The Darkest Night

by Emma V. Leech

  The king struck him, and Laen’s head snapped back. He tasted blood in his mouth and spat it at his father’s feet as his rage reached boiling point. With difficulty, he reminded himself that it was not for him to kill the man. Corin would do that on the Field of Kings when he took the land. He would kill King Braed as he had promised Laen he would decades ago. “Do you want to know something, oh great father of mine,” Laen said, saying the words most calculated to make his father lose his mind. “I love him almost as much as I despise you.”

  The great fist struck out again, but Laen grasped ahold of it and twisted. He was no longer afraid of this man, this tyrant who had ruined his life, and the realisation gave him strength. His own magic burned with the savagery of his anger, releasing decades of suppressed emotions, of hurt and misery. He remembered every taunt and humiliation, every beating, every day that he was made to feel ashamed and worthless, and knew that he would never allow that to happen again. His children would never suffer this man’s hatred and denigration, whatever they might do with their lives, whoever they loved. His people would never again suffer his contempt and bend to the will of a tyrant.

  Corin would be king.

  He would rule and Laen would stand at his side.

  He stood now, forcing his father to the ground, one muscular arm holding him tightly around the neck, the other hand holding a dagger to his chest. “You will burn tomorrow, sire,” he said, snarling the words in his father’s ears. “And I will stand at Corin’s side and rejoice.”

  His father laughed, a cold and bitter sound. “You think so, do you? You think I will let that happen?” He snorted, mocking Laen. “No, son, your golden-eyed prince will go to his doom believing you betrayed him.” He took a breath and bellowed for his personal guards, who swarmed into the tent and surrounded him. They drew their swords, moving closer to Laen, their desire to cut him down only too obvious.

  “You can kill me, and tomorrow’s judgement will be delayed for the inquest,” his father said, his voice heavy with amusement. “Think he can stand to wait another day, do you? Two or three more, perhaps? He’s losing his mind, Laen, I could see the strain in his face, the pain in his eyes. The land will tear him apart if he has to wait any longer, perhaps it already has.”

  Laen looked at the dozens of men surrounding him and knew there were far too many, he could not defeat them alone ... but he would give it a damn good try.

  He flung his father to the ground and drew his sword, stepping back and gesturing for the men to come closer. “Well, then,” he demanded, determined that it should not end like this. “Who wants to die first?”

  Chapter 26

  "Bram!"

  Bram looked up to see Claudette running down the stairs toward him. She looked as beautiful as ever, though pale and fragile. Her large turquoise eyes were wide and frightened, and he thought it looked as though she'd been crying.

  "He's safe," he said in a rush, before she had a chance to ask as he hurried towards her. "Jean-Pierre is safe. I left him at Bertulf House, he should be here by tomorrow, I imagine."

  Claudette's eyes were brimming with gratitude as she gave a little gasp of relief. "Thank you,” she said, the words warm and sincere. “Thank you so much. I knew you wouldn't let me down." He smiled at her and tried to hide his pleasure when he was swiftly embraced. "I owe you so much,” she said as she hugged him and kissed his cheek. “I will do everything I can to clear your name, Bram, you have my word."

  He allowed himself to hold her for the briefest moment before stepping away and nodding. "I know you will,” he said, his voice low as he smiled at her. “I never doubted it." He frowned, then, seeing that the fear had not cleared from her eyes with his news. Stepping closer once more, he took her hand. "What is it?"

  He watched in alarm as a large tear slid down her cheek and her face crumpled. "Corin ..." She stopped, covering her mouth with her hand and taking a breath. Swallowing hard, she squeezed his hand and released it. "Come and see,” she said, the words trembling with emotion.

  He followed her through the maze of the vast palace until they reached the door of what he assumed to be their bedroom. The hallway was lined with guards, every one of them looking tense and uneasy. Claudette opened the bedroom door and Bram gasped in shock. The doorway, and indeed all of the room visible, was filled, floor to ceiling, with thick, dark stems that coiled and tangled around each other, knotted and twisted and dense. Each stem was studded with hundreds of lethal, jagged thorns, making the room totally impenetrable.

