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  LEGACY of TRIL

  BOOK ONE:

  Soulbound

  HEATHER BREWER

  LEGACY of TRIL

  BOOK ONE:

  Soulbound

  DIAL BOOKS

  • an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. •

  DIAL BOOKS

  A division of Penguin Group USA Inc.

  Published by The Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014, U.S.A. * Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) * Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England * Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) * Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) * Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India * Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) * Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa * Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Copyright © 2012 by Heather Brewer, LLC.

  All rights reserved

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Brewer, Heather.

  Soulbound / by Heather Brewer.

  p. cm.—(The legacy of Tril; [1])

  Summary: Seventeen-year-old Kaya, a Healer who wants to learn to fight, must attend Shadow Academy where fighting by Healers is outlawed, and so she asks two young men to train her in secret, leading to a choice that will change their lives forever.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-57546-8

  [1. Fantasy—Fiction. 2. Healers—Fiction. 3. Soldiers—Fiction. 4.

  Boarding schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.B75695Blo 2012 [Fic]—dc23

  2011035025

  Designed by Jason Henry

  Text set in Itc Berkeley Oldstyle

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  ALWAYS LEARNING

  PEARSON

  For my daughter, Alexandria—

  one of the strongest girls I know.

  A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

  Not many authors make it a point to thank Penguins and Minions, but without them—my amazing team at Penguin Young Readers and my incredible Minion Horde—I would not be where I am today. Thank you, all of you, for being so supportive and for believing in me.

  There are many people who I owe huge thanks to, Penguins and Minions aside. First off, my editor, Liz Waniewski, who continues to surprise me with her brilliant insight, and my fabulous agent, Michael Bourret, who is always available with excellent advice. I’m beyond thrilled and totally honored to call you both my friends. Here’s to the future, and to many new worlds in the Heather Brewer universe.

  I also need to thank my sister, Dawn Vanniman, who makes me feel normal and loved and so, so grateful that I have her in my life. And my amazing mother-in-law, Gwen Kelley, whom I want to be like when I eventually (maybe) grow up. You are the most amazing women I know.

  Last, but never least, I want to thank my family. Paul, Jacob, and Alexandria—you guys rock my world in ways that no one else ever has. You get my weirdness. You support my innate love of the macabre. And you put up with my crazy writing schedule. I love you all so much. Thank you for everything that you do.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  C H A P T E R

  One

  The sharp edge of the paper sliced into my thumb and I sat up with a jerk. “Fak!”

  Blood blossomed from the cut and I tossed my book to the ground, shoving my thumb in my mouth and sucking on it to make the bleeding stop. I should have known that I’d give myself a paper cut. I’d just picked up the book from the bookbinder this morning, so its pages were still crisp, not well worn like those in the books that lined the shelves of my bedroom.

  “What would your mother say if she heard you cursing like that, Kaya?” As he ducked under the moss that was draping from the tree branches above and made his way along the water’s edge, my father smiled at me. In his left hand was a net full of freshly caught fish. He held it up proudly. “Dinner. I hope I didn’t scare you.”

  Shaking my head at his subtle attempt at humor—he’d always been able to sneak up on me without much effort, ever since I could remember—I brushed the grass from my leggings and stood, clutching the book in my hand. “Scare me? I actually heard you coming. First time for everything, I suppose.”

  “I made certain you did. Walk back with me? I want to talk with you about tonight.” He didn’t wait for an answer. I knew he wouldn’t. My father was a take-charge kind of person. Not cruel or demanding, but a natural leader. When he said something, people were meant to listen, and they did, for the most part. Maybe it was because he was a Barron, and people—even the Unskilled people of Kessler who had no idea what Barrons even were—just sensed that they were supposed to follow his lead. My mother was a Barron as well. Sometimes I wished that I was like them, but then I’d push that wish away. After all, there was no sense in wishing for what one could never possibly have. My parents had been born Barrons, and I…well…I had not.

  The walk back to our cabin was filled with light breezes, birdsong, and the occasional animal darting into the woods as my father and I navigated our way down the riverbank. Wet sounds of water lapping against river rock distracted me some from the conversation I knew was coming, but not even nature’s song was enough to drown out the usual argument. My father slowed his steps so that I could keep pace with him, and looked at me from the corner of his eye. I always knew when he was looking at me—especially when he was doing so in that oppressive parenting kind of way. “Kaya,” he began, his tone ever so calm, “you know your mother and I trust you completely.”

  Sighing heavily, I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to be out late. Besides, I’ll be with Avery. You love Avery.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. “I wouldn’t be doing my job as your father if I didn’t lecture you at least a little before such a big night.”

