Descendant; Assassin; The Keeper Read online

  Princess OF THE Gods

  Hunted Heir Trilogy

  Part 1: Descendant

  Part 2: Assassin

  Part 3: The Keeper

  By Ky Tyrand

  ©2018 Ky Tyrand

  Contents

  Part 1: Descendant

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  Part 2: Assassin

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  Part 3: The Keeper

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  This was the day the monsters came. When a Kingdom fell, and a girl’s world crumbled.

  This was the day that a Princess discovered she was no ordinary Princess, and that her father was no ordinary King.

  This was the day that everything changed, and a girl learned that her life would never be the same.

  Part 1: Descendant

  1

  Out of the corner of her eye, the girl saw him approach. He was silent, even when moving through the bushes.

  Stealthy.

  Had she not been expecting an attack, he would have crept up on her before she could fashion any kind of defense.

  Her staff went up, blocking his strike with a loud crack. An instant later and it would have been her cheek that absorbed the blow.

  She thrust the other end of her weapon upward, hoping to cut through his guard. But the man was quick to parry, retaliating with another high attack.

  Even now, the clack of their weapons connecting made her jump. The vibration hurt her hands and wrists. Her opponent was big and powerful. She was not. But the girl knew that she needed to be strong.

  Dropping low, she swung at his ankles while feeling the whoosh of his staff skim over her head.

  The man was somehow able to check her swiping pole, stopping it with his boot, trapping it against the ground.

  It had been an unwise attack against an opponent as skilled as this, and she cursed her own foolishness.

  Though she hadn’t been using this weapon long, the girl had learned its intricacies. And the practical device wasn’t without its tricks. When it didn’t pull free on the first attempt, she pressed and twisted the shaft in a very specific way. With a click, the weapon separated into two equal length pieces. It had been designed to come apart, and she didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the versatility.

  Leaving one segment pinned under her opponent’s foot, she brought up the other length to block another strike, before kicking at the man’s stomach.

  Her adversary was fast, and caught the girl’s heel with his free hand, before nudging her other leg out from under her.

  She landed on her back with a thud, nearly knocking the wind out of her lungs. Catching sight of the dangerous man’s sneer, she knew that this was not a safe place to be. With a quick breath, the girl rolled out of the way as her attacker pounced, scrambling to her feet before the man had a chance to get on top of her.

  Her opponent dropped to his knees, thinking that he had her, leaving his face low and exposed. But he was caught off guard by the girl’s speed.

  She was already up, and kicked him hard in the jaw – the first solid blow that she had landed during the fight.

  It knocked him back, but he shook it off and got to his feet, spitting blood onto the ground beside him. He smiled at her with his handsome grin, spinning his staff around with some showmanship before springing forward with another barrage of attacks.

  The girl couldn’t help but smile. Of all the times she’d sparred with her uncle Tho’ran, she could count the number of times she had gotten the better of him on one hand. That didn’t mean besting him – that just meant landing a clean hit. She never won the battles, but she was thrilled to score a point.

  Holding her half-staff by one end, she wielded it like a sword, blocking his blows one by one. But they kept coming. And he was so strong. She needed both hands to prevent him from bulling right through her parries. The girl knew that he wouldn’t stop until he finally broke through her defenses and hit her with a clean shot.

  Something dramatic and decisive.

  That was the way it was with Uncle Tho’ran – if you got in a hit, he would go out of his way to teach you that it was just a lucky strike, and not to let it go to your head. He could always beat you.

  So she dodged and she blocked, slipped and parried, all the while backing away from the man’s aggressive assault. Until she tripped on a tree root and nearly fell to the ground, letting in two quick hits and an insulting hair messing before her uncle finally gave her some reprieve.

  He was playing with her, now.

  “To the side, Ki’ara, not back,” he warned, “You’re an easy target when you move in a straight line. Not to mention you can’t see where you’re going. And don’t hesitate when you’ve got me on the defense. Take advantage of it.”

  The girl stood and blew long hair out of her face, raising her weapon to the ready. “Fine,” she said, crouching in preparation for the next round.

  Tho’ran shook his head. “Haven’t you had enough yet?”

  “One more,” she said, ready to prove her ability, both to her uncle and to herself.

  The man’s wrist communicator beeped twice, and he looked down to read the message, while telling her, “No, forget it. I win. I am the champion of all champions. You need to practice for days before you face me again.”

  She knew he was kidding. Tho’ran was a busy man, and though Ki’ara had convinced him to teach and train her as often as he could, it was always days before he worked with her again. “Oh, come on, just one more,” she appealed. But she could see that he was distracted.

  “Sorry, Ki’ara, I’ve got to go. Grab your gear, I’ll walk you home.”

