SanClare Black (The Prince of Sorrows)

by Jenna Waterford

  Jarlyth lifted his chin and stared the man down through narrowed eyes. “I only care about what Michael wants,” he said. “The rest can go to the Fires. And if they try to stop me, I’ll send them there.”

  #

  Michael’s exhaustion and pain vanished, drowned out by panic. He ran blindly, turning down an alley on instinct. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he had to get away—he had to hide.

  He was aware enough to crawl into the shadows, to stay out of sight, but that was all he could manage. He huddled in the dark, oblivious to the dirt and grime and evil smells permeating the alley around him. The only thing he could see was the man reaching over his shoulder—a gesture so stunningly familiar, Michael felt as if the world had shifted around him.

  It took several sickening moments for the feelings this gesture triggered to fall into place. The memories began with a burning burst of light and sound and pain—The Breach!—before flowing over him like a flash flood.

  Everything he’d ever known or seen or felt—every person, place, sound—it all washed over him relentlessly as the spell finally broke, and he knew. He remembered.

  “Jary,” he whispered. The name was said as a plea, a prayer.

  How could he have forgotten Jarlyth? Or Tanara? How could he have forgotten himself? How could he, a prince of Serathon, have come to this?

  His vision blurred as tears ran down his face.

  “Holy Vail,” he breathed. “What am I going to do? I don’t even know how to be him anymore.”

  No Voice answered him, and he stayed in his filthy hiding place for a long time as the unwanted memories tumbled through his brain. He wished he hadn’t remembered. It hurt far too much.

  No one found him, though by the time he began to think clearly again, he knew a great deal of time had passed. He’d hidden too well, it seemed, and Fensgate could be the most confusing maze.

  Jarlyth must be looking for me. But the thought of having to face his beloved warder—knowing what he’d done, what he’d become—made him feel even more ill, and he huddled further into his hiding place. I wish I’d never been born! He must hate me.

  “Oh, Vail...he was there. He saw me there.”

  Michael took a deep breath and brought his emotions under control. He had to face Jarlyth. It was the right thing to do. The man had nearly died for him. He’d obviously devoted his life to searching for—

  He was searching for Nylan.

  But Michael knew that didn’t matter. His feelings of shame were beside the point. Jarlyth deserved his trust.

  Michael used the wall of the building he’d been huddled against to pull himself to his feet. He was almost surprised by the pain—his sense of himself as Michael had been overwhelmed by his memories of Nylan—and he stood leaning against the wall for several moments, marshaling his strength.

  As he was about to leave the safety of his hiding place, a new realization hit him. “Terac Nalas is a waerlok. He’s been blooding me.”

  It explained so much—his exhaustion, the draining away of his magical powers, his slowed healing...

  It explains everything. Everything but why he was still alive.

  Michael limped to the mouth of the alley and peered out, half-hoping Jarlyth would be right there, but it was Varian who found him first.

  “Are you all right?” He caught Michael by the arm in time to save him from collapsing. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

  “Why?” Michael blinked in confusion, feeling dazed by the young man’s tangle of emotions which bled through his own pain at the touch. Stumbling forward to brace himself against a lamppost, Michael slipped free of Varian’s grasp and turned to look him in the eye.

  Varian flushed but threw his hands in the air as if to cover his embarrassment at the rejection. “You ran off and then Pol ran off looking for you, and you both vanished.”

  “Pol’s vanished?”

  A massive shadow fell over them, and they both turned to see the hated black carriage pulling up alongside them.

  “There you are!” the driver barked. “His Grace wants you. Now.”

  “I can’t, now!” Michael glared at the man. He’d never refused before, and the driver’s face turned comically surprised at this out-of-character response.

  Michael’s tattoo prickled painfully, the magic that enforced his obedience flaring to life. He tried to ignore it. Pol was more important than a little pain.

  “You’ll come along, or I’ll drag you!” The man climbed down from the carriage seat, whip still in-hand.