  Bram reached out a hand and touched his finger lightly to one of the thorns. Blood welled and trickled down his finger, a tiny drop splashing onto a stem that swelled and thrust further into the room. "Gods," he murmured, eyes wide.

  "Show him." Claudette commanded one of the guards, who gave her a brief look of horror before stepping forward and cutting at the stems with his sword. There was a snap and a yell of terror from the guard as the stems lashed out with astonishing speed, slashing at their attacker. He leapt backwards, scrambling out of reach with muttered curses and little dignity before returning to his position on guard, cheeks flaming. Bram watched as the stems retreated back into the room, thicker than ever.

  Claudette looked up at Bram. "He's in there,” she said, her voice choked, tears spilling over her eyes. “He’s in there all alone, and I can't get to him."

  "For how long?" Bram asked, appalled to see her in such distress, and with his fears growing for Corin.

  "Since late this morning.” Claudette tried to compose herself and wiped her eyes on the handkerchief Bram handed her. “It had become so bad,” she said, clutching at the hanky as her voice cracked again. “He tried so hard not to start drinking again, but … oh, God, Bram, it was so horrible to watch, and I couldn't do anything to help him. He was in so much pain and he wanted another drink.” Her voice became more and more frantic as she spoke and twisted the handkerchief between her hands. “I said, no, he'd had enough, but then … he got so angry and so I went to get some more, and when I came back ..." She buried her face in the handkerchief, then, sobbing as though her heart was breaking, and was quite unable to continue. Bram put his arm around her, rubbing circles on her back and staring at the thorns with a thoughtful expression as he considered why Corin had done such a thing.

  “Hey,” he said, making Claudette look up at him. He smiled at her, giving her a brief hug before letting her go. "He's not keeping you out, Claudette,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring in the hope that he could at least relieve her fears. He pointed at the thorns, knowing he was right. “He's keeping himself in."

  "What?" She wiped her tears away with his handkerchief and looked up at him, confusion in her eyes.

  "If he connects with the land before tomorrow morning, he will be disqualified from the field,” he said, watching her nod her understanding. “But not doing so is driving him insane. He's afraid his resolve will crumble and so … he has barricaded himself in."

  She gasped and then let out a breath. “Yes,” she nodded, sniffing as she calmed herself down. “That makes sense. He made me promise that if he … if he lost himself in this madness that I would do whatever it took to keep him in." She looked at the dense forest of thorns keeping them apart and shook her head. "But he's all alone in there. I need to get in."

  Bram nodded, and gestured to the door. "Then go in."

  She looked up at him and frowned, irritation glittering in her eyes now. "Alors,” she said, her tone a little tart. “What on earth do you think I've spent the day trying to do, Bram?"

  He chuckled and shook his head. "Not with swords and fear, Claudette,” he said, his voice soft. “Would Corin ever use his magic against you? Would he ever hurt you?"

  "No!” she exclaimed, clearly horrified by the very suggestion. “Never!"

  Bram shrugged. "Then it won't hurt you now. He is just trying to protect himself.” He led her back to the thorn-filled doorway, seeing the trepidation in her eyes. “Think about him, Claudette, t
hink about why you need to get to him, and step forward."

  She gave him a doubtful, anxious look, but stepped closer to the door. The thorns bristled as she moved, coiling and twisting tighter together, and she looked back at Bram, wide-eyed with alarm.

  "Close your eyes, Claudette,” he instructed, keeping his voice firm and confident, knowing she would fail if she didn’t trust him. “Don't think about anything but Corin, and step forward."

  Claudette swallowed and then closed her eyes. Bram felt a swell of pride as she put her trust in him, despite her obvious fears, and did as he instructed. Taking a step, she let out a breath as she remained intact. Bram smiled, watching with relief as the thorns snaked away from her, the stems rustling and sighing as they moved back, and then closed again behind her as she made her way through.

