Darkhaven

by A. F. E. Smith

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t.’

  His fingers tightened on hers. Then Serenna was beside them, leaning down, his discarded clothes in her arms.

  ‘My lord, I have your clothes.’

  Letting go of Ayla’s hands, he took the bundle from her. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘For turning back.’

  He studied her face, the freckles stark against the paleness of her skin. ‘I did all of it, didn’t I? I killed my father. I wounded Travers and Elisse – and you.’ She was silent, but he could read the answer in the misery of her grey eyes. He nodded, accepting it as truth because he had to. ‘When did you work it out, Serenna?’

  ‘Only today,’ she whispered. ‘The bruise on your arm … but I couldn’t tell you, Myrren. I couldn’t.’

  ‘No.’ He understood that. There could have been no easy way to tell him he was a murderer. That the nightmares he had been suffering from were, in fact, the sole intimation of the truth. He wondered how long it would have continued, if events hadn’t brought him to this point. Perhaps he might have gone on for years, Changing only in his sleep, never knowing what he was doing. Taking out his hidden anger on anyone who posed the slightest threat to him or to Ayla.

  He knew what he had to do next.

  ‘Thank you, both of you,’ he said, looking from Serenna to Ayla. Saying farewell in his heart to the only two people he really loved. ‘Now, I’d better address the Helm.’

  The two of them backed away as he clambered to his feet, keeping the cloak wrapped tightly around him, still clutching the clothes Serenna had given him. He found he was standing beside the marble slab that held his father’s body. Around the walls of the antechamber, the Helmsmen he had just terrorised stood in groups of two or three, some of them nursing injuries of varying degrees, all of them watching him with wary eyes. They didn’t know what to do, he could tell. He had just rampaged through the corridors of Darkhaven and done his best to wipe them from his path. It must be obvious to them that it was he and not Ayla they should have been pursuing all this time. Yet he was also their overlord, the pure-blood heir to the Changer throne – and more importantly, he had the Nightshade gift after all, even if it was of the hybrid form his father had so despised in Ayla. If he asked it of them, he sensed they would accept him as their ruler and carry out his commands. Even if he was mad. Even if he had no control over his gift. Even if he ordered them to kill Ayla and Corus and everyone else who might possibly threaten his position.

  That was why he had to do what he was going to do.

  ‘I must apologise to you all,’ he said. ‘But I hope you will agree this is evidence that my sister is innocent of any wrongdoing.’ He glanced around, a wry smile on his face, and heard a few uneasy chuckles. ‘For that reason, I believe the decision my father made before his death still stands. I hereby renounce the throne of Darkhaven in Ayla’s favour.’

  There was a pause. Then one man, bolder than the rest, spoke up. ‘But my lord, you have the gift –’

  ‘Yes, as it turns out, I do have the gift,’ Myrren said. ‘But not in a form I could ever consent to let loose in the world. For a Changer who has no control over when or where he Changes – particularly a Changer who has killed as a result of it – there is only one possible option.’ Though his throat ached with the fear of what he was about to say, he kept his voice firm and even as he added, ‘And I hope that when I step into the incarceration room, one of you will obey my final command and turn the key.’

  In the shocked silence that followed, he couldn’t look at Ayla or Serenna in case seeing their faces weakened his resolve. Instead he looked at his father’s body, at the horrific wounds he himself had inflicted without even knowing it. He thought of everything Florentyn had done in an attempt to awaken the Changer gift in his pure-blood son. And he remembered his nightmare, the morning he woke up to learn of the attack on Travers: trapped alive in a metal coffin. That would be his fate, now. That would be his reality. The law stated that a mad or murderous Changer must be incarcerated for good, and that was what he was.

  His hands tightened on the small pile of clothes, and he felt the shape of the pistol in his pocket.

