Page 132 of Tainted Souls
473
Ascelin has remained undefeated in the dueling pits ever since the day he strutted into that sand. The best thing about it? Cain’s misery. The worst? His wrath. When Ascelin—now taller, even stronger, with a few more years to his age—laughed triumphantly, Cain’s ire spilled over, landing upon one of Ascelin’s friends who dared cheer too loudly.
Rest in peace, Julian.
488
I should have known better than to trust the calm in Cain’s voice.
He spoke of loyalty, of our hypothetical future together—words lacquered with kindness, but obsession underneath. When he unfastened my gown, much to my protests, his touch paused. His eyes had caught onto the faint shimmer beneath my collarbone. The soulmate mark. He froze, and that hesitation was my mercy. I moved before he could speak, before fury could find its form. The chamber door gave way beneath myhands, and I ran until the night air stripped the scent of him from my skin.
523
Word about Ascelin having been taken by the hunters of Redmoore has left everyone in disarray, scrambling for alliances, pretending concern while measuring the cost of interference. No one knows what to do. I’m perhaps the only one who can: Roman works for Redmoore. He knows their corridors, their schedules, their blind spots. With his help, there’s a chance to bring Ascelin home. Yet even as I weigh the risk, I can already feel the eyes turning toward me. If I act, if I succeed, the questions will follow. No matter, the truth cannot remain buried forever.
577
It is finally done. Ascelin is no longer in their hands. Roman’s message had reached me at dawn: the boy was freed under the shroud of a false transfer. I count myself blessed to be bound to a man such as he, for all the trials and distances that stand between us. For now, I can only pray that Cain keeps to silence, and that our marriage remains undiscussed. The world is not kind to those who break its boundaries.
And I have broken far too many.
621
Today I was reminded, once more, that even the prodigies among us can carry burdens unseen. Ascelin sat across from me, fire crackling between us, his flight from home striking a familiar chord within me. We spoke little at first, letting the flames speak for us. Gradually, words emerged. I learned how deeply he craved autonomy, how the weight of expectations from his family pressed upon him even as he carried the power of his name. His pride was fierce, but not unyielding; there wasa vulnerability there, a desire to exist on his own terms, away from the pressure of it all. I understood exactly what he meant, because I had once lived it. In the weeks that followed, Ascelin and I found ourselves drawn into the thrill of the world beyond our usual haunts.
We took on mercenary contracts—not out of necessity, but for the sheer exhilaration of it, the challenge, the dance of skill and cunning. Each assignment was a game, a test of wit and strength, and we moved through it with a shared understanding, as if the world itself had given us leave to be ourselves.
“Ravens. Untethered, flying on the currents of our own will.”
671
We returned to that wretched orphanage, its halls still reeking of fear, maltreatment, and the quiet despair of children kept under lock and key. The matron sells them out to vetalas: vampires who crave the blood of the young. Ascelin and I leapt through the window, leaving a bloodbath in our wake. The chains that had bound those children for so long had finally broken, most of them taken into foster care afterward, but not these few: Reece, Kale, Palina, Hanae and Irene. They wanted to be like us. To be vampires. I told them the truth: power is not a gift without consequence. Vampirism can grant strength, speed, and immortality—but it can also destroy the unprepared. I promised them that if they still desire this path when they come of age, it will be theirs. Tonight was confirmation of what I had always known: it is not enough to survive. One must also protect, guide, and teach.
After reading the final entry, I flip through the pages that are still left empty. She must have been taken soon after, never tosee the light of night again. But I push the thought away, not wanting to focus on that right now.
I close the journal and hold it against my chest like a lifeline.
“She chose Dad over everything,” I whisper. “Over her family, her safety, her entire world.”
“And she chose us,” Saul says, leaning back against the headboard. “Even when it meant losing everything else.”
For the first time since childhood, I feel connected to her—not as a ghost or a memory, but as a person who faced impossible choices and somehow found the strength to keep fighting.
She had been lonely, cut off from worlds in ways neither of us could have understood as children.
“There’s more.” Saul rises from the bed and moves to the wardrobe, reaching behind the hanging clothes to retrieve a wooden box. “I found this the last time I was here.”
Inside lie letters, dozens of them, tied with ribbon. The handwriting is different from the journal entries, more hurried.
I recognize it immediately as my father’s script.
“Love letters,” I breathe, lifting one carefully.
“Read them,” Saul encourages. “You’ll understand why she could not let go. Why she prioritized what she did.”
I untie the ribbon with reverent fingers, selecting a letter at random. The paper is worn soft from handling, evidence that our mother had read these words countless times.
My dearest Seena,
