The Spirit Heir (6 page)

Letting the robe drop to the ground, Jinji stepped into the center of the skirt as the girl held it open. The sleeves came all the way to her knuckles, hiding the scars. Her fingers barely slipped through the end. Sucking in a sharp breath, Jinji tried not to wince as the laces were secured behind her back and the buttons tightened, giving her almost no room to breathe.

She missed her leather hides. The comfort of soft animal furs, the ease of throwing them on, the agility more space provided. Or better yet, the pants Rhen had lent her, perfect for dashing down city streets or climbing swaying ropes.

But even Jinji couldn't stop her throat from catching as her eyes found the mirror. Even with her hair barely reaching her ears and her weight depleted from time spent in captivity, there was a womanly air about her. For the first time in a long time, she felt like a girl. And somehow, Jinji found she had missed it.

"Thank you," she whispered, before looking at the servant girl again. "What is your name?"

"Beatrice, my lady."

"Would you mind returning, Beatrice, to help me again?"

"Of course, my lady."

And just like that, Jinji didn't feel quite so alone. Even after Beatrice left, the warmth remained, a small comforting fire in the pit of her stomach. They wouldn't be friends. Not really. But it was enough to know that someone else besides Rhen might have a nice word to say about her, might care even the tiniest amount.

Assuming Rhen did care.

He did.

He had to.

Yet Jinji was torn, standing in the middle of the room, gaze shifting between the open door and the now familiar spot below the window. Butterflies filled her stomach, spreading up her throat, drying her mouth.

Was she ready for Rhen to see who she really was? What she really was?

He knew who she was, knew it better than anyone else left in the world. But what she was, that was completely new, and somehow their last encounter didn't seem to count. Jinji had been covered with dirt, somewhat delirious, completely weak. Her clothes were in tatters, hanging loose across her thin frame.

But this dress, though covering her skin, left little to the imagination. Her breasts, small as they might be, were undeniable. Her thin womanly neck was on display, framed from the collarbone up. No smudges masqueraded the feminine curve of her cheeks, the plumpness of her full lips. And though her fingers ached to weave a strong illusion, to hide behind her brother's face once more and pretend to be Jin, pretend nothing had changed, she couldn't.

Everything had changed. And there was no going back.

Squaring her shoulders, bringing steely resolve to her nerves, Jinji marched forward and closed the door behind her. Cowardice was not an option.

Though she had no idea where to go, Jinji walked. One foot in front of the other, over and over, until she had taken so many turns that she could not return to her room even if she wanted to.

Stares followed her from hallway to hallway, burning her back, sending painfully aware shivers up and down her spine. The guards, the servants, other nobles. Each glare seemed to label her as something different. Murderer. Traitor. Prisoner. Foreigner. Woman. Each accusing in their own hurtful way.

Eyes focused only on the white stone beneath her feet, Jinji trudged on, trying her hardest to ignore it. But she couldn't. Soon her feet began to race, to lunge, until she found herself running with no destination in mind but one singular thought—escape.

Breath short, Jinji flew through an open door onto a breezy overpass. Slamming her back against the wall, she stopped, inhaling, exhaling, letting the fresh air wash over her and the smell of grass calm her. Hidden in the shadow of a column, Jinji closed her eyes and leaned her head back, pretending no one was around, pretending she sat in her forest clearing, alone, content…accepted.

"If you would like to be invisible, my dear, it would be best to try to blend in."

Jinji's lids shot open as her vision fought to clear, to find the source of the voice. A warm hand landed on her forearm, small, decorated with ruby rings.

"Your Majesty," Jinji whispered, voice lost as her eyes met the brilliant green eyes of the queen—eyes so like Rhen's, eyes Jinji would never forget. The last time she had seen those eyes, they were blanketed with white, possessed by the shadow, forcing the queen to stab her own son in the gut.

"Ladies in this city do not race through the halls. They walk, delicate like a flower so as to be admired by those around us."

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty," Jinji stuttered. The woman before her was absolutely self-assured—back arched as to perfectly display her figure, poised with absolute grace. Nothing like Jinji, cowering in the corner, hiding.

"Come," the queen commanded, tugging on Jinji's arm.

Jinji focused on her steps, keeping pace with the taller woman, waiting anxiously for the conversation to continue. The queen had to have a purpose, a message to send. Otherwise, why seek her out? Why care?

Peeking from the corner of her eyes, Jinji watched Rhen's mother. Her face was relaxed, serene, and perfectly level. Though her eyes danced around the hall, her posture never changed, never faltered. Features like stone, she gave nothing away.

"You are looking for my son, I presume?"

"For Prince Whylrhen, Your Majesty," Jinji responded, infusing slightly more confidence into her tone, despite how odd it felt to say his full title aloud. To her, he would always be Rhen. Just Rhen.

"My son Whyllem seems to think you tried to kill him, myself as well, if he is to be believed."

They stopped walking. Here they were, halfway down the open-air hall and finally arriving at the point. Jinji turned to the queen, waiting for the rest, waiting for her turn to speak.

"My son Rhen believes you saved our lives."

Jinji met her stare, refusing to back down, confidence regained in full.

"I have told them both I don't remember," the queen finished. Yet a tremor filled her voice, making it wobble, unstable. And the older woman's fingers shook. Quickly, she clasped them together in front of her waist, stilling the shiver. But it was too late to hide. In that instant, Jinji knew those delicate hands remembered the feel of the blade as it punctured Rhen's skin, as it twisted, as it made him bleed. Deep down in those emerald eyes, a haunt remained, the memory of what she had done.

Which meant the queen knew the truth. She knew Jinji had never deserved to be locked away in the dungeon, and she knew Rhen would give fury a new meaning if he ever found out.