  “Wait a moment.” Varian frowned at the older man. “Don’t you know who he is? He’s Red Boar! You can’t make him go with you.”

  Michael leaned closer to Varian. “The Duke of Reyahl is my master.” He breathed this confession so the driver wouldn’t overhear. “That’s who sent this carriage for me.”

  “Michael!” Varian stared at the boy, white-faced. He cast an equally horrified look at the driver who seemed to be realizing his mistake in so boldly declaring his master’s rank in front of someone besides the duke’s preferred victim.

  “If you don’t come along—” He looked from Michael to Varian and back again, wary. “—something bad’ll happen. You aren’t the first boy I’ve driven to His Grace tonight.”

  The bottom dropped out of Michael’s stomach. Oh, shize. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your little friend came along, started yelling at me to go away and leave you alone. His Grace always said if it took me longer than an hour to track you down, I was to bring this boy to him instead. I told him you’d already gone but that I’d take him to you, and he hopped right in, sweet as you please.”

  Michael staggered back as if struck, and Varian caught him again, though the young man was also shaking badly. “You know what he’ll do! How could you do that?”

  The man snorted and reached for him. “I take you, don’t I?”

  Michael whirled in Varian’s arms and caught the young man in an embrace. He didn’t want to abuse Varian’s attraction, but he had to get help, and there was no other way he could think to do it without tipping his hand to the driver. He pretended to be about to kiss. “Tell Daren and Harly what’s happened. Tell them I’ll try to—”

  But the driver had lost patience. As he grabbed Michael by the arm, yanking him away from Varian, he struck out with the whip handle, landing a stunning blow to the back of the young man’s head.

  “Varian!” Michael screamed as the musician dropped to the ground like a felled horse.

  Michael struggled to go to his aid, but the driver’s hold was too strong. “If you don’t get in, I’ll finish him!” the man roared, and he shoved Michael at the carriage.

  “Fine! Let go!” Michael shrugged free of the man’s bruising grip as he hauled himself up and threw himself onto the seat. The driver slammed the door shut and the carriage drove off what seemed only seconds later.

  His entire body shook with fear and shock, and he wrapped his arms around himself to try and still the trembling.

  Oh dear Vail! First Pol and now Varian! Please, help me.

  .:Jary, where are you? I’ve nikked things up so bad.:.

  He thought for a moment he heard an answer, but if he had, it was too faint. I’m imagining things. Stupid to hope.

  He needed to try to save Pol, but he was desperate to escape the carriage and go back to help Varian, too. However, he’d learned long ago that the carriage locked from the outside, making his decision for him.

  “Why can’t Pol ever do anything by himself?” He whispered the question, and almost laughed. He wished he knew why things always ended up so much worse than they’d been before when anyone tried to help him.

  Vail! Why did this have to happen now? He was too weak. Too hurt. His breath hissed out as he shifted in his seat, disturbing various injuries. “I can’t do this again.” Fear had begun to overwhelm his anger. “I can’t let him do this to me.” But the concept of allowing, of giving permission, was a
ridiculous one. Terac took; he didn’t ask.

  What is he doing to Pol? What have I gotten him into? Vail, please...if you let me save Pol, I don’t care what he does to me. I don’t care anymore.

  Michael shook his head sharply and tried to regain control of his shattered emotions. This was new. Terac had never summoned him two nights together. Michael was very afraid of what would happen. He always hurt so much afterwards. Until this night, Terac—for all his cruelty—had seemed to understand the necessity of giving Michael time to recover, but the man had been crazy lately—jealous, erratic, raging. Michael didn’t know what had happened to make him change so much from the cool, in-control bastard he’d been at first. What if he’s gotten tired of me? Just like George.

  “He’s a waerlok,” Michael whispered. “He wouldn’t just let me go. He’d kill me. Take my power.” Desperation jangled through him. “If only I’d finished my training...”

