by Jen McIntosh
A flicker of life ahead drew her attention. She stilled, senses straining. Too far to see or hear, too far to smell unless the wind changed. But Keriath had other options. She reached out with her mind, further and further, until she found it. One … No. Two. Human. Magically gifted … and trained in concealment, if that was all she could detect. No thoughts, no emotions, not even a sense of their presence beyond the slight ripple of their mental shields. Suspicion trickled down her spine like a drop of snowmelt. Few could hide themselves so thoroughly. Whoever they were, they were not the source of the magic she sought. Nor were they likely responsible for whatever power made her want to flee. That was ancient and terrible. No, they were something else.
She crept closer. At the edge of a clearing, she slid once more into the shadow of a towering pine, pressing herself against the lichen-coated trunk. The seeping damp bled straight through her clothes, chilling her to the bone in an instant. Above her, the clouds shifted, allowing a glimmer of moonlight to break through the canopy of trees and illuminate the clearing. She swallowed a curse and shied back from the light. It would reveal her more surely than any noise.
The clouds moved over, and she peered out to see two familiar figures before her. She sighed with relief. No wonder she hadn’t been able to sense them. She’d trained them herself, though not well enough if they were unaware of her presence. She allowed herself a moment to watch. Faolin, tall and proud, and Dorrien, her flowing silvery hair bleached near-white by the moonlight. Her heart ached at the sight of them. It had been so long. Both carried weapons – a sword sheathed at his hip, a pair of lethal-looking poniards belted at her waist – and wore light armour. They stood close together and spoke in whispers. But even the slightest sound carries far in the night.
‘I don’t understand why we’re still wasting our time on this,’ Dorrien hissed. Her face was still young and attractive but, in her temper, she had the haughty bearing which only affected those of noble birth.
‘You know why. Don’t ask questions to which you already know the answer,’ breathed Faolin, frowning at a patch of air in front of him.
‘This is ridiculous – there’s nothing here.’
‘There is something,’ he corrected. ‘Ignore it all you like, but we both sensed it. You know fine well the consequences if we don’t find it.’
‘There is something wrong, Faolin. We’re not safe here.’
‘That’s why it’s so important for us to stay.’
Dorrien glared at him. ‘We are no use to our people dead.’
‘We are no use to our people idle either.’
‘It’s been days, and we’ve found no trace. It’s time to leave, before someone else comes looking and catches us here.’
Faolin sighed – finally tearing his gaze away – and opened his mouth to reply.
Keriath had heard enough. She stepped out, a mocking grin on her lips as she interrupted, ‘Too late.’
Dorrien jumped, hands flying to her waist. But Faolin turned, his face impassive but for a slight warming of that normally fierce gaze.
‘Nice of you to join us,’ he murmured in greeting.
‘Keriath,’ welcomed Dorrien, despite the bite of irritation in her voice. Keriath grinned, lowering her hood and opening her arms. Dorrien’s frown melted into a gentle smile. The strength of her slender body as they embraced was incongruous but not unexpected, and they clung tight to each other.
‘I’m glad to see you in one piece, cousin,’ Dorrien murmured. Keriath stepped back, blinking tears from her eyes. Dorrien had aged since their last meeting but was even more lovely for it. She had lost the softness of childhood from her face, leaving high, sweeping cheekbones and a sharp, angled jaw. Faolin too was older, though it was less obvious. Only in his bright yellow eyes, flashing in the darkness, did Keriath see the change. The years were taking their toll.
But none of this held her attention for long. Not when their marks had grown so much since she’d last seen them. Faolin’s black tattoos trailed down his neck, across his shoulders, and wrapped their way down his well-muscled arms. A simple design, yet striking and bold. Dorrien’s, by comparison, were far more delicate. Shining silver instead of black, they framed her slanted silver-grey eyes and covered her wrists and hands in swirling patterns reminiscent of cresting waves and rushing rivers.
