by Jen McIntosh
When she eyed the cloth with trepidation, the girl came closer. ‘Would you like some help, my lady?’
‘I’m nobody’s lady,’ Keriath whispered.
The Darkling girl smiled and picked up the cloth and the soap beneath it. ‘That’s not what I was told.’ She pushed Keriath’s hair to the side and began washing her back.
‘And what were you told?’ said Keriath, closing her eyes, revelling in that tender touch. ‘That I am a Princess, daughter of the Shade King?’ The girl was quiet as she moved to Keriath’s arm. Then her other arm. Her legs. Her feet. Washed her hair.
‘That you were the Lady of Revalla.’
Keriath stilled, eyeing the girl. ‘There is no Lady of Revalla. My brother is unmarried and lord of a ruined city and a people who are dead and gone besides,’ she said. It was painful to speak about her brother.
‘I heard that Lord Taelyr gave up his right to that title when he betrayed you to the Princess Zorana. That some believe Lady Kylar’s firstborn should have had it from the start. That your sister is the rightful Queen of Illyol, and together, you could rule half the world.’
She peered up at the servant girl through narrowed eyes, wondering where she had heard such things. Not in the bowels of Dar Kual. But as she looked a little closer, Keriath noticed something rather interesting.
The girl was wearing a glamour. A strong one at that. An ordinary Darkling would never have spotted it. Even a Shade might miss it if they didn’t look close enough. But Keriath was looking very closely, and there was nothing ordinary about the power in her veins.
Unicorns had always been the first to spot glamours, though there were limits to their power. It was impossible to see through them, unless the magic was weak, but there was always a sense of wrongness – an instinct that said something was off. Glamours worked on the senses, and where most only had five to call upon, Unicorns had a sixth. And while the former five senses may be fooled, rare was the magic that could trick the mind itself.
This one was near perfect, but there was one flaw. She appeared weak – shy and timid, with a small, scrawny body that looked like it might snap in the breeze. The tremble of her voice, even her smell – her fear was all too obvious in the air. All of Keriath’s senses dismissed this girl, refused to see her as a threat. Except one.
Because her mind was calm. Cool and collected. It radiated a confidence that no Darkling servant should have. Not one who appeared so pathetic and skittish. Not when Keriath’s presence made even the Queens nervous. It was a normal reaction for any creature faced with its natural predator, even when that predator was bound and broken. But despite that, despite the words she spoke and how she spoke them, despite all that her body language suggested – this girl had no fear of Keriath.
Keriath leaned back so the girl could rinse her hair once more. She didn’t bother trying to peer into the girl’s mind. If she was strong enough to conjure magic like that, or important enough that someone else would do it for her, her mind would be well guarded. So instead, she stayed silent while the Darkling helped her from the tub and wrapped her in a fluffy robe.
The girl led her back through to the sitting room and sat her in a comfy armchair by the fireplace where the heat from the flames would dry her. Then the girl stood behind her and began teasing a comb through the tangled mess of Keriath’s hair.
‘What do you know of my sister?’ Keriath asked. ‘What have you heard about Théon of Illyol?’
The girl smiled softly, pausing at a stubborn snarl. ‘Many things. That she lives. That not even the Shade King’s lover nor his favoured generals could defeat her. That she knows of your plight, that she is coming for you as soon as she is able. That she fears she will be too late, that she knows all too well the darkness that lingers in your heart. That she would kill you both, rather than see either of you resigned to this fate.’
Keriath nodded in thanks, not caring where the girl had heard such things. She sat in silence, allowing the warmth of the flames to wash over her, drifting in the peace and contentment of being cared for after so much suffering. When the girl was done, she led Keriath to the dressing room and held up the dress the Shade had laid out for her.
It was beautiful. Simple but elegant. A Unicorn design, made from translucent crimson silk and gathered at the waist and neck with a rope of golden thread. She took it from the girl, studying it with a frown. The colour was that of freshly spilled blood, and the rope all too reminiscent of a noose about her throat.