  If only I could stop him. If only I could make him stop. That was what Daren and Harly wanted him to do. But it’s impossible! They can’t understand what they’re asking. They don’t know what he is.

  “I could try.” He stared out the window, unseeing. I don’t know how it could make things any worse than they already are.

  The carriage stopped and tics later the driver yanked the door open and gave the impression he was about to haul Michael out of the carriage in a similar fashion. Instead, Michael pushed past him and jumped to the ground, moving as quickly as he could toward the servants’ door, rushing ahead with this sudden, mad determination before he lost his nerve. The driver scurried along after him but seemed to be afraid, now, of interfering with his master’s favorite toy.

  The driver pretended to escort Michael to the workroom door, but at best he trailed after, helpless. Michael thought he was too afraid to leave until he’d made sure of the delivery. But he needn’t bother. I’m not going anywhere without Pol.

  Several moments passed before the door opened, and Terac looked out at them. Wordlessly, he grabbed Michael’s arm and pulled him into the workroom, slamming the door shut in the driver’s face.

  As Terac shot the deadbolt home, Michael looked around as best he could, trying to find Pol, but he couldn’t see him through the mess occupying most of the space. It had grown even worse since Michael had first seen it, with even more stacks of books and papers growing into precarious towers on every flat surface. Somehow, more shelves had been wedged into the mess, and they, too, were stuffed with the detritus of the man’s research and so-called experiments.

  Michael couldn’t even see the area where he’d been chained up, and he worried that was where Terac had put his friend.

  “Pol?” He ignored his captor who shook him to regain his attention. When he turned back, glaring, Terac smiled at him—a manic, desperate, humorless grin.

  “I missed you.”

  “I was just here.” Michael tried to pull free, but Terac’s grip on his arm tightened.

  “Not alone. Robyn was here.”

  “Because you sent him for me,” Michael countered again.

  “I needed to see you.” Terac seemed to think that was all that did or should matter. He reached out with his free hand and stroked Michael’s cheek, making the boy flinch. “I need to touch you.”

  “The driver—” Michael began, hesitant to say anything Terac could use against him but desperate to find his friend. “He said he brought someone else here tonight.”

  Terac smiled, his restraining hand joining the free one in unbuttoning Michael’s shirt. “Don’t you worry about that. You won’t be supplanted. I promise.”

  “Where is he?” Please, Vail, let him not have done anything to Pol.

  The man paused and looked at him more closely, a slow smile blooming at what he saw. “You’re frightened for him, aren’t you, darling? How delightful.”

  Michael stepped away from the man again and this time wasn’t yanked back. Terac seemed too interested in what Michael would do next to interfere.

  “You promised if I did what you said, you’d leave him alone.”

  “You hid from me when I wanted you.”

  Michael’s hands clenched at his sides. “I did not. I was just...busy. I have to work.”

  “The Red Boar could not find you, either. You’d run, for all I knew. I told you if I had any reason at all—”

  Michael turned away from the man and shouted, “Pol! Where are you?”

  He thought he heard a faint reply, but Terac caught him again, whirling him back as if they were dancing, and catching him close for a painful kiss. The noise from the man’s mind sounded deafeningly in Michael’s brain, loud enough to drown out any voices coming from elsewhere in the room.

  He saw so much in Terac’s mind and wished he could shut out the horrors the man so enjoyed. But I can, he thought, going still at the shock of this realization. My silent center.

  He’d failed repeatedly to find it during his last days at Tanara Priory and again during his ordeal with the pirates, but that had been a long time ago, and he had been much younger than most were when they mastered the skill.

  And now I’m much older. Would it make a difference? Had his ability to master the skill only lacked age and time?

  Terac hadn’t noticed his victim’s wandering attention yet, too focused on his own desires, his hands and lips wandering down Michael’s arms and throat.