A pang of jealousy swept through Keriath. Her own marks had been damaged beyond repair long ago. Shame prickled at the memory, and she caught the flicker of pity in Dorrien’s gaze as her eyes skirted over Keriath’s face, over the twisted mess of melted, silvery skin that ravaged the right side of it. Even Faolin’s brow creased with sympathy.
Keriath looked away before her humiliation showed, wrapping her cloak tighter. Not that it mattered either way, since they’d both seen the full extent of her ruination years ago. Seen how the scars extended over the entire right side of her body. Shame gave way to panic as the memories rose. The searing heat of the flames, the bitter tang of smoke in her mouth, the stench of burning flesh. And worse, the hooting laughter of her tormentors echoing through the night.
With a deep breath, she forced the memories back. Refused to let them swallow her whole. She focussed instead on the figures in front of her, on the remnants of her shattered family.
Faolin broke the silence. ‘What are you doing here, Keriath?’
‘Same as you.’ Her gaze drifted to the spot Faolin had been studying just moments earlier. The taste of magic was stronger here. The air thrummed with it. Faolin followed her gaze and smirked.
‘Told you so,’ he murmured to Dorrien, triumph gleaming in those yellow eyes. But it was short-lived, and he sighed in frustration, gesturing at the space. ‘There’s something here. It keeps tracing back to this one point, but I can’t find anything.’
Keriath nodded in agreement, her senses tracking through the air, searching. A frown of confusion creased her brow. Magic did not just happen. There had to be a source. But Faolin was right. There was nothing there. A glance back at Faolin told her he was just as mystified.
Dorrien, meanwhile, was paying no attention to the conundrum. ‘You should be in the west, with Taelyr,’ she cut in, looking at Keriath. ‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘We got separated – long story – and when I arrived in Thornhold, there was a Hunt waiting for me at the gates.’
Faolin’s fierce gaze snapped to her. ‘What?’
‘How did they find you?’ Dorrien gasped.
‘I don’t know. But it was well-planned. Too well. I doubt it was a coincidence. I lost them in the Mistwood a few days ago. I was going to search for Taelyr when I sensed this. If it was a child … I couldn’t …’ She broke off with a frustrated sigh, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Taelyr can at least defend himself.’ She glanced at them both, looking for understanding and assurance that she had done the right thing. The guilt had been gnawing at her for days now. Faolin nodded and gripped her shoulder. Dorrien said nothing, hugging her tight instead.
They stood together in silence for some time until Faolin finally spoke again. ‘Have you seen her?’
She didn’t need to ask who he meant.
‘Yes,’ she admitted, ‘but it was brief. You know what she’s like. There one moment, gone the next.’
His face remained impassive, his voice steady, but emotions warred in his ferocious gaze. ‘How was she?’
‘As you’d expect – the seasons change, but our blessed Saviour stays the same. Up to her elbows in Darkling blood last time I saw her. A reminder to the King that she was still alive, apparently. Nobody loves a massacre like our dear Kah Resari, but you know that better than anyo—’
She broke off, barely daring to breathe, a sudden ripple of fear and hatred betraying a nearby presence. She reached out with her mind and recoiled. Not human, not alone, and reeking of dark magic. She dropped to a knee, hissing a wordless warning to her companions, and pulled a short knife from her boot.
Behind her, Fao
lin and Dorrien stilled as they scanned the forest. The sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard was unmistakable. There was a snarl of recognition from Faolin, as he and Dorrien stepped up to flank her.
Then she saw them … at least a dozen emerging from between the trees, the element of surprise gone. They looked human – at least at first glance – but she knew otherwise. There was no mistaking that scent. The stench of death and corruption that followed them everywhere. If she were to cut herself with the knife held steady in her hand, their eyes would glow red as the blood from her veins.
Darklings. A whole Hunt of them. There were more shifting in the shadows. Perhaps thirty in total. A manageable number. Just. Anticipation thrummed. The magic building in her veins, driving her to kill, kill, kill.
Front and centre was their leader. The Hunter. It was tall and lean, and even at this distance she could tell it was cruel. The stench of a thousand stolen lives soaked its scent, those hands coated in their fear. This was one she’d enjoy ending. Given half a chance, she might even linger over it – though that was not usually her way.
