by Jayne Castel
The Captain of Anthor smiled then, yet it was not a warm expression. “You’ve never met my father.”
“A ruthless man then. Thank you, captain. That’s valuable to know. Now, I’ll ask you one last time … what are your father’s plans?”
Only silence answered him.
A pause drew out, before the Captain of Anthor’s face paled. His arms started to tremble. He was fighting something—a force that sought to gain control of him.
For the first time Asher saw fear flicker in Elias’s dark eyes. And yet he still fought the Thracken, his body growing taut. Asher had heard of this dark art, the ability to reach inside someone’s mind and force them to your will. Those of the Light could do it; but all of his order were forbidden from doing so. Enchanters of the Light could only enter the body of others to heal them, not to manipulate or harm. They could not break that fragile bond of trust.
Darg had no such concern. The Thracken had gone still, when Asher smelt a sweet, pungent odor, like the