  Michael closed his eyes and tried to block out what was happening to his body as he pulled all of his memories of Jarlyth’s silent center training together. The constant roar of the world around him receded, wavering on the edge of vanishing altogether before growing louder again. Michael bit his lower lip hard, trying to fight back to the quiet, and then, all at once, as if a key had been turned, he found silence.

  He kept his eyes closed, though the shock had nearly caused him to open them. He still felt Terac’s hands and mouth but sensed nothing beyond his touch.

  Silence.

  He hadn’t experienced true silence since he’d been stolen away from Tanara. He hadn’t experienced true silence since his last morning with Jarlyth.

  Terac’s hands and lips were gone.

  “What are you doing?” Terac’s voice sounded strange and hollow to Michael’s ears, unaccustomed as they were to having no background noise.

  Can I hold the center with my eyes open? He risked it. The center held.

  Terac grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him once for each word. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

  Somehow, Michael kept the silence. “What do you mean?” He blinked innocently up into Terac’s furious gaze.

  “You know what I mean! What in all the Fires is going on? What are you doing?”

  The man’s fury grew with each passing moment, but, somehow, Michael continued to block it out. He knew he was risking much, but the silence was too astonishing to give up. Was this how it was for everyone else? This blissful silence? Hearing only one’s own thoughts; feeling only one’s own feelings?

  Terac pulled the boy to him and kissed him full on the mouth. His hand fumbled through Michael’s hair and yanked out the tie holding his braid back, ripping out a few strands of hair as he did. The kiss was a punishment—bruising and devouring—and Michael didn’t need to be able to sense it to know that Terac was as angry at him as he’d ever been.

  After a moment, Terac shoved Michael away from him. With no warning, the boy stumbled backwards and fell hard onto the floor, his shoulder slamming into the edge of a shelf as he fell, knocking the breath from him. The blows broke his concentration, and he lost his hold on the center.

  Terac seemed to know this had happened, and he was on him in an instant, pushing him all the way down to the floor.

  “You can’t hide from me!” His fingers twisted into the threadbare fabric of Michael’s shirt. “You belong to me!”

  “I don’t belong to anyone!” Michael spat.

  Terac’s hand flew out, knocking Michael’s head sideways and back against the floor and
nearly knocking him unconscious.

  “Whore! Filthy kiska whore!”

  Terac heaved himself back to his feet and stood over the boy for several long moments, clearly at a loss. He was furious, frustrated, and, Michael sensed as he began to regain focus, afraid.

  “What’s happened to you?” Terac’s voice went suddenly small and tentative. “Last night...you were so—”

  “Helpless?” Michael offered angrily. “Pathetic?”

  “Pure!” Terac shouted. “It was like breathing power, just looking at you. The magic came off of you like water.”

  “Like blood!” Michael pushed himself up to a sitting position. “You’re a waerlok. You steal power. You’ve been stealing mine for a long time, and I didn’t understand. But I understand now, and I’m not going to just let you take any more without a fight.”

  “I could kill you.” Terac’s expression turned grim. For whatever reason, that wasn’t how he wanted it to be. “Take it all.”

  “Then why haven’t you?” Michael demanded, too angry to be afraid of what might happen if he pushed the man too far.

  Terac stared at him, his grim expression fading to one that was almost tender. “...I couldn’t bear to see you burn.”

  Jiin’s voice, as they’d all stood crowded together so long ago, waiting to watch an execution, whispered through his mind. “That’s the Duke of Reyahl...”

  Michael shook his head in disbelief. “You go to the executions and take their power as they burn...right in front of everybody.”

  “How do you know this?” Terac’s voice rose, panicked. “What’s happened?”

  “I know who I am.” His heartbeat sounded too loud and felt too fast; his breath gasped in and out as if he’d been running. “I know what I am.” I’m SanClare. We don’t give in. “And I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

  He heard a sound, like a call from far away, and knew it was Pol. He scrambled backwards and to his feet, away from Terac, and rushed toward the sound, only to find Pol, at last, chained up as he himself had been so many moons ago.