But she didn’t have time to dwell on it. Beside her, a low growl was building in Dorrien’s throat. To her other side, Faolin’s eyes flashed with anticipation as he adjusted his grip on his sword. The same urge, the same impulse drove them all. Spurred all those who shared their power to destroy any Darkling unfortunate enough to cross their path. It was their calling. Their birthright. Death was the song to which their blood danced.
Keriath took another breath, steadying herself to strike. But before she could move, a voice echoed deep within the vaults of her mind.
‘They are drawn by the power you seek. Protect it,’ it said. It was not a voice she recognised, nor did she have any idea how it had reached through her defences, but it didn’t matter. She knew what she had to do.
And she was not alone. Dorrien hurled one of her poniards but didn’t even wait to see it embed itself in the skull of one of the Hunt before she turned and fled. Faolin followed, roaring a challenge as he ran. Keriath waited, just a few seconds, until half the Hunt was after them.
Then she sliced her hand open with her dagger and took off in the opposite direction. She’d barely made it to the treeline before the rest of the Hunt caught her scent. They howled in frustration – no doubt torn between their fleeing prey. Darklings were so predictable. Then, like a pack of hounds, they were after her.
She was flying, flowing over heather and fallen tree alike, and resisting the urge to smile. The Hunt could not catch her, not when magic fuelled her flight, though they would continue to try for some time. They crashed through the forest behind her like desperate beasts – weak and starving, driven mad by thirst.
But then she heard it. One that was not stupid or slow, like most of its kind. It was making up ground. It was close behind her, even if she couldn’t sense its presence. Well shielded, it was swift, and sure-footed, like the Darklings who had mauled her as a child, who had left her so scarred. It was Graced.
Fear surged. Her legs were burning, although she knew it meant nothing. She’d run all night if necessary; the magic in her veins would see to that. Panic squeezed her chest. It was closer now. So close she could almost feel its breath on the back of her neck. She pushed herself to go faster, but even her gifts had a limit, and she was fast approaching it.
For a heartbeat, everything went silent, then something huge and hard slammed into her back. Dazed, she tumbled down a bracken-clad slope, tangling limbs with whatever had hit her. It was not until the world righted itself and the stench of death reached her that she came to her senses.
She lashed out, kicking at the Darkling on top of her, somehow catching it in the ribs. She felt, rather than heard, bone crunch beneath her foot and smiled as it roared in pain, leaping back and releasing her. Its mind was guarded – too well; she would struggle to overpower it that way. She bared her teeth in anticipation. Brute strength it was then.
Slashing at its throat with her knife, a growl of frustration broke past her lips as it dodged with unnerving agility for one so big. Snarling, it lunged towards her again. It was quick. She grinned. She was quicker. Giving a taunting yell, she danced out of reach, dealing it another savage kick in the gut for good measure. It spun, faster this time, and landed a glancing blow to her shoulder. She fell back, switching the knife to her other hand as she tried to shrug it off. By the Gods, it was strong. Even that slight knock had felt like a kick from a raging stallion. They circled each other cautiously now, each trying to gauge the strength of the other.
It kept its body angled away from her, protecting the side of its chest where she’d landed that kick and no doubt broken a few ribs. She allowed herself a brief glance at its face. It was male and handsome – or at least, it likely had been once. Tall and broad-shouldered, with golden skin and dark hair, but those blood-red, soulless eyes marred its – his – good looks.
She focussed on those, reminded herself that he was a mindless pawn and would stop at nothing to suck the life from her body. She couldn’t afford to see him as anything else. In the battle between life and death, there was no room for mercy.
Keriath rushed him again, aiming for his injured side. But this time, she was not so fortunate. Darting to the side, he caught her wrist and, with a feral snarl of triumph, wrenched the knife from her hand. She screamed as the bones shattered, the pain nearly enough to bring her to her knees. Reacting with primal instinct, she lashed out with her other hand and snarled with satisfaction as she felt skin tear beneath her nails. He roared and let go, clutching his face, tainted Darkling blood pouring from where she’d gouged his cheek.