It slipped over her head, and the sensuous feel of the silk skimming over her skin made her stomach heave in revulsion. She ran her hands over her wasted curves, her lip curling in disgust at what she found. It was revealing enough that most would consider it scandalous, yet somehow, it hid the damage that the Queens’ treatment had wrought on her once striking figure. It was a whore’s dress, and part of Keriath rebelled against it. But she knew if she refused, she would only suffer more.
So she held her tongue and allowed the girl to lead her to the vanity table. She sat while the Darkling ran a brush through Keriath’s now-dry hair, twisting it up and pinning it in place with a comb set with fat, gleaming pearls. Then she began on Keriath’s face: rouge for her dry, cracked lips and hollow cheeks, and kohl to line her too-wide eyes.
Keriath watched the girl’s hands in the mirror, not daring to even glance at her own reflection. But she could not avoid it forever. And when she brought herself to look, what she saw almost broke her.
The scars that Dell and Pria had carved into her flesh were awful. Far worse than the savage marks that marred her right side, because these were deliberate. They had been designed to maim, to disfigure and diminish her unnatural beauty. And beneath them, her skin was pale and drawn. All the softness was long gone from her face. Starvation and exhaustion had hollowed out her cheeks, her jaw, her eyes; even her brow and temples were sunken. A skull covered in tired and worn skin.
Her violet eyes were dull, all the magic and power faded from view. Lined with kohl, they regained some of their sparkle, but it was a farce. A mockery of what she had once been. Her hair was clean now, at least, but the strands that had been left loose to frame her face hung limp. Long gone were her lustrous raven locks, so glossy and full of life. The Darkling girl had done her best with what was left, but there was no way to disguise the horror of what Keriath had become. And yet, she was still beautiful enough to stop a man in his tracks. The curse of her kind.
‘What does he want with me?’ asked Keriath.
The girl winced. ‘I think you know the answer to that.’
‘What does he gain from that?’ Keriath muttered, more to herself than anything else. ‘Besides a pretty face to warm his bed.’
‘He’s not here to make you his whore,’ said the girl, unable to meet her eyes.
‘So you think he’s here to collect me for the King?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘If he was here to take you to the King, you’d be in his hands already. The Prince has claimed you for himself, but it’s a tremendous risk for him. He’d only do something like this if the reward was high enough. You’re beautiful, my lady, but just having his way with you isn’t enough. Mazron seeks a bigger prize.’
‘What then?’
‘Power. Enough to take control of the King’s armies.’
‘A Shade like him doesn’t have that kind of power.’
‘No. But a Shade like you might.’
‘I’m not a Shade,’ Keriath snapped. But then realisation hit her. ‘But his child would be … and my child would have my power. He wants to use me to breed his heir.’
The girl nodded. ‘The Prince will want to keep you away from the King until he can get you with child, until you can give birth.’
Keriath shuddered. A child with her bloodlines, bound to one as dark as Prince Mazron, that couldn’t be beaten. The Shade would win. It wasn’t as if she could even fight him. The mountain was still suppressing her power. Even with her power, she was no match. She rarely
touched that magic, and he would not hesitate to utilise his full strength. He wasn’t like her, hadn’t been taught to use his power responsibly, had no sense of right and wrong. He would force her if he had to.
‘What can I do?’ whispered Keriath. The girl took her hands in her own, squeezing tight as she stared up into Keriath’s face.
‘Just hold on,’ she breathed. ‘Hold on just a little longer. I swear this will all be over soon.’
Keriath stilled, frowning as she asked, ‘Who are you? What do you want from me?’ The girl smiled and stepped closer, cradling Keriath’s face in her hands.
‘My name is Seren,’ she whispered, ‘and I am here to help you, Keriath.’
Keriath’s mind was racing. Seren. The Shade King’s Blade. His personal assassin. His spymaster. Little wonder she knew so much. It also explained the glamour … not to mention the shields around her mind. But why was she here? To kill her? To claim her?