  The girl let out a disappointed sigh, as she picked up the other half of her weapon, clicking it back together to reconstruct a single long staff. She grabbed a pack from the ground and pulled out a bottle of drinking water, taking a couple large gulps before slinging it over her shoulder.

  F
ollowing Tho’ran up the trail, Ki’ara walked as quickly as she could, struggling to keep up. Her uncle was always in a hurry, and moved at a pace that forced the girl to nearly break into a jog so as not to get left behind.

  “What’s the rush?” she asked, when it felt like she was having to double-up on every other step.

  Tho’ran forced himself to shorten his gait. “Sorry,” he apologized, “I keep forgetting you’re a slow-poke.”

  “I am not,” she protested, almost tripping on one of the many Tanglewood roots that crisscrossed the path. Ever since the Collapse, the jungle had been trying to take over the city, and nothing was more frustrating than the twisted roots that kept popping up everywhere. “You just walk so fast, I have to run to keep up.”

  “So run,” he joked, “I’m okay with that.” When the girl didn’t respond, Tho’ran added, “You’re making a face at me, aren’t you Ki’ara.”

  “No,” she lied.

  The man chuckled as he slowed to a more manageable pace.

  “Uncle Tho’ran?”

  “Yes, Ki’ara.”

  “Do you think it’s possible for a girl my size to defeat a full grown man?”

  “Of course I do,” he said, before stopping to point a thumb at himself. “Just not this man.”

  He gave her a wink before continuing on his way.

  Ki’ara smiled. She knew he was trying to be funny. “No, I don’t mean you. I’m not afraid of fighting you.”

  Tho’ran’s eyebrows went up, suggesting she might pay for that comment during their next bout.

  “I mean … it’s not the same. I know that you won’t hurt me,” she explained, before adding, “Badly.”

  Her uncle laughed. “Now, just how big a man is it that you’re preparing to fight?”

  “I don’t know,” Ki’ara shrugged. “Maybe, like … Sir Grue’gan.”

  “Grue’gan!?” Tho’ran looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Well, you set your sights high, don’t you?” her uncle muttered, shaking his head. “He’s the biggest man in the kingdom; probably in all of Avalon. Not to mention the most experienced fighter.” Tho’ran held up his hand, with his index finger and thumb extended. The gap in-between shrank as he said, “How about we set our ambitions a little bit smaller.”

  Ki’ara’s face went red. “Okay, then … Syjak.”

  Her uncle rolled his eyes. “Really, Ki’ara?” Syjak was not far off Sir Grue’gan in stature, and the rumors about his fighting prowess were enough to send his opponents running before he’d even drawn a weapon. “What’s going on with you? Why the sudden desire to be able to beat the greatest fighters in Stronghold? You know they’re here to protect you, not harm you, right?”

  The girl shrugged, nodding ever so slightly.

  Tho’ran watched her, curiously. When she didn’t answer, he asked, “You’ve heard stories of the Angel?”

  “Of course,” replied Ki’ara. All girls had. The Angel of Avalon was a great heroine from before the Collapse. She was said to have protected the people of Avalon from the evils in the land, using her cunning abilities and unmatched combat skills. But this was years ago, before Ki’ara was even born.

  “She fought men. A lot of them. Rumor has it she’d defeated several at a time on more than one occasion.” Tho’ran gave his niece a smile, and added, “All by herself.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s true,” Tho’ran nodded. “And she wasn’t much bigger than you are right now.”

  Ki’ara was average for her age, or perhaps smaller. Not big or strong like the soldier women in the Royal Guard, or the Warrior Maidens of the North. She’d been told once that she was too scrawny to be a fighter.

  The truth was Ki’ara hated violence. The thought of people slicing and stabbing one another terrified her. Despite the bumps and bruises, Ki’ara felt safe sparring with Tho’ran. She certainly didn’t want to fight anybody for real. Not that it was expected of her. When you’re the daughter of the King, you aren’t supposed to swing swords and shoot arrows. At least, not anymore.

  Ki’ara knew everyone presumed her destiny would be in politics, not battles.

  Were it not for the Visions, she would believe it herself.

  2

  “It happened again,” said Ki’ara, matter-of-factly.

  Tho’ran nearly came to a halt when he registered her words, but quickly composed himself and kept going. “When?” he asked.

  “Last night.”

  “What now … more monsters?” he asked.

  “Kind of,” she said. “There was destruction, as always, and huge grey ships in the sky. Just floating there. People fighting; killing each other. Demons coming out of the ground.”

  “Is that why you want to learn how to fight?” her uncle probed. “You keep having Visions of the world coming to an end?”

  Ki’ara shrugged. “I guess so. I don’t want to just stand back and let it happen.”