  He pulled a large, leafy branch to the side and I stepped through, spotting our cabin right in front of me. My father had built this place when my mother was pregnant with me. They slept under the stars until it was time for me to enter the world. The night my mother went into labor was their—our—first night in the cabin. It was small (sometimes too small) an
d damp (sometimes too damp), but it was home, and I always felt a wave of comfort wash over me at the sight of it. “It’s not like I’ve spent every Harvest Festival out wreaking havoc. It’s the same thing every year. Avery and I will wander the festival grounds for a few hours, eating everything in sight and playing some of the games of chance. Then Avery will fall madly in love with some boy and we’ll end up stalking him the rest of the night, until I stumble into our cabin the next morning, bored and exhausted.”

  “Sounds like a good time.” My mother peeked out from behind one of the wet sheets that was hanging on the clothesline beside our cabin. She was smiling, which told me that the usual events had transpired. Father had told her he was going to talk to me about how to behave at Harvest Festival, and mother told him not to bother, I’d be fine. By the look in Father’s eyes, he knew that Mother was right, but he still worried, as fathers tend to do. He also knew he’d been defeated.

  He shook his head at both of us and wagged a finger in my direction. “No boys.”

  Groaning, I said, “I’m not the one stalking boys. It’s Avery.”

  But my father was not to be deterred. “No boys.”

  I shot my mother a look. “Does he ever listen to anyone?”

  “Not since I can remember.” My mother chuckled.

  As she moved through the cabin’s back door, she threw a glance at me over her left shoulder. “Avery stopped by a while ago to let us know the festival grounds are all set up. She says it’s even bigger than last year, which is believable, considering how many funds the trade brought in over the summer. The farmer’s market is open now, so you girls could head over anytime.”

  I waited for her to say what she always said to me on the day of the Harvest Festival—she and my father were so predictable. When she didn’t continue, I couldn’t help but be surprised. Maybe this year was different. Maybe this year, she’d finally learned to trust that I wouldn’t do something incredibly stupid and risk exposing Barrons and Healers everywhere to the Unskilled.

  She threw me another glance before turning toward the stairs that led up to our sleeping quarters. “And Kaya…don’t say anything about you-know-what, okay? Even to Avery. All it takes is for one person to overhear a word they don’t understand to unravel everything we’ve worked for.”

  I knew what she was talking about, of course. The fact that they were Barrons. The fact that a whole society of Barrons and Healers existed apart from what we called the Unskilled, or normal folks like the villagers of Kessler. We lived here, sure. But none of the villagers knew that my parents were Barrons, or that I was a Healer. And I knew that if I uttered the word Barron in public that I could undo eight centuries of keeping those worlds apart. I just didn’t like being reminded every time I stepped out our front door.

  Plus, there was that other thing. The fact that my parents had coupled, and it was against the law for two Barrons to become romantically entangled. One Barron to one Healer—that was the law. And my parents had broken that law. I didn’t much see a problem with it, but apparently the Barron-run Zettai Council did. And they were in charge of just about everything.

  “I’m not going to say anything. Do I ever say anything?” I could hear the distinct snap of sarcasm in my tone and immediately reeled my attitude back in. The last thing I wanted was to get grounded on the night of Harvest Festival.

  My father was standing behind me at the sink, working the water pump. The metal squeaked as he pressed the handle down, and a moment later, fresh spring water splashed into the basin. I could hear him rinsing his canteen, and though I knew he wasn’t looking at me, I could also tell that he was very aware of my every move, like a hunter. Sometimes that aspect of both of my parents set my nerves on edge. They were fast, strong, and had heightened senses beyond anyone I knew. I’d gone hunting with him before, but only once.

  I was just ten years old when my father had taken me deep into the woods to show me how to hunt. Nothing vicious, he’d sworn. Just a Raik or two, or maybe a Khaw. Raiks were easy to track, after all. Their furry bodies kept so low to the ground that a trail was simple to spot. And Khaws hardly ever flew away when people approached. Both were delicious, and besides, he wanted me to learn.

  And learn I had. Just as we’d crested a hill, my father spotted a Khaw on a nearby branch. He unsheathed his katana and whipped the blade forward, beheading the creature with skill and precision. Its blood flew through the air, speckling my cheeks.

  I’d cried the entire walk home, and my father had never taken me hunting again.

  After that, we stuck to fishing.

  His tone was far warmer than I’d expected it to be, considering how snotty I’d just been to my mother. “We just want to make sure you don’t forget, Kaya. You’re seventeen now, and a Healer, which means the Zettai Council’s likely been searching for you for five years. They don’t take Soulbound announcements lightly, even if your parents are fugitives. If they find you, you know what that means for our family.”