"I am just glad you are both alive, Your Majesty." Jinji smiled, innocent, giving nothing away. Eyes locked, they continued to stare at each other, neither bending, neither breaking. The silence stretched, demanding to be filled, sizzling with electricity. But unless the queen admitted to wrongdoing, Jinji would grant her no respite.

"Yes, well," the queen finally murmured, looking away, flustered under the weight of Jinji's unspoken accusation—or by the weight of her own guilt. "If you were looking for my son, you have found him. He is in the practice yards just below this pass, foolhardily attempting to regain his strength."

And with that, the queen turned and left. Not running, but—Jinji couldn't help but notice—her pace was not that of the slow, meandering flower she previously spoke of.

A secret smile widened Jinji's lips. She had faced the queen and won. No one in these halls could hurt her, not their stares, not their accusations. Jinji was armed with the truth, and with that knowledge in her heart, secure in the person she was, no one could touch her.

Confidence bubbling down her body, pulsing like waves, giving her renewed strength, Jinji walked to the stone rail. Her ears began to pick up the clang of swords, the grunt of painful exhales, the banter of men. How had she not heard it before?

Leaning out, letting the sun wash over her face, Jinji searched the grounds far below her feet.

In no time at all, her eyes found the person they searched for. In the center of a circle of men, Rhen faced a single foe. His sword was raised even with his eyes as his feet slowly circled to the left, not relenting, keeping even pace with his match. Sweat deepened the color of his flaming hair, glistened over the contours of his muscles.

Suddenly he paused.

Jinji's breath caught. She swallowed, heart racing with anticipation. There was no more running.

She was a woman, and it was time for Rhen to see that too.

Movements in slow motion, his head shifted up, up, up, until his forest green eyes landed on hers and widened with surprise. Dumbstruck, his arm dipped, sword sliding closer and closer to the ground as every other part of his body became utterly still.

Jinji wanted to smile, to wave hello, to do something. But her limbs felt heavy, fat, unable to move.

Then she wanted to yell, to shout a warning, to tell him that his opponent was about to strike. But she was too late and too far away to help.

In the end, all she did was wince as the practice sword landed on his head and Rhen fell like a clump of rocks to the ground.

4

RHEN

~ RAYFORT ~

Rhen was not prepared for the sight of her in a gown. Brilliant as the sun in her golden silks, radiantly looking down at him with a small smile on her full lips—lips he had never noticed before but suddenly consumed his thoughts. Round. Plump. He was sure they would be soft to the touch, and oh yes he wanted to touch them.

For a long time.

Many times.

Over and over.

His body was stuck by the idea, glued in place. Though he knew in some part of his brain that he faced an opponent who was currently swinging a sword at his head, the functioning half of his brain was long gone, trapped by those sparkling eyes staring down at him from above.

Jin. Jinji.

Familiar and foreign at the same time, but in that moment, he didn't care. In that moment, she was just the most beautiful thing he could ever recall laying eyes on.

But then pain exploded in his head, and Rhen found himself staring at the grass instead, black dots invading his vision, dark stars twinkling in and out of existence.

"My Lord!" came the strangled cry of his opponent.

But Rhen raised his arm, signaling silence, signaling to be left alone. Rolling over onto his back, Rhen's eyes turned toward the overpass, but Jinji was gone, almost like one of the spirits she so dearly clung to.

Idiot
, he cursed and shook his head, determined to redeem himself later on, at dinner perhaps. But first he had to get up.

Gritting his teeth, Rhen slowly lifted his torso. Pain flared down his spine the higher he rose, but he was determined to prove his strength. At least to himself.

"Ow," he muttered, feeling his head for the bump he was sure would soon rise. In truth, this was a much-needed break, no matter how it began. Body burning, Rhen's muscles were tight, screaming at him to take it easy. But Rhen knew only how to push himself to the limit, and after so many days at rest, all the exertion was a shock to his system. The scar on his stomach flamed like live fire on his skin. Only this fire hurt, stinging painfully rather than slipping easily underneath his pull.

"Prince Whylrhen, brought down by the mere sight of a woman. I never thought I would see the day," a voice called softly. A familiar voice.

Rhen looked up, a smile stirring on his lips as his old friend's face came distinctly into view.

"Cal?" he asked, reaching out his hand.

A firm grip took hold of his fingers, pulling Rhen to his feet and then into a tight, brotherly embrace.

"I thought you were dead," Cal murmured, tone ringing with relief.

"I thought," Rhen began, but then paused.
I thought you were a traitor.

Cal pulled back, eyes down turned, as though he had read Rhen's thoughts. But perhaps those were his thoughts as well. Cal's father, after all, was an enemy of the kingdom. The Lord of Roninhythe was responsible for the death of Rhen's father and brother, and who knew whom else. The war was just beginning. There were many more battles to come.

"Can we talk, away from the practice yards? There is much I wish to explain, to…" Cal trailed off, words lost in the awkwardness of where to even begin.

"Yes." Rhen nodded, slapping his friend on the shoulder.

Shrugging off the pain, Rhen handed the wooden practice sword to one of the soldiers. He took it without a word of goodbye, with no camaraderie, none of the usual lightheartedness Rhen found on the practice grounds.

Something had changed. Rhen felt it when he first arrived this morning, the sensation buzzed even stronger as he was leaving. The men did not treat him as one of them, as they used to. There was a separateness enshrouding him, a sense of seclusion.

At first, he thought maybe it was his new position in life—the fact that he was suddenly the second son, closer to the throne and to power than ever before. But then he saw the slight fear in their eyes, the trepidation in the air whenever he grunted in pain from one of their strikes. They were afraid of him. And Rhen only had one explanation.