by Jen McIntosh
‘Habit,’ she admitted. ‘Habit and acceptance. There’s nothing to be done about it, and I’ve lived with it this long … what would be the point in saying something now?’
Alexan failed to repress the growl of frustration that ripped out of his chest at the defeat in her voice. ‘The point would be the people you love knowing that you’re suffering,’ he snarled. ‘The point would be the old man understanding your needs and treating you with the respect you deserve. The point would be your sister comprehending that she might need to step up and care for you like you care for her.’
‘It’s my burden to carry,’ Théon said. He threw his hands in the air and turned away. Was there no end to her pigheadedness?
‘Not anymore,’ he told her. ‘I’ll keep your secrets, Théon, but don’t expect me to just sit by and let you fight this alone. Until the day your father orders me otherwise, I will look after you. Live or die. We’ll do it together.’
She hesitated, the remnants of that little girl peering out at him. Desperate to trust, desperate to share the burden. To find a way that she wouldn’t have to face this alone. But there was a different woman standing in the way. A woman who stood on her own two feet. Who’d protected and provided for her family for almost a century. A woman reluctant to let go.
‘Alright,’ she conceded. Then she nodded – more to herself than to him – and dropped into a defensive crouch, raising her hands and crooking her fingers in daring invitation. ‘Now, show me what you’ve got.’
By some miracle, the rest of the journey passed without incident. Alexan offered a prayer of thanks to long-forgotten Gods for that small mercy. Not that it hadn’t been eventful.
He’d waited a few days before daring to bring up the subject of Illyandi training again. He wasn’t enthusiastic about the prospect. The Princess was a pain, and Théon had almost killed him the last time he’d suggested it. But he had to know the Princess would be able to defend herself.
He’d thought Théon would be the biggest challenge, but when he found the will to grit his teeth and raise the matter again, she’d just nodded. He hadn’t been sure the old man would like it, but Silvermane had at least agreed to hear him out.
No, the biggest problem was Illyandi herself. She was naive to the point of stupidity, more stubborn than her sister (if that were possible) and had a flair for dramatics that set his teeth on edge. Worst of all, Théon had realised it would be far easier for her to just sit back and let him deal with the Princess. More entertaining too. He’d wanted to throttle them both. His temper was fraying day by day. Not helped by his thirst, and the pounding headache that grew worse by the hour.
The first time Illyandi had joined them, he and the Princess had traded insults in a blistering argument that’d lasted for half an hour before Théon had intervened. Even then, Illyandi hadn’t wanted to bend. It was only when the old man ordered her to do as she was told that they’d been able to get started.
It hadn’t been pretty, not by any stretch of the imagination. There’d been tears before the end. From both of them. And a lot of swearing. Also from both of them. But eventually, she was at least able to hold a sword. She’d been so tired afterward that she’d fallen asleep the moment she’d climbed back into the wagon, so he hadn’t had to endure any more whining.
He’d been enjoying some of that blissful silence, drinking in the beauty of the setting sun, when they rounded the headland, and he finally laid eyes on the harbour town that was to be his deliverance or his doom. His good mood faded in a heartbeat. Had he done enough to earn her trust? Would it even be her choice? If there were other remnants of the Graced in that town …
His mind raced with the possibilities. Sifting through. Calculating. Problems and solutions. Actions and reactions. A hundred potential scenarios. A thousand different outcomes. Most of them beyond his control. His skin prickled with the discomfort of it all.
They followed the coastal path a little further before Théon called a halt. Too preoccupied with his own anxious thoughts, he was content, for once, to let them set up camp without his supervision. Instead, he rode on a little further, until he could get a good view of their destination.
It was little more than a fishing village, truth be told. A handful of boats bobbing in the harbour; a few rows of houses lining the shore. A little market square, a small tavern nearby. All quiet with night approaching, save for the cry of gulls overhead and the sea lapping at the harbour walls. Pleasant. Peaceful. Probably prosperous once, but now just a remote outpost offering passage to safer lands.