The sound of voices in the hallway outside interrupted her thoughts. Seren’s eyes flickered over her shoulder to the door. ‘Mazron’s meeting with the Queens has finished. He’s on his way now,’ she muttered.
‘He’ll kill you when he finds out,’ warned Keriath.
The Shade King’s Blade smirked, her glamour slipping. ‘He won’t find out. Not until it’s too late.’
‘He will see this entire conversation in my mind!’
The glamour slipped a little further as the girl – no, the woman – winked at her. ‘No,’ she breathed, ‘he won’t.’ Then she stepped back as a key turned in the lock and the Prince stormed into the room.
‘Leave us,’ he ordered, without even looking at Seren. With a low bow, she scurried towards the door, pausing only to let the Shade past. The Prince’s gaze drifted over her, dismissing her as unimportant, his attention fixed on Keriath.
Seren hovered on the threshold, glancing back one last time – and let the glamour slip, revealing the woman beneath. She was tall and lean and devastatingly beautiful. Her hair was pure white, though her face was young and unlined. But she was ancient. There was always a weariness to those who had lived too long, and Keriath could see that weariness in her eyes. Eyes that were almost Darkling red, but not quite. As if some Shade had tried to claim her and found her too powerful to subdue. And little wonder, when the power that thrummed in her veins could be seen dancing beneath her skin. She offered Keriath a reassuring nod and slipped from the room.
Leaving Keriath alone with the Shade. He smiled. A slow, dangerous smile that made her heart race. Her legs were still weak, but she forced herself to cross the room and sit in a chair by the fire. The knife was still in her hand – Seren had not bothered to take it from her. She tucked it close to her leg, ready.
The Shade poured two goblets of wine and offered her one. ‘Keriath,’ he said, his voice a silky purr that sent shivers down her spine. She said nothing, blinking stupidly at him as she took it. Once upon a time it would have embarrassed her to be Enchanted so easily. But to feel shame would have required her to feel anything resembling pride, and the Queens had taken that from her. ‘I trust you ate well?’ She nodded. His grin broadened as he took in her appearance. ‘And I see you enjoyed your bath?’ She nodded again. And then she felt it. The gentle touch of the Enchanting, his mind caressing her thoughts and emotions.
A small smirk playing on his lips. Keriath forced herself not to look at or think about his lips. But the Shade had not yet left her mind, and he had other ideas. Her heart fluttered at the thoughts he inflicted on her. Thoughts of how his lips would feel on different parts of her body, thoughts of how his body would taste against her lips …
Fury surged. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
‘Get. Out,’ she ground out from between clenched teeth.
‘Your wish is my command, my lady,’ he sneered, but he did retreat. She could still feel him inside her head, watching, but no longer Enchanting. Keriath looked at her goblet to avoid his gaze.
‘Did the King send you to fetch me?’ she asked.
Prince Mazron chuckled. ‘You mean your father?’
Keriath glanced up. He was studying her, his gaze like that of a curious child.
‘He’s not my father.’
His eyes lit up as he read her thoughts. ‘Interesting. You truly believe that,’ he drawled, ‘but your words are little more than a reflex.’
‘He is not my father,’ she repeated, firmly this time.
The Prince laughed at that.
‘You’re a fiery one, I’ll give you that. Even after all this time with the delightful Queens,’ he said with a feral grin. ‘I just hope they haven’t taken too much of your fight out of you. I prefer a challenge.’
Keriath glared at him. ‘Sorry to disappoint you.’
‘A pity. I expected better from you.’ He sighed, his grin fading.
‘Take it up with the Queens,’ she retorted before looking away. But he was in her head. Saw her thoughts before she could act.