  He’s going to lock himself up. Serenna knew it before Myrren even said the words. For that reason, she had a tight enough grip on herself not to react when he made it clear to everyone else. She just watched his face, the back of one hand pressed against her mouth to stop herself screaming, and wondered how the whole flaming world could be so unfair as to let this happen to him. Ayla, standing next to her, was not so restrained; a small cry of protest escaped her lips before she choked it back. Yet Myrren didn’t look her way, but stared around at the Helm as if seeking obedience to his will. Even though he was dressed in nothing but a cloak, he had never looked more regal – or more sure of himself.

  Only when he was apparently satisfied that the Helm would do their duty did he turn back to his sister. To begin with he said nothing, just stood there gazing at her as though his heart held too much to put into words; she looked back at him with equal reticence, her lower lip quivering. Her profile was close to a mirror image of Myrren’s: same strong nose, softened only slightly for a woman; same finely moulded mouth; same sweeping hairline and well-shaped jaw. Looking at the two of them, Serenna couldn’t doubt that in losing Myrren, Ayla was losing a part of herself.

  ‘You have a new brother now,’ Myrren said finally. It seemed he meant the words to be light, but an underlying note of strain spoke of effort. ‘He will need teaching about us, about what it means to be a Nightshade … you can do that, Ayla. I know you can.’

  ‘Myrren …’ Ayla stood straight and proud, though her eyes were brimming over. ‘You don’t have to do this. We can find out how to stop it happening. We can help you control it …’

  ‘Hush, little sister.’ Myrren lifted a hand to brush a tear from her cheek, and the sorrow in his smile made Serenna’s heart ache. ‘This is how it has to be. I killed our father. I hurt several more people. I can’t trust myself not to do it again.’

  ‘I’m not going to give up.’ Ayla’s voice broke. ‘I’ll keep searching until I find the answer. And then I’ll come and let you out.’

  Myrren didn’t reply. He just put his free arm around her shoulders, drawing her close; for an instant his cheek rested against the top of her head, his dark hair blending into hers so that it seemed they were becoming one. Then Myrren stepped back, and Ayla retreated with a sob into the arms of the man she had called Tomas, hiding her face against his chest. He held her gently, as though she were something rare and precious; over her head, he and Myrren exchanged a long look of wordless communication.

  Take care of her.

  I will. I promise.

  Finally Myrren nodded, and turned towards Serenna.

  She watched him approach with her heart beating fast, forcing herself to hold her head high. She wanted to hurl herself at him, to cling to him and beg him not to leave her alone. But she understood him well enough by now to know that his sense of honour wouldn’t allow him to do anything other than what he intended. He had found his father’s murderer, and now he was going to punish him. She had no right to make it any harder for him than it already was.

  ‘Sister Serenna.’ He stopped in front of her, looking at her with the same grave expression he’d worn the day she met him. His free hand gestured at her right ankle. ‘I am truly sorry. For what it seems I did to you.’

  She managed a smile. ‘It is nothing, my lord. Really.’

  ‘Thank you for all the help you have given me.’ As he had so many times before, Myrren lifted the back of her hand to his lips. ‘And for making these past few days so unexpectedly bright.’

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ she whispered.

  ‘I hope you will go back to your temple, now.’ He didn’t seem able to let go of her hand. ‘Go back to your temple and get on with your life.’

  ‘Yes …’ She wanted to be strong, but she couldn’t hol
d back the tears that were overflowing from her eyes. Her fingers tightened on his as she added fiercely, ‘But I will be here as often as I can, helping Ayla with her research. I know my way around your library by now.’

  He shook his head; the set of his mouth was rueful. ‘I should tell you to forget about me. But I have to admit …’ A momentary anguish flashed across his face, but then it was gone and he was smiling sadly at her. ‘I have to admit, I hope you will remember me from time to time. Most of all things, I find it is hard to leave you behind.’

  Unable to bear his pain any longer, Serenna stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his. He returned the kiss with urgency, tasting her as if he sought to imprint the shape of her mouth in his memory. Then he pulled away, to look deep into her eyes. His pupils were wide and dark, as though he could already see the four walls of the incarceration room around him.

  ‘Have courage, Myrren,’ she told him, soft and intent. ‘We’ll find the answer soon enough.’

