Free Souls of Aredyrah 1 - The Fire and the Light by Tracy A. Akers Page B

Reiv, who by definition had
become one. But he did not consider himself Jecta and swore he
never would.
    He glared over his crossed arms and down at
his barely clad body. To look at him one would have certainly taken
him for a Jecta. His hair was not blond, his skin was no longer
smooth, and he seldom wore a tunic anymore. Now he was usually clad
in a cloth tied about his hips. It was the most sensible thing to
work in; he had learned that early on. Over time, his skin had
adjusted to the heat and the sun, though it never turned the golden
brown of a Jecta. It preferred to stay a rosy pink.
    Reiv hated his job in the fields, but it was
the days when he was away from them that he hated the most. On
those days, he found himself stuck in the apartment, bored and
restless. Today was one of those days, as had been the past five,
and it was taking its toll. The entire week had been proclaimed a
holiday, so most of the Jecta laborers and craftsmen had been sent
home to Pobu. Even Brina was not able to come and see him as much
as she usually did. She was obligated to attend a multitude of
festivities with the family and had explained to him she would not
be able to slip away easily. The family, Reiv knew, did not approve
of her visits.
    What now? He scanned the meager
contents of the white-washed room: the old chaise he was sitting
on; a cross-legged stool pushed against the wall near the door; a
small marble table, scrubbed rough from use and misuse; an old oak
table in the kitchen, its two low benches pushed beneath. His mouth
compressed with displeasure. Not very princely quarters, but then
again, he was no longer a prince. No longer was he Ruairi, the Red
King. Now he was Reiv: Reiv the Foreman, Reiv the Jecta, Reiv the
Nobody. He crossed his arms, tucking his gloved hands beneath them,
and fought the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.
    What now?
    He asked that same question almost every day,
but the answer rarely changed. “Well, fool, now you have something
to do. You can clean up the mess you made,” he said. He trudged
back to the atrium, then stopped to scowl at the first pile of
debris that lay at his bare feet.
    A sudden pounding on the door made him jump,
and he spun to face it. He wasn’t expecting anyone; no one other
than Brina ever came to see him. She’d said she would come, but not
until much later, and this rap was loud, not soft like Brina’s. He
thought not to answer it, to deny he had even heard it. But a
second, bolder knock alerted him to the possibility that maybe,
just maybe, someone had come bearing good news for once: news that
Cinnia could not live without him, news that his family wanted him
back, news that he was Ruairi again, Prince of Tearia.
    Reiv’s heart lifted at the possibility of it,
and he found himself practically sprinting to the door. He reached
for the handle, then closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. Please dear gods, let it be good news. Pulling open the
door, he found himself face to face with the very person most
frequently found at the tip of his imaginary sword—Whyn, his
brother. But Whyn was now more than his brother. He was his enemy. So much for prayers.
    Reiv shoved his hands against the door. He
could not bear to face Whyn, not today, and considering the
evidence of his own temper scattered about the place, he couldn’t
trust himself not to throw his brother against the wall as well.
But Whyn’s quick foot blocked his attempt and pushed its way, along
with the rest of him, into the room. Reiv stepped back, fists and
jaw clenched.
    Whyn faced him and scanned the dimly lit
room. He was dressed in his usual royal finery, a golden silk tunic
draped down his body, jeweled adornments pinned at his shoulders.
Reiv looked down at the faded black cloth that covered his own hips
and felt the crimson rise to his cheeks. Whyn had never come to see
him here before, and now here he was, eyeing the dismal apartment
and his outcast brother, the former Prince of Tearia, now a