  Of course I knew what it would mean. How could I ever forget something so horrible? “It means I’ll be shuffled off to some life I never wanted, and you and Mom will be punished for your crime.”

  “Killed, Kaya.” His eyes snapped to me then, and mine to his, his dark eyes burning with a sincerity that he needed to drive home. “Not just punished. We’ll be killed for falling in love. So you see how important it is that you never slip up and say anything to anyone about Barrons and Healers, yes?”

  “Of course I do.” The word killed rang through my mind over and over again. I dropped my attention to a knot in the wood floor, worried that my father might not understand why I hated the pressure they put on me to keep their—our—secret. “I just don’t understand why you don’t trust me not to say anything.”

  “We do trust you. Your mother just worries. Plus, she’s feeling a little out of sorts lately. Her seventeenth year was the year her Soulbound Healer was killed. I think your birthday has reminded her of what it felt like to experience that loss.” He’d dropped his tone to a near-whisper, perhaps not wanting my mother to overhear our conversation. I couldn’t blame him. My mother hardly spoke of her Soulbound Healer. I wasn’t even entirely sure if her Healer had been a man or a woman. “She was heartbroken. Soulbroken. Nothing can truly heal someone after a loss like that.”

  Soulbroken—that sounded awful. I couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to lose a part of yourself in that way. My parents had explained to me years before that I had a Soulbound Barron, but I couldn’t imagine it hurting to lose someone I’d never met before, and likely never would. “What about you? You lost your Healer in the Battle at Wood’s Cross, right? Don’t you miss her?”

  Something in his eyes shifted then, revealing a haunted, broken man behind the usual strong facade. Seeing this weakness frightened me far more than the precision he’d used to kill during our hunting session when I was a child. My father never showed weakness. Largely because he didn’t contain any. I’d thought so, anyway, until now. “Deeply. I miss Sharyn deeply. But I know she’d be happy that your mother and I fell in love. She’d want this life for me. Minus the threat of the Zettai Council, that is.”

  My heart welled up so big that it felt like it was choking me. This was a side of my father that I had not seen. He’d mentioned his Healer before, but only in passing, and only in the lightest of tones. Stepping closer, I hugged him, and whispered the only words that came to mind. “I’m so sorry you lost her. It must have been awful.”

  He squeezed me, just a little too tightly, and then held me at arm’s length and forced a smile. “It was. It still is, and always will be. But today isn’t a day for sadness and regret. It’s a day of gratitude for all that we have.”

  A hard knock on the front door stole the moment away, and I was strangely grateful for it. It was unsettling to view my father as a person with real feelings, real weaknesses. He was the glue that held my universe together. The last thing I needed was for that glue to come…well…un
glued.

  Her impatience getting the best of her, Avery opened the door and poked her head inside. “Kaya? Come on! We’re missing everything.”

  By everything, I could only assume, based on past experience, that she was referring to the freshly baked waffle bowls filled with mounds of fresh berries and dusted with powdered sugar, and the promise of harmless flirtation with one of the Bowery boys, who happened to belong to the most gorgeous gene pool imaginable in all of Tril. As much as I was dreading witnessing yet another failed harvest romance on Avery’s part, I was certainly looking forward to a berry bowl or two, and the celebratory atmosphere that the Harvest Festival brought with it every year. I hurried out the door, a grin on my face, and echoing after me was my father’s stern reminder, “No boys, Kaya!”

  Avery and I raced all the way to the crossroads, where traffic—both on foot and in wagons of various sizes and styles—had picked up considerably. My lungs burning, I steadied myself with my hand on Avery’s shoulder and slowed my breathing, watching the people as they poured into Kessler’s main street, which wasn’t a street so much as it was a wide, dirt road down the center of the village. I’d never thought much about how ill constructed our village was until my father had taken me to Howe, where the streets, while dirt, were smooth and even, the structures solid, the roofs freshly thatched. I was still proud to call Kessler my home after that, but traveling definitely helped to point out its flaws. Still, I loved it here.

  Once we crested the small hill, to a full view of the Harvest Festival, I heard Avery suck in her breath. The dirt street was lined with tall, lit torches, which were wrapped in elaborate corn-husk bows. Lining the crowded street were carts filled with all manner of food and drink, and at the far end of the street, in what we referred to as the town center, were the various games of chance that had attracted people from three villages over. Avery’s favorite was always the axe-throwing booth. But not because she was particularly gifted at throwing axes.