‘Drop the knife, Keriath,’ he ordered. She had barely moved, only gripping the handle tighter and readying herself to lunge. But at his instruction, she froze in place – her hand opening, allowing the knife to clatter to the floor. Prince Mazron’s face broke into a broad, evil grin. ‘That’s more like it!’ he laughed. But as he studied her thoughts, he sobered. ‘But still a disappointing effort. The Queens were clearly unaware of your importance to have damaged you so much. I will speak with them about this later. Once I have you away from this place, that is. I can’t risk them deciding to tell your father what I’m up to.’
‘He’s not my father,’ she snarled. ‘Now get to the point. What do you want from me?’
‘Wouldn’t that be telling?’ he breathed. Then he cocked his head to the side, considering. ‘You’re hiding something.’
Keriath stilled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Who was the servant girl?’ he asked, searching through the parts of her mind he could reach. But as he neared the information he sought, a shield slammed down, blocking his advance. It mirrored her defences perfectly, hummed with her very essence. But it was not a shield of Keriath’s making. Someone else was protecting her – hiding all trace of Seren from Mazron’s sight.
The Shade growled in frustration, and a dark coil of power cracked against the shield. Keriath flinched from the blow, but the shield held firm. He struck again and again until it crumpled beneath the blow, revealing memories beneath. But the agony that should have followed never came, and that protecting presence slipped a little further inside her mind.
‘Neres,’ she heard herself say, and though it was her lips that moved, it was not her voice that spoke. ‘Her name was Neres.’
The Shade scowled. ‘You discussed my plans with her.’
It wasn’t a question. He could see the evidence in her head. But the memory that he found was not the real one. The stranger in her mind had tricked him, baited and hooked him with a lie.
‘What do you think he wants with me?’ asked Keriath.
The girl smiled. ‘He wants to make you his Queen. You will give him heirs and stand by his side as he conquers this world for his own. Together, you will rule us all.’
‘I will never join with him.’
Her smile faded. ‘Then he will take you by force and get you with child. For his heir, birthed from your power, that child would be unstoppable.’
Prince Mazron snarled and pried further, searching for proof that they had plotted against him. Keriath screamed as he scoured her mind, the violation far worse than anything the Queens had ever done. As he rifled through her memories, she relived all the horrors she had fought to forget. The first time she’d felt the cold grip of the ruan – a sensation she now hardly noticed. The dread and fear as she approached the city, knowing she couldn’t break free. The endless torture, the brutal floggings, the terrifying drugs, the agony of the Queen’s blood … She relived it all, while the Shade watched with a smile. It went on and on, for there was nothing f
or him to find.
But he had to be sure. So he went back further, until she was nothing more than a frightened girl lying in the streets of Revalla, watching Jenia butcher her mother. Then further back still. A child curled on the forest floor, begging for mercy as Darklings burned her alive. She screamed in terror, collapsing to the floor, her body spasming and convulsing in agony at the memory.
‘Stop!’ she begged, her hands clawing at her scalp, as if she could reach into her head and tear the memories free. He did no such thing, delving deeper and deeper, right to her very core. His presence loomed in her mind, dark and menacing as he surveyed his prize. A tremor of wicked laughter echoed through her, sending her heart and soul trembling at the horrors it promised.
And it was there – right down at the centre of all Keriath was – that the other presence took over. Engulfed her whole. Hid her from Mazron’s gaze. Shielded her from the lash of power he unleashed upon her. Mimicked her pain so perfectly he didn’t notice the difference. Watched as her doom crept ever closer.
‘Seren?’ whispered Keriath.
A flicker of warmth and compassion washed over her as if in answer. Then, turning her attention back on Mazron, a growl of defiance ripped from Seren-as-Keriath. Power surged from Keriath’s core. Not her own, but a perfect echo. An imitation so flawless that she almost believed it. But as she looked on, it changed. Warped and corrupted with the taint of Shade magic. Not truly tarnished – just made to seem like it. Then, as the glamour slipped down over her eyes, she saw Mazron’s face contort with shock, and knew that her gaze of glittering amethyst had been replaced by one of pale fire.
