Free Parasite Soul by Chris Jags Page A

able to influence any decisions her father made.
    Relying upon instinct to guide her timing, she watched the ants
scurrying about below as though their lives were of any importance to the
kingdom. If only she could reach down and grind them into the
cobblestones; that would go a long way to assuaging her anger.
    If only my brother was here .
    But Merequio’s presence wasn’t an option. The hunting accident
had stolen him from her. Whirling eddies of snow seemed to obscure
Tiera’s vision as she was transported back to the time and place which had irrevocably
changed her life.
    There is nothing to be done for him. Those hateful words, spoken by one of her father’s huntsmen as she’d thrown
herself upon her brother’s corpse, snaked through her brain as though hissed
directly into her ear. Try as she might to concentrate upon the cityscape
below, the pattern of Merequio’s blood, staining the snow, superimposed itself
over her vision. His ruined face came to her unbidden, his jaw hanging
horribly slack, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. She remembered
flying to her father for comfort, but he’d held her only stiffly, his eyes
already in the process of hardening to a glassy blackness; an abyss from which
they’d never fully returned.
    And nor have I, Tiera thought. Damn
you, brother. You should be here today. Her deceptively
delicate hands bunched into iron fists. I hate you .
    Abruptly, she swung toward Farrow, whose anxious eyes immediately
dropped toward the floor.
    “The door, girl! Get the door!”
    Farrow sprang into action. Her startled-deer movements and
awkward mannerisms were as frustrating as her lifeless eyes. Niu - the
bitch – had, at least, a spark of life and grace about her. Farrow,
whom Tiera’s men had purchased from a peasant family at a very young age, had
all the spirit of an abandoned, broken doll. Perhaps it was coming time
to replace her.
    Sweeping out of her chambers, Tiera entered a short hallway.
Tapestries decorated walls which were ancient and eroding. Tiera promised
herself that when she eventually inherited the kingdom - either as ruler or
through control of whatever fool she was forced to marry - she would tear down
this irrelevant monument to the past and have a magnificent new palace
constructed. This she swore, if it broke the back of every laborer in
Cannevish.
    A descending flight of stairs, worn smooth, brought her to another,
longer hall. This was the palace’s central nerve, connecting the banquet
hall, the throne room, and the king’s royal suite. At the end of this
passage, sealed off, her brother’s old chambers were collecting dust. To
the best of her knowledge, his personal possessions had never been moved.
She longed to order his rooms unsealed. She thought she might be able to
let her brother go if she could just say farewell to his echoes one final time,
but she knew her father would punish her if she tried. Seemingly
determined to bury Merequio’s memory, he’d forbidden her - or anyone else -
access to his sanctum.
    An enormous guard was posted outside the door to enforce this
decree, with instructions that nobody, not even Tiera, was to pass
inside. Warrington was his name, she thought, or Warringsworth, something
similar. It didn’t matter. He was an irritating reminder that her
authority had limits. Much as she’d bullied and threatened this man, he
remained an immovable force. He was replaced at night by a shorter but
more sinister man who frankly made Tiera’s skin crawl.
    Tiera didn’t respond well to having anything forbidden her, but if
there was one person in Cannevish she held in healthy respect, it was her
father. She didn’t fear him, exactly; she had no difficulty speaking her
mind in his presence, yet she found herself aggravatingly obedient to his
wishes. Hard, never outwardly affectionate, Minus was a difficult man to
love, even for a daughter. Still, as far as family went, he was all she
had, and as little as she liked to admit it