  He ran a strand of her hair through his fingers, then tucked it back into place beneath her veil. ‘Goodbye, Serenna.’

  Then, gathering the clothes more tightly to his chest, he turned and walked away. Serenna watched him duck under the low archway beside the door to the vault and disappear out of sight down the stairs. She longed to run after him, feeling his kiss still tingling on her lips, but she held herself back. Instead she glanced at Ayla; the girl was gazing after her brother from the circle of her young man’s arms, the same bereavement in her face that Serenna felt in her heart.

  In the silence, they all heard the small explosion that was the pistol going off.

  THIRTY-SIX

  A mute stream of anguish and bitter love flowing through her, Ayla knelt beside her brother and clutched his cold hand in hers as though she could somehow bring him back if she tried hard enough. She was in the incarceration room, where Myrren would lie for a traditional seven-day period of his own before being moved into the vault beside his father. He was dead, she was sure of that; the shattered portion of his skull left no room for doubt. The physician had said death was almost instantaneous. Yet Ayla felt she owed it to him to keep a vigil beside him, for a while at least.

  I told you I’d help you, she said to him silently, over and over. Why couldn’t you just hold on long enough for me to find an answer? But in reality, she understood. He had wanted her and Serenna and the rest of them to get on with their lives. She, Ayla, was overlord of Darkhaven now. She couldn’t fulfil her duties if all her time was spent searching for her brother’s cure. And besides, even if she and Serenna could have worked out the rules of his gift and how to control it, it wouldn’t have taken away his guilt. Whether he had meant to do it or not, he’d killed his own father and wounded two other people; the law said he had to be locked up for it, and Myrren wouldn’t have dreamed of trying to make a special case for himself. She remembered how she’d felt at the prospect of permanent incarceration: she’d been determined to claim the right to die at her own hand rather than live forever in a cage. Myrren, too, had prized freedom above all things. And he had seen only one way he could hold on to it.

  Ayla understood, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

  Getting up from her kneeling position, she staggered as frozen muscles flared back into life. It must be dark outside by now; she’d been down here for at least two bells. Much as she hated to go, there were other things she should be doing. After one last whispered farewell, she touched Myrren’s face gently and turned away. Earlier she had feared being locked alone in this room until she died; now she was leaving her brother here, and it hurt just as much as if she were the one staying. She was frightened and heartsick and full of uncertainty, and she could think of only one thing that would make the pain a little more bearable.

  She found Caraway in the main hall, at the centre of a buzz of activity. His right shoulder had finally been bandaged; in addition, the physician had diagnosed him with two cracked ribs and a sprained knee, as well as multiple smaller cuts and bruises. One of his eyes had swollen almost shut, notwithstanding the earlier application of a cold compress. Despite all that, however, he greeted her with a sympathetic smile and said something to the Helmsman beside him. Then he led her to a nearby window seat, where they sat side by side without touching.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked her softly, and she shook her head. She was feeling many things, but she didn’t want to talk about them. Not now.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘More to the point, how are you?’

  He gave a shrug that turned rapidly into a wince. ‘Takes me back to my days in the fifth ring. Which reminds me, I must give Art Bryan his sword back. It’ll be worth it just to see the look on his face when he realises I’m still alive.’

  Ayla nodded. ‘And Serenna?’

  ‘Upstairs. The physician gave her a sedative. She’ll return to her temple tomorrow.’ Caraway paused. ‘You know, she blames herself for what happened.’

  Ayla pressed her lips together to avoid saying anything. She couldn’t help blaming Serenna a little bit, too, for handing Myrren an armful of clothes that included the pistol that killed him.

  ‘I told her no-one could possibly think it was her fault,’ Caraway went on carefully. ‘If it hadn’t been the pistol then it would have been a knife or a sword. There were plenty of them around.’

  The look in his eyes seemed to ask something of her. Ayla sighed. This was one of the many reasons why she needed him here.