‘Now we match,’ she spat, gesturing at her own ruined face as she loosed the broad-bladed dagger from her side. He only offered her a withering look and wiped the blood from his face. Then the skin on his cheek knit together, leaving angry weals where she had marked him, and her stomach clenched in fear. Darklings healed fast, but not that fast. Trying to disguise her disquiet, she threw him an equally scornful look and raised her wounded hand for him to see. It took all her concentration, but it was worth it to see its expression as she sent a trickle of magic down her arm to snap her wrist back into place, the bones beneath her skin shifting as they set. But whatever pleasure she took from his discomfort was weighed with a significant dose of pain from the process, followed by a wave of fatigue when the cost of that power took its toll.
‘We could be here a while,’ he noted with a wry smile.
She couldn’t help it. She flinched. In all her years, she’d never heard humour from a Darkling’s lips. They were stripped of that the moment they were Claimed. They were nothing but soulless, mindless beasts. Beasts she had been born to destroy. The thought that even a shred of their humanity remained …
She reached for the Casting. Drawing water from the air around her, she shaped it into blades before freezing them in her hand, only vaguely aware of the tell-tale aura surrounding her. Shards of ice shot from her fingertips only to be brushed aside by a blast of icy wind. She snarled in frustration, her gaze snagging on his ears. On his own Casting aura.
Elf. Blessed with the same power she was. Little wonder he’d healed so fast. And then she was on the defensive, dodging a bolt of lightning he Cast at her face. He surged forward. There was no way his power could match her own, and yet she grudgingly gave ground. It was impossible. She had the might of three noble bloodlines in her veins – he should not be able to best her. No Darkling should have that power, mortal or Graced. This was something else. Something other.
She scrambled to draw up more magic as she dodged a kick to the chest. The speed and relentless ferocity of his attack caught her off guard, and she tried once more to reach for her power. She delved deep for the strength to finish him, but he only grinned as a black wind gusted towards her, blowing dirt into her eyes. Blinking to clear it, she was too slow to react. His arm swung from nowhere and crashed into the side of her skull. Then all she knew was darknes
s.
Chapter Two
Deep within the forest, atop the tallest tower of her castle, was a woman. She stood with her head thrown back and her eyes closed, motionless beneath the night sky, wreathed in pure, white light that shimmered through the dark. A younger woman, petite and childlike, with deep burgundy hair, stepped from the shadows, eyes wide.
‘Gaelan?’ she called, her voice stiff with fright. The woman did not move, but the incandescent light faded, shrinking closer and closer until only the faintest glimmer of distant starlight glittered beneath her skin.
‘They’re in the forest,’ she said, without opening her eyes. ‘Darklings. A whole Hunt.’
The young woman paled, the peculiar lights forgotten. ‘What do we do if they find us?’
Gaelan opened her eyes, and the magic flickered and died. She turned, her expression calm. ‘The castle wards are strong.’
‘And if those fail?’
‘Then we fight.’
The younger woman nodded in understanding and turned to leave, but Gaelan caught her by the arm.
‘What?’
‘Look at me,’ Gaelan commanded. Their eyes met and the younger woman relaxed into a dazed stupor. When Gaelan spoke, there was an odd tone to her voice – cool and detached, yet controlled and imposing. ‘You will forget what you saw. You came up here to watch the aurora, but decided it was too cold. You will return to your bed and remember none of this.’
The younger woman nodded as the commands sank in, retreating into the shadows as Gaelan released her. Candlelight flashed from within as the burgundy-haired woman opened the door and slipped through. Then Gaelan was alone once more.
She sighed in relief and gazed out over the forest.
‘Be careful, my children,’ she whispered. Then she closed her eyes, and glittering starlight shone once more against the night sky.
Lucan woke screaming. Across the room, Suriya panted in fright. Had she seen it too? He scrambled to sit up and light the candle by his bed. Looking around, his sister was sitting bolt upright, dark blonde hair a tangled mess and nightshirt rumpled. But her huge gold eyes were clear and staring straight at him.
