Ashes of Dearen: Book 1

by Jayden Woods

  Sean blamed it all on the Discipline drug, at first.

  After all, how could he not? How else could he explain his new and strange behavior? When he acted as Chief Darius, another person seemed to take control. Whenever he left Fayr’s presence, he felt as if he came up out of a trance. When he was around her, he knew how he needed to act, and he acted accordingly. Discipline was the easiest explanation.

  Why, then, did he not have to think about his behavior? Could Discipline account for instinct? Or did it simply allow this instinct to arise? And if that was the case, then where did Darius come from? For he felt almost real to Sean, like a person who had stepped in from elsewhere, or—even more disturbingly—who had been buried inside him already.

  It did not seem rational. But if Sean couldn’t blame the Discipline for such behavior, then how else could he explain it?

  On the night of the feast, Sean almost waltzed into the hall as Darius without a second thought in his mind. A few seconds more and he would have walked up to the royal table and taken his place across from the princess. Fortunately he never got that far. If she had turned her head at the right moment, she might have seen him approaching. The lucky fact that she did not, combined with a motion from Archon Picard that caught Sean’s attention, saved him from making a grave mistake. The sight of Picard came like a slap in the face, knocking out the persona of Darius and bringing back Sean to replace it.

  Immediately he retreated and slipped back through the crowd.

  Once in the quietude of the hallway, Sean wondered how he could have been so foolish as to sit with the khan, the prince, and the princess all at once—all while playing the role of Darius. Perhaps, in a sense, the Discipline drug worked too well when it came to hiding his identity. While Darius, he ceased to think as Sean should. Then again, maybe that was another indication that Discipline was not fully to blame.

  Sean grimaced and rubbed at the bruise on his arm where he injected the drug every morning. The drug was supposed to keep him calm and focused. But sometimes, especially at night when it began to wear off, he found himself more confused than ever. Perhaps the Merchant had been right when he said that emotions stored up while on the drug and arose to haunt him later. At night he would grow restless, sensing a range of feelings from cheerfulness to depression, and he would exercise in his room until he passed out from exhaustion. Then he would dream, vivid elaborate dreams—some of them terrible, but most of them wonderful. Perhaps that was the safra taking over.

  Who even knew anymore? How could he focus on two goals if they conflicted? How could he trust his instincts when he didn’t know if they were drug-induced? And who the hell was he, anyway?

  He walked further and further from the dining hall, his brain storming within him. A jolt of energy spread through his limbs and his fingers curled into fists. This was all that fucking Picard’s fault. If Picard was dead the world would be simpler. He could kill Kyne and complete his oath to Belazar.

  Then nothing would stop Leonard Khan from asking him to kill Princess Fayr.

  The sound of feet slapping the floor resounded nearby. Sean turned to an adjacent corridor, attuned to the noise. Whoever this was, he was panicked and upset. Which made him atypical, for a Dearen.

  Sean walked to apprehend the subject, his fingers flexing at his sides. It was as if he already knew, before he saw Prince Kyne, that he approached his prime target.

  The two stopped in the hallway and stared at each other.

  “You,” said Prince Kyne.

  Sean took a deep breath. His blood tingled. His skin itched. This was why he did not like the oath to Belazar. He did not know if any of it was his own imagination. But he felt, indeed, as if a greater power consumed him. Even if it made him stronger, it also filled him with an aching hunger. He wanted to kill. Almost anyone would do. But no one would do as well as this one.

  Watching him, Kyne flinched slightly. Then he took off running.

  It wasn’t hard. It required next to no effort. Sean moved, his muscles shoved against the ground, and he ran to the prince. His fingers dug into Kyne’s shirt. He twisted and yanked. The prince fell towards him, thrashing.

  Sean shook the boy hard enough to rattle his teeth. He wore a dirk and a few throwing stars under his tunic, but any of those items would make his cause of death too obvious. How best to dispatch him?

  “You can’t do this,” gasped Kyne. “I can do whatever I want. Let me go.”

  Sean sensed the guilt in the boy’s voice. Curiosity got the best of him. “What did you do? What are you running from?”

  “Let me go, Darius!”

  Sean blinked a few times. When Kyne used that name … something changed inside him.

  “I said let me go!”

  “Now now, Kyne. What would your sister think of this behavior? Shouldn’t you be at the feast?”

  “I can do whatever I please, bastard!”

  “I don’t think so.” Sean began dragging him.

  “Hey. Hey!”

  Prince Kyne put up a fight the whole way. His irritating resistance almost cracked Sean’s temper. Eventually he thrust the boy against the wall, hoping to jar some sense into his skull.

  At that moment, he also felt the piece of metal under the boy’s shirt. A tighter squeeze confirmed that it was shaped like a key.

  In such a state, they came across Princess Fayr in the hallway.