But with all that entailed.
He’d scented the camp first, long before he’d even seen the village, but from his elevated position up the path he could now see the tents on the outskirts.
Refugees. Dozens of them. Possibly hundreds.
Human souls, desperate to escape the Darkling scourge.
His stomach heaved with self-reproach. The King had driven them to this. Alexan, as commander of his Darkling armies, had driven them to this. He knew it was the lesser of two evils. Knew the alternative was far worse. But seeing the consequences of his actions … seeing their despair with his own eyes … it didn’t make his task any easier.
He turned away. There was nothing he could do for them.
Théon appeared to sense his foul mood when he returned, keeping her mouth shut and eyes averted. And when Silvermane seemed about to quiz him on where he’d been, she cut him off with a pointed cough and less-than-subtle shake of her head. Alexan ignored them both and took up position for first watch. Weapon in hand this time. The old man could shove his distrust up his arse. He didn’t even turn around when Illyandi announced that their food was ready. Didn’t think he could stomach it after what he’d seen.
The three of them ate their meal in silence, oblivious to his discomfort. Well, mostly. He could feel Théon’s steady gaze on him, could sense her concern. It was oddly comforting.
He blinked at the thought. Where had that come from? He had little chance to dwell on it as Théon rose from the fire, wiping her fingers on her trousers and swapping her sword for a pair of lethal-looking daggers. She caught his eye as she pulled on her cloak and paused.
‘I’m going to check out the village. See if it’s safe.’
He nodded in understanding. This was one task he was ill-suited for. With a sigh, he pulled his own knife from his boot and handed it to her. ‘Be careful.’
She smiled, and it perturbed him to see a glimmer of relief in those evergreen eyes. His fingers brushed hers as she took it, and he almost flinched from the shock of it. From the fluttering in his gut that it caused. The heating of his blood.
There was something about her. Something alluring that called to the darkness within. Taunted him. Challenged him. Made him want to behave inappropriately. It had to be the Shade magic humming through her veins. There was no other reason for his body to react the way it did. Was it her power that sang to him so sweetly? Her eyes widened, as if she sensed it too. Perhaps not then …
But just as soon as it had started, the moment passed, and she busied herself with securing the knife in her own boot. He wondered if he hadn’t just imagined the whole thing.
Then she was gone, consigning the safety of the Princess and the old man to his care. The hours she was gone dragged … Partly worry, but mostly Illyandi’s inane conversation. She’d been so unwell of late, she was whining, particularly when she first woke up. She thought it was all the stress of the journey. Maybe it was just Alexan’s cooking. It must be the smell of meat roasting over the fire that was turning her stomach …
He snorted at that, eyeing her in contemplation, but kept his conclusions to himself. Held them in reserve for another time.
Dawn was a pale light on the horizon when Théon returned. Alexan had readied himself at least three times during the night to go and look for her, but each time, the old man had talked him down. Illyandi slept through it all.
Relief had his knees trembling at the sight of th
at familiar figure slipping back into their camp. A tightness in his lungs he’d barely noticed, now easing at last. Something else pounding in his chest.
Gods, he wanted her. The realisation struck him like a blow to the face as he stared at her. It was nothing to do with her power. Nothing more than male desire that heated his veins. It took all his self-restraint not to drag her against his body and kiss her senseless.
There was no denying it, not with his heartbeat roaring in his ears. Nor could he brush it off as some ghost of his feelings for Diathor. She looked nothing like her mother. It was Illyandi who was Diathor’s double, but he could hardly stand the sight of her. Nor was it some Darkling corruption, some twisting of his soul by the magic in his veins.
No. He wanted Théon. More than he’d ever wanted any woman in his life. Wanted to taste every inch of her tawny skin, feel her body move in time with his, hear her scream his name.
He pulled himself up short. She was not his to think about like that. Besides, even if she would ever consent to his touch, her father would kill him for the imagined slight.
