by C. S. Pacat
God, James thought that being drawn to Will meant being drawn to her – to the Light – to the one who had escaped the Dark King’s hold and managed to kill him. He wanted to tell James to run.
‘And you?’ said Will. ‘He wanted you. Did you want him?’
James flushed. In the dim orange light from the fire, James’s pupils were large, and the blue that ringed them took on the fathomless quality of night water.
‘I fell,’ said James. ‘Does it matter why? He dragged me across time to be born into a world that didn’t remember me. He wanted me waiting, ready to serve him with a collar around my neck. Instead I’m alone, and all that remains of those days is dust. Believing he still controlled me would have given him pleasure.’
Will felt the flickering of the past, old selves like shadows. It was difficult to breathe, the air heavy. ‘You said you didn’t remember that life.’
‘I don’t,’ said James. ‘But sometimes there’s—’
‘—a feeling,’ Will said.
Downstairs, the sounds of the last of the patrons in the inn were distant: the slam of a door, the creak of a board. James didn’t hear the admission in his voice. Instead the words seemed to draw them closer, as if they were in a bubble, the only two people in the world.
‘My whole life, all anyone’s ever wanted was to possess me,’ said James. ‘The only one who ever set me free was you.’
I haven’t set you free, Will didn’t say, because the other words were unspeakable. You won’t ever be free of him. The Dark King’s power was control, the ability to draw people to him and warp them into the shape he wanted. The fingerprints of it were all over James, who had run from the High Janissary to Simon, seeking out men with power. ‘I told you. You shouldn’t be here.’
‘I know that,’ said James. ‘Are you going to send me away?’
James said it like he knew Will wouldn’t. James was here, like a moth to a flame, not caring if he was burned. And Will wasn’t telling him to leave; not even when James took another step forward. Will tried to tell himself that it wasn’t because of who James had been, but it was. The past was between them, their histories twining together.
‘You killed the Stewards.’
‘I’ve done worse than that,’ said James.
‘For him,’ said Will.
Him. He. As though the Dark King was separate. As though he wasn’t inside them both.
Another step. ‘You said what someone was is less important than what they could be.’
He had said that. He’d wanted to believe it. But that was before she’d died in his arms, the turning cogs of the past relentless and unstoppable. The Dark King had set all of this in motion. He’d even brought James here, a gift for himself. Will needed to send him away, but James was a gift he couldn’t turn aside, and maybe when he’d ordered James killed all those lifetimes ago, he’d known that about himself.
‘What is it we could be?’ The question rose up out of some deep part of him. He needed the answer not only for James, but also for himself.
‘I may not carry his brand, but he … He’s burned into me.’ James’s eyes were very dark. ‘He branded himself on my soul. They called him the Dark King, but he was a bright flame, and everyone else, everything else is just his pale shadow. I was Reborn, but I lived a half life. It’s like this world was a blur. No one else was in focus. Until you.’
It was awful, yet Will couldn’t look away. He wanted James to keep talking more than he wanted him to stop.
‘You made me believe he could be beaten. You make me believe—’ James broke off. ‘The boy saviour. I didn’t think you’d save me.’ James’s smile was painful. ‘I thought Simon would bring the Dark King back. I thought the collar would close around my throat. I never thought I’d be free to choose my future. But I am.’ In the quiet of the room, his words seemed to twine themselves around the beats of Will’s heart. ‘Simon and his father … they had a dream of ruling a dark world, and they told me there was a place for me at their side. But I don’t want to follow them,’ said James. ‘I’m here to follow you.’ His eyes were bright, his lips smiling, his hair gold in the shifting light from the fire.
Will said, ‘Of course you are.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I FIRST HAD the idea for Dark Rise in the Louvre. There is something so disturbing about museums: all those displaced remnants of forgotten lives. I started to think about the idea of a long-dead magical world.
It was more than ten years of careful world-building and creation before Dark Rise was finished, and in that time countless people, books and institutions have helped me along the way, from the curators at the London Natural History Museum, where I saw my first narwhal horn, to the Castleton locals who served me hot apple crumble after I trudged across the Dark Peak.
Closest to the book have been the Melbourne writers and friends who lived Dark Rise with me: Beatrix Bae, Vanessa Len, Anna Cowan, Sarah Fairhall, Jay Kristoff and Shelley Parker-Chan, all of whom read numerous drafts and offered feedback, encouragement and support. I owe you all a tremendous debt of gratitude. This book wouldn’t be what it is without you.
Bea, I first unfolded Dark Rise on your table when it was just a roll of butcher paper and a collection of note cards, and I didn’t yet know that I was gaining a friend for life. Vanessa, I cherish countless late nights drinking strong hot chocolates and eating cheese toasties ‘in the style of a club sandwich’ while we talked and built our worlds together. Anna, writing days with you at the State Library are some of my favourite memories, as we artfully arranged our desks so that we could leave and get muffins and talk through each other’s books. Shelley, your knowledge of monks, mentors and asceticism was irreplaceable. Thank you also to Amie Kaufman for invaluable friendship, support and advice, and to Ellie Marney, Penni Russon and Lili Wilkinson, for all your help along the way.
I’ve recently come to realise how important early influences are, and I want to thank Rita Maiuto, Brenda Nowlan, Cherida Longley and Pat McKay for being teachers, mentors, guardians and family when I needed it most.
Some of the earliest conversations about Dark Rise were had with friends, long before the book began to resemble itself. Thank you to Tamara Searle, Kirstie Innes-Will, Kate Ramsay and Sarah Charlton for indulging those early talks. Particularly vivid is the moment I accidentally woke Tamara up with my shout as I realised that a long-lived unicorn would know the Dark King on sight, and much of the book clicked into place.
Thank you to my incredible agent, Tracey Adams, and to Josh Adams for believing in the book and finding it a home. I am forever grateful to you both. Enormous thanks to the team at Harper, in particular Rosemary Brosnan, and my editors Andrew Eliopulos and Alexandra Cooper. In Australia I had the great fortune to work with Kate Whitfield and Jodie Webster at Allen & Unwin; thank you both so much for your wonderful work. Thank you also to Ben Ball for a piece of early career advice that has helped me more than any other, and to Emily Sylvan Kim for her early career support.
Finally, thank you to Magdalena Pagowska for her stunning cover art, to Sveta Dorosheva for creating a beautiful map of London in 1821, and to Laura Mock and the design team at Harper, who brought all the visual elements together.
Researching Dark Rise took me across Europe, from London to Umbria to Prague, into castles and ruins, and deep into the past, poring over old maps, journals and artefacts. Over the years of research, I read too many books to name. But I have included in Dark Rise a reference to Odell Shepard’s observation, ‘I have hunted the unicorn chiefly in libraries,’ because that is where I hunted them too.
And found them, perhaps.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C. S. PACAT is the internationally acclaimed author of the young adult comic book series Fence, and the bestselling adult trilogy Captive Prince. Born in Australia and educated at the University of Melbourne, C.S. Pacat has since lived in a number of cities, including Tokyo and Perugia, and currently resides and writes in Melbourne.
