come back,” I say, my voice thick. “I’d like to return, but I don’t know if it will be possible.”

  I’m not ready to say goodbye. Truthfully, I doubt I will ever reach a point where I am ready to tell my mother and brother farewell. But no matter how much I wish I could stay, I also know I no longer fit here. I can feel it deep within my fragmented soul. I don’t belong on earth anymore.

  As if to punctuate my thoughts, I sense my messengers approaching.

  It’s like a prickle of awareness that blooms inside me. They’re drawing closer to my mother’s hut, and the near proximity opens pathways between us until it’s almost as if they’re standing in the room with me already. I sense them all the time, no matter where they are in reference to my person, but the closer we are to each other, the more they feel like extensions of my body.

  They promised me only a few minutes to say goodbye. I suppose those minutes are gone.

  I close my eyes as there’s a loud knock on the front door. I don’t need to see it to know that it’s Callum’s fist against the wood.

  When neither myself nor my mother make a move to answer the knock, Nolan huffs and shoves his chair away from the table. He’s guarded as he greets my men and invites them into the warmth of the cabin.

  I take a deep breath, my heartbeat speeding up as Callum steps inside.

  He’s so big and muscular that he seems to swallow all the space in the room with the width of his shoulders. He has beautiful dark curls that hang to his shoulders, and arms thicker than tree trunks. His intense gaze, greener than moss but no less beautiful, lands on me.

  “We must go,” he says. His expression is as stoic and controlled as ever, his tone devoid of any emotion. I’m beginning to hate that facade he wears—because now I know for certain that it is a facade. Because I’ve glimpsed the passion beneath it.

  Echo and Paris fan out on either side of him. Both are shorter and slightly less massive than Callum, but just as coolly dominating when the situation demands it. Echo has short black hair and dark eyes that often seem to dance with mirth, as if he’s harboring an amusing secret. Paris, the light to Echo’s dark, has perfectly coiffed blond hair, sapphire eyes, and a slow, easy smile that I swear could charm any maiden from her virginal knickers.

  At least, that’s how the men look to me.

  I try to see the three of them from my mother’s eyes: cold, calculating, dangerous, more warrior than man, and as far as she’s concerned, undeserving of my loyalty.

  But there’s so much more to them than what’s obvious on the surface. I’m only just beginning to understand that.

  I slide my chair over the rough stone floor and stand, my legs shaky. “Of course. I’m as ready as I can be.”

  “I’m not,” Nolan says, voice tense as he crosses to me and throws his long arms around my waist, pulling me into a bear hug. He’s shaking in my grasp as I hug him back, but I don’t know if that’s from having to say goodbye to me or from being in the same room with such otherworldly visitors.

  I squeeze my little brother as if it will be the last time I have the chance. It very well might be, but I refuse to let that thought take hold in my mind.

  Rising stiffly, Mother offers a hand to Callum. “Take care of my daughter. Please.”

  Callum looks genuinely confused by the gesture, but the expression is fleeting; after a small beat, he takes her hand with a quick shake.

  “With all due respect, Mrs. Thorne,” Paris says, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek with the kind of playful familiarity I’ve come to expect from him, “I believe Sage is perfectly capable of caring for herself.”

  My mother gives him a tense smile. I can tell she hates all three of them for taking me away, and she’s frightened of the power they exude, but she also owes them the utmost respect and gratitude for saving Nolan. She seems to struggle with that as I hug her one last time, her body humming with the warring emotions.

  “I love you. Always,” I whisper, trying to memorize the way her embrace feels.

  “I love you, my sweet girl.” Her breath tickles the stray blonde hairs at my ear.

  As much as I wish I could stay with Nolan and my mother, as difficult as it is to step away from them, my soul needs the messengers. As soon as I join the three men by the door, all the jittery pieces of me fit back together, and my soul calms, surrounded by their strong presences.

  I give my family one last look that seems to encompass a million unspoken words, and then we leave the hut.

  The night is dark and cold with the coming frost of winter. I feel the loss of my mother’s hearth fire as a physical representation of losing her again—walking away from the love of my family for this cold new existence I’m bound by the power of the gods to live.

  But before we reach the edge of the village, several figures step into our path.

  Jacob Godwin stands before a group of disgruntled villagers holding torches against the darkness. His own hand is wrapped around the hilt of his dagger—still sheathed, but gripped as if he’s ready to draw the weapon at any time.

  He squares his shoulders, puffing up his chest as if in an attempt to be bigger than any of my three companions. Standing firmly in the middle of the dusty road to block our way, he lifts his chin, glaring at the messengers around me.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  2

  Jacob is no small man, but he’s no warrior either. Standing before Callum, he looks slightly pathetic, like a terrier standing up to a wolfhound.

  I once found him handsome in a provincial way. He certainly impressed me with his navigational skills and adeptness with a bow during the many times we hunted together while I was alive. But now, he almost looks like a diluted version of Callum—his green eyes not quite as green, his broad shoulders not as broad, and his smile more of a sneer, turning his face into a mask of distrust and hatred.

  “Jacob, please,” I say tiredly. Half of my heart is still back in the hut
with my mother and brother, and I don’t have the stomach for more conflict tonight. “We don’t have time for this.”

  “I won’t let them steal you from us,” Jacob snarls. He throws an arm out, grabbing me and shoving me bodily behind him so that I stumble inelegantly into the crowd of villagers at his back. “These demons will have you over my cold, dead body.”

  “That can be arranged,” Echo says coldly. The sharp snick of his sword being drawn is like a crack of thunder in the silence. I can’t see him beyond Jacob’s shoulder, but I feel every one of the human men gathered behind me tense.

  Several of the villagers have gently straightened me from my near-fall. I fight the urge to call them all cowards or to rail at them for not showing more gratitude. Just like my mother and Nolan, they can never truly understand.

  But they don’t need to. They just need to let me go.

  Elbowing past Jacob, I return to Callum’s side. Then I whirl on my old hunting partner, my hands clenching into fists. He’s the leader of this little hunting party, and I have no doubt he went door-to-door gathering men to support his cause. I once respected this man, but now, I don’t even recognize him anymore.

  “Jacob, stop pretending to know what’s best for me,” I say, keeping my voice low and even. “I’m going willingly with them.”

  “They’ve bewitched you!” he blurts, the words coming out as no more than a hiss. He looks mad, his eyes wide and white, his knife’s point dancing between my men as if he can’t decide who to attack first.