So he pushed his feelings aside. ‘What took you so long?’
‘Nice to see you too,’ she muttered, warming her hands over the fire. ‘I had to check the camp too. Took longer than expected.’
‘The camp?’ yawned Illyandi.
Théon gave him a warning look. This time he heeded it. ‘The village is too small to house all the mortals wanting passage to Stormkeep. There’s a large camp on the outskirts.’
The Princess nodded, not taking in the words. Just as well, though she was going to throw a fit when she saw it. An argument for a later time. He turned his attention back to Théon.
‘Well?’
‘No trace of any magical presence that I could sense.’
‘Chances of one you can’t?’
‘Slim, but possible.’
He grunted. ‘Great.’
‘I think it’s unlikely,’ Silvermane intervened, before they started squabbling. ‘Only the Unicorns can hide their presence and not even a Shade born of Revalla herself could manage it so thoroughly. And any Unicorn who survived the Fall with that amount of skill or power is unlikely to be seeking sanctuary.’
‘What about Darklings?’ Théon asked.
Alexan shook his head. ‘Graced magic doesn’t mix well with Darkling blood. They can’t use it for any length of time or with any control.’
‘You seem to manage just fine,’ she noted.
He winked sidelong at her, trying to hide his unease beneath a sly smile. ‘Only for you, Majesty.’
She rolled her eyes and let it drop. He tried not to let his relief show. The last thing he wanted right now was a lengthy, in-depth discussion on the unique nature of his power. Especially not in front of the old man.
‘Did you make contact?’ asked Silvermane.
She nodded. ‘There is a room for us at the inn, and we’ve to meet the harbour master there.’
Alexan frowned, working hard to hide his disquiet. None of it was a surprise to him. He’d seen plenty of evidence over the years in the King’s Court indicating a secret network working to hide and protect those remnants of the Graced that had survived the Fall. He’d assumed mortals were involved, but this appeared to be better organised than either he or the King had anticipated. If the Court got wind of it …
‘What about the Darkling?’ the old man demanded.
Alexan stilled. This was it. He hardly dared to breathe.
Théon glanced at him, considering. Then she pulled a ring from her pocket and weighed it in her hand. ‘I Cast a glamour into this before we left the croft. It should hold, so long as he stays out of direct sunlight.’
‘So you propose to take him with us then?’
A pause. Only a few moments, but it felt like aeons. Then she smiled at him, held out the ring in offering, and there was no ignoring the stutter of his heart at the sight of it. Nor at the words that followed.
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was surprising that Darklings hadn’t found the village already. Between the sailors coming and going, the locals, and the refugees in the camp, the place was teeming with life. So much life. It made his head spin. He hadn’t fed in so long.
His mind was already calculating his options, what opportunities might present themselves, when a startled gasp from Illyandi snapped his attention back to his surroundings. He scanned the street for the threat, a Casting curling like smoke in the back of his throat as it itched to break free. But then his gaze landed on what had drawn Illyandi’s attention, and he heaved a sigh that was equal parts relief and exasperation.
The camp. She’d finally noticed it. Her lovely face was slack with devastation as she stared in horror at those poor, desperate souls. Took in their gaunt faces, hollowed out by hunger and hopelessness. Their threadbare clothing and tattered tents. The living conditions scarce fit for livestock, let alone people.
‘What is this place?’ she asked in a hushed whisper. ‘Why are all these people here?’
Théon sighed. ‘They’re waiting for the boat to Stormkeep.’
‘All of them?’ Théon nodded in silence. ‘But there must be other ships? Bigger ships that could take them all?’
Neither Silvermane nor Théon would look at her. They kept their eyes forward. Averted. Alexan ground his teeth in irritation. Someone had to explain these things to her. Why did it seem that the task always fell to him?