  ‘I don’t really blame her,’ she muttered. ‘She loved Myrren, didn’t she? And I think he loved her too. The way they kissed …’ She stopped, blushing, and then blushing more because she was blushing. Hurriedly she moved on to her next question. ‘And is there any word of Elisse?’

  ‘No-one saw her or the baby leave Darkhaven,’ Caraway said. ‘They must have gone down into the city, but after that …’ He made a resigned gesture. ‘I’ve sent some of the Helm out looking for them, but if Sorrow is helping Elisse then there’s a good chance they won’t find anything. I’m sorry.’

  So her new brother – the sole living member of the Nightshade line apart from her – was out in the world somewhere with only his mother and a notorious sellsword for protection. Ayla knew that should be a concern, but her mind was so blurred with emotion that she couldn’t take it in.

  ‘Elisse can’t hide forever,’ she said, trying to comfort herself. ‘She looks too much like one of us …’ Her voice trailed away as Caraway’s words belatedly registered in her overloaded brain. I’ve sent some of the Helm out. And he had appeared to be at the heart of the hall when she entered it … She frowned. ‘The Helm are taking orders from you now?’

  ‘Seems like it.’ Caraway sighed. ‘They feel they’ve failed, you see. I’m the only person in Darkhaven who even came close to protecting the Nightshade line today. And with Travers dead … well, none of them really know what to do next. They’re lost. So I thought I’d better take charge, just for now.’ He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘Quite a difference from five years ago.’

  Ayla nodded. They sat in silence for a few moments, and she wondered if he was thinking – as she was – about everything that had happened to bring them to this point. Finally she turned to him, just as he turned to her.

  ‘Tomas –’

  ‘Ayla –’

  She bit her lip, both frustrated and relieved at the reprieve. ‘You first.’

  ‘Well …’ He looked down at the floor. ‘I thought – that is, I hoped you might consider letting me rejoin the Helm.’

  ‘What?’ After everything he’d done for her, surely that wasn’t all he wanted. But he gave her a self-deprecating glance and continued.

  ‘I just thought it might be useful for you to have me around. At least to start with. Then maybe I can get another job –’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh. Then –’ even more hesitantly – ‘perhaps I could work here in some other capacity …’

  ‘I don’t want t
o employ you at all, Tomas.’ Wait. That didn’t come out right. ‘I mean … I wondered if …’

  Now it was her turn to be hesitant. She stared at him, willing him to read what she wanted to say in her eyes, but he still wasn’t looking in her direction.

  ‘I thought you might stay here,’ she said, forcing the words out. ‘Not to work. Just … with me.’

  Then he did lift his head. His expression wasn’t at all what she had hoped; it was sad, but determined.

  ‘I don’t need your charity, Lady Ayla.’

  ‘It’s not charity. I mean, it … um.’ Now she was blushing again. She’d never blushed this much in her life. ‘It would be for my benefit too.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Tomas said. ‘It’s been a long day, and I’m probably not – what are you saying?’

  Come on, Ayla. You’re making an utter mess of this.

  ‘It’s just … Darkhaven can’t go blithely on as it always has.’ Sudden, renewed misery leapt inside her; she looked away, into the night outside the window, fighting to control her tears. ‘My father was obsessed with the purity of the Nightshade line, and look where that’s brought us. I intend things to be different from now on.’

  She stole a glance at Caraway, but he still wore a confused frown. Hardly surprising. She was doing a wonderful job of not getting to the point.

  ‘Make my own choices,’ she stumbled on. ‘Marry who I want. Isn’t that what you said? Darkhaven needs children. A new future. And so I thought perhaps, one day, you and I …’

  Silence. Dead silence. When it became too much to bear, she turned to face him. The confusion in his eyes had melted back into sadness.

  ‘I don’t think so, Ayla,’ he said gently.

  Shock swept through her, leaving her feeling as though she had nothing to hold on to – as though the ground beneath her and the walls around her were as insubstantial as air. She hadn’t realised quite how much she was relying on his continued presence. More than that: how much she wanted it.