  "Merci, Bram," she whispered as he closed the door on the room and walked away.

  ***

  "Merde, Auberren should be burned alive for the state of this pitiful excuse for a road, never mind anything else," Inés grumbled as the carriage jolted them over potholes, jarring their spines and fracturing what little patience any of them might have had.

  "Yes, I do believe you've mentioned that … like three-thousand frigging times," Ameena snapped. Inés snorted. She could see the young woman’s furious expression even in the darkness, her eyes as keen as an owl on the hunt. A witch of her years gained some interesting abilities, including heightened senses, unlike ordinary humans whose senses diminished over the years. She reached out and grabbed at the side of the carriage as it lurched once more and nearly pitched her out of her seat.

  They had been travelling for hours in terrible weather and tempers were fraying, hers most of all. She had created a spell so that their path was lit up and their journey could continue in the darkness, but the roads were in a terrible state and it was simply impossible to avoid all the potholes. The carriage jolted as the wheels hit another hole, and Inés groaned.

  "I'll burn him myself," she muttered, her tone savage.

  They were all wrapped in blankets and relatively warm, at least compared to outside. Her magic had warmed the hot bricks beneath their feet that sent warmth spiralling beneath the blankets. She took a moment to spare a thought for the guards who were outside on horseback, or driving the carriage, and getting lashed by gale-force winds, sleet, and snow.

  "At least we're not out there, the poor bastards,” Ameena said as though reading her mind as she huddled beneath the blanket, shuddering at the idea.

  Inés nodded. "Oui, c'est vrai,” she acknowledged with a grimace. “I do not envy them." Jean-Pierre shifted beside her, moving a little closer. His thigh had been pressed against hers, their arms touching, too, in the dark of the carriage. She was only letting him get away with it because it was so damn cold, though, or at least that’s what she told herself.

  "How long before we get there?" he asked her, his face turned towards her though she doubted he could see her at all.

  She looked back at him, free to observe him closely without his knowledge. She could see his rather classic profile as he turned away again, the glint of those pretty eyes in the darkness, and turned away herself before she could let her thoughts run away with her. Folding her arms and telling herself not to be so utterly idiotic, she replied to him, her voice terse with irritation. "At this rate, we'll be lucky if we are there by morning, but I'll be damned if I'm going to miss Corin make that bastard burn. We’ll get there, one way or another."

  "Frigging pyromaniac," Ameena whispered in the darkness, and Inés snorted. She was beginning to rather like the spiky, sharp-tongued girl.

  "You're sure he can do it?" Jean-Pierre demanded, his anxiety obvious. Inés knew well enough that he was not at all certain he liked the man who had dragged his baby sister to some strange magical land, but she knew he didn't want to see her unhappy. “Because if he can’t …”

  "He can do it."

  He looked around, and she saw the jealousy burning in his eyes at the soft tone of her voice, but Inés couldn’t help herself. The thought of all that power, the thought of watching Corin destroy the kings who dared to try and stand in his way, to see him harness the power of all three kingdoms at once … Awe and desire prickled over her skin at the prospect.

  "How do you know?" he demanded, arms folded tight now, his shoulders taut.

  Inés bit back a laugh at the annoyance in his voice; no need to antagonise him, it wasn’t fair. "Because he is the most powerful Fae there has ever been,” she said, unable to keep the reverence from her words. “He has golden eyes, a mark of the old gods - or at least of someone who has been touched by the gods. There has not been another like him since the old ones, the first Fae to walk the earth, and they are little more than legends now, stories told to children at bedtime." She was quiet for a moment and she shook her head, wondering what he faced now. A tremor of doubt shivered down her spine as she remembered how badly he’d needed her help not so long ago. Badly enough that she’d been able to blackmail him into her bed. She didn’t doubt his powers for a moment, but … had he left it too long? "I warned him he couldn't keep running,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  “Running from what?” Ameena asked, sitting forwards.