‘Passage to the islands isn’t cheap, Princess,’ he said.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s nothing more simple than human greed. No one can get to the islands without a ship. The captains know that. They can charge whatever they like. There’s still enough wealth left in mortal hands that they’ll be able to find some witless bastard willing to pay it.’ He paused, looking over the despair around him. ‘Or at least able to pay it. Besides, the lords of Stormkeep will not want dregs like these draining the limited resources of their island sanctuary.’
Her face fell, hand drifting to her stomach. ‘How can you say that? There are children here. Babies! What makes them any less deserving of safety?’
‘You’re naive if you think what people deserve counts for anything in this life. Good people are seldom rewarded. In fact, it’s the bastards who take advantage of their kindness who often end up on top. That’s just the way of the world. If you haven’t figured that out in the last hundred years, then the Gods only know how you’ll make it through the next.’
He looked away before he said any more. The desperation to feed was taking its toll on his temper. At least neither Théon nor the old man reprimanded him for his outburst, though he caught Théon’s reproachful glare from the corner of his eye.
Fuck her. It was her own fault. It was short-sighted at best to have shielded Illyandi the way she had. At worst, it was sheer stupidity. Either way, inexcusable and in need of rectifying. And if they all hated him by the end of it … well, at least the Princess might be better placed to protect herself. And anyone else who came along.
He kept his mouth shut as they wove their way through the cobbled streets and into the heart of the little harbour town. He smelled the tavern before he saw it: the stink of stale piss and vomit, the stench of unwashed flesh from the brothel upstairs. All of it soaked in the unmistakable scent of cheap ale. A blunt axe to the face would have been more pleasant to his Darkling-heightened senses. Passing the camp had been a bed of roses compared to this cesspit. And Théon was annoyed at him for wanting to dispel Illyandi’s sweet illusions? This was going to be entertaining …
Sure enough, from the corner of his eye, he spotted the Princess placing a delicate hand over her mouth and turning an interesting shade of green. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
The stable boy took their horses, looking nervous at the prospect of wrangling Théon’s iron-grey stallion. Smart lad. That silly beast of Illyandi’s followed quietly enough. No doubt relieve
d to be unhitched from the cart. She was woefully out of condition.
The innkeeper met them at the door – a thin, weaselly little man whose manner was so obsequious it made Alexan’s skin crawl. His daughter was a pretty little thing though. Doe-eyed and busty, with a smile so inviting Alexan wondered if she worked upstairs. She cast an appraising eye over him, that smile widening at what she saw. Easy pickings. Tempting too. And he needed to feed. Even if she flinched when she met his gaze. The glamour could not negate the primal instincts of prey when faced with their natural predator. Not that it had ever stopped him feeding before …
But the wife appeared at her husband’s shoulder a moment later, took one look at Alexan and escorted her daughter back inside. Hard to tell whether she sought to protect the girl’s virtue or her neck. Not that it mattered; he’d be hard-pressed to get her on her own now. The innkeeper’s wife had likely been a bonny girl herself once, but a hard life had eroded any remnant of it. And judging by how her husband scuttled from her path, Alexan guessed her heart was as haggard as her face.
‘This it?’ she snapped at Théon.
‘Yes. Just four of us, like I said.’
The harridan scowled. ‘Didn’t say nothing ’bout no horses. Nor wagon neither. Ain’t no one going to ferry all that over.’
‘Well, that’s for the ship’s captain to decide, isn’t it?’ Théon replied. The innkeeper’s wife glared back but didn’t argue. ‘Now I believe the harbour master is waiting for us?’
The innkeeper’s wife grunted in defeat and turned on her heel. ‘Follow me.’
Inside, the smell of the inn was even worse contained in the cramped space and warmed by the fire burning in the hearth. A half-dozen sailors drank in the corner, eyeing up the two insipid-looking whores lounging by the staircase. All bar one were too drunk to note the beauty of either Théon or Illyandi. The one who sat up a little straighter as they’d walked in – a handsome woman with short, dark hair and eyes like cut glass – at least had the sense to turn her attention elsewhere when she noticed Alexan following behind.