  Tho’ran nodded, like he was considering something; or he understood. But there was no hiding the concern in his eyes.

  She wouldn’t tell him the next part.

  About the huge man with the hand around her neck, and the blade in her ribs.

  It was the most frightening thing she’d ever experienced – even more so than the demons and airships – and an image she would not soon forget.

  Except for the face of the man trying to kill her.

  That was already gone.

  The most frustrating thing about Ki’ara’s curse was that she never remembered faces. She saw people – often familiar to her at the time. But when she awoke, there was never any recollection of who they were. Whether she knew them or not. The color of their hair or eyes. Nothing that would tell her what they looked like.

  Little good a premonition like that was. Without a face behind the attack, all it did was frighten her. Make her scared of every man who came too close. Except for her uncle, of course. Him, she could trust.

  Tho’ran watched her without saying a word.

  They took a few more steps before Ki’ara added, “There was also a boy.”

  “A boy?” Tho’ran sounded surprised, giving her an uneasy smile.

  The girl couldn’t help but blush. The way Tho’ran said things often made her feel like she was being teased. Nevertheless, he was the only person that listened to her. Other than her father, who was even busier than Tho’ran. “Yes,” she admitted, “a boy.”

  “So what’s his role in all of this death and destruction?” her uncle asked curiously.

  “I don’t know, exactly,” she confessed, “But… I think he saves us, somehow.”

  “Really?” Tho’ran perked up, sounding very interested. “Well, I’d like to hear more about this… boy”

  No sooner had her uncle spoken, than Ki’ara felt the most unusual of sensations, deep in her chest. Caught off guard by how foreign it seemed, the girl’s heart jumped as she tried to understand what was happening. The feeling was indescribable. As if her insides were suddenly in the wrong place, but had nowhere else to be.

  With a hand on her ribs, Ki’ara leaned forward, fighting a wave of nausea.

  Tho’ran turned when he realized his niece was no longer at his side. “Are you alright?” he asked, throwing his staff to the ground so that he could help support her. “Ki’ara, what’s wrong?”

  With eyes wide, the girl took a deep breath before the feeling subsided, and she slowly stood straight. “I’m okay,” she said. “I think I’m just coming down with something. I’ve got a weird feeling in my stomach.”

  Her uncle was about to scoop her up, but Ki’ara insisted she was alright. So instead, he picked up his weapon, eyeing her skeptically as they continued on their way.

  They exited the gardens up a set of stone steps leading to the castle. When they reached the top the pair were greeted by a boy, not much younger than Ki’ara, who was vigorously sweeping the cobblestone patio.

  As soon as he saw her, the boy bowed, doing his best to drop to one
knee. The problem was – he had no legs. “Your Royal Highness,” he said, awkwardly trying to lean forward on his prosthetic limbs without losing his balance.

  Ki’ara shook her head. “Get up, Petch,” she told him, “I asked you not to call me that.” She helped the boy up, knowing that standing from that position was not easy for him.

  “Yes, sorry Your… Kee-ara,” the boy corrected, banging his head against the broom handle to punish his own foolishness.

  “Stop that,” the girl ordered, pulling the broom from his hands. “Petch, you’re my friend, you don’t have to call me Highness, or bow when you see me. Nobody does that. And you certainly don’t need to beat yourself every time you fumble your words.”

  “Sorry… Ki’ara,” the boy said, uncomfortably.

  The girl smiled, and handed the broom back. “You’re doing an excellent job, Petch. I’ll see you later.”

  Tho’ran snickered when they walked on, out of earshot. “Another boy,” he commented.

  Ki’ara scowled. “It’s not like that,” she argued. “He’s just a friend.”

  “He worships you,” Tho’ran observed, as they entered the Keep through a set of tall, arched doors. Two armed guards let them pass, unimpeded.

  “He does not,” said Ki’ara, before considering the boy’s awkward behavior. Maybe she was wrong. Perhaps he did have feelings for her, and she just hadn’t seen it. But, “He’s just a kid,” she thought out loud.

  “You’re just a kid,” her uncle reminded her.

  “He has no legs,” she commented, but instantly wished she hadn’t.

  Tho’ran frowned. “Doesn’t seem to slow him down much. He’s the hardest working boy I’ve ever known. He’s been providing for his Aunt since he strapped on those prosthetics. Any girl would be lucky to have a man as determined as him.” He spoke his next words in a tone that made Ki’ara feel ashamed, “Even a Princess.”

  It was true, Petch was more than capable, and it was difficult to believe that he could have such a great attitude. For him to be so positive after being dealt such challenges in his life was truly inspirational. But Ki’ara had never thought of him as being more than a friend, despite the fact that he was one of the few boys in Stronghold that was even close to her own age. “He’s just a kid,” she repeated.