  “From the call of the land. It demands his powers, it has been seeking him for decades, forcing him to take up his place as king, even though he doesn’t want it. He has been coming to me for help." She sighed, knowing that such help would no longer be needed when he became king. His powers had already far outstripped her own, but as King of the Fae Lands - she shivered with pleasure at the idea.

  Jean-Pierre frowned in the darkness, perhaps sensing her longing. "Help with what?"

  Inés couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her this time, his jealousy was obvious, and rather adorable.

  "For a potion to keep the voices at bay,” she replied, turning to look at the young man beside her and trying hard not to find the scowl on his face ridiculously endearing. “It had become too much to bear, and he began to suffer, even a mind like that can only endure so much. He knew his time was running out but he didn't want it, didn’t want to start a war, to take the power from others by force. Once destiny has you in its grip, though …” She shrugged, knowing the truth of her words only too well. “There is nothing you can do. You can fight all you want,” she said, her voice low now. “But nothing will change."

  ***

  "Corin?"

  As Claudette looked down at him in the dim light of the room, her heart ached with sorrow, her throat tight with emotion. Corin was curled on the bed, the sheets tangled around him, his dark hair spilling out over the white like a blood stain on snow. He was so dreadfully pale. His gold eyes were open, though they didn’t so much as flicker at the sound of her voice. He didn't move a muscle or even glance in her direction, just stared, unseeing, into the darkness.

  Claudette reached out, lighting a candle, and then moved towards to him, still unnerved by the rustle and creak of the thorns as they coiled back to let her pass. Now that she got closer, she could see that he was covered in deep scratches, his usually golden skin covered in blood. His hands were raw and bleeding, too, and lay still, one resting upon the other.

  When she had last seen him, his rage had been incandescent, forcing her back as his magic became too fierce to get close to him. He had shouted and screamed with fury, cursing in the old language that she usually found so beautiful to hear. This, however, had been harsh and so dreadfully angry it had frightened her. She had known he wasn't shouting at her, he was fighting the madness that clawed at his mind and drove him to the edge of what he could stand. Scared as she was, she had almost welcomed his fury. It meant he was still there, still fighting. He had not given up.

  To see him lie so still and quiet, though, that struck terror in her heart.

  Claudette knelt beside the bed and placed the candle on the cabinet, the soft light playing over his face. It showed her the dark circles under his eyes
, the harsh edges of his cheekbones, severe now as he had lost so much weight over the past days.

  Stroking his cheek, she leaned over to kiss him. "Corin, it’s me, it’s Claudette. Speak to me, please,” she begged him, her voice breaking as she forced the words out. “Let me know you are still with me." She blinked away tears, refusing to break down as no reaction came. She had promised him that she would be strong for him, and she would be. There was no time for tears.

  For a moment, she wondered if she should slap him, try to shock him back to some semblance of reality, but couldn't bring herself to do it. He had seen enough pain, she would not be the cause of any more.

  Instead, she smiled to herself, knowing that there was likely only one way to reach him. Claudette unfastened her dress and let it slip to the ground, making sure to stand where he could see her, just in case. She undressed herself, taking her time, and then moved to the other side of the bed and climbed in behind him. Claudette coiled herself around him, feeling how cold he was as her body pressed against his back. She let her hands move over him, soft and caressing, and began to press kisses against his neck, his shoulder, and then moving down his back, following his spine and then retracing her path. One hand slipped around his waist and splayed over his stomach, feeling the taut muscle, hard beneath her fingertips. She trailed her fingers in the dark hair that led her hand lower, and teased, allowing them closer to their goal and then moving away to stroke his chest as her kisses moved over him. Her breath fluttered, warm against his icy skin, her tongue a trail of heat against the chill that held him in its grip.

  With effort, she tugged at his shoulder, pulling him back so that he was lying flat before moving over him, straddling his hips. As she leaned forward, she kissed his neck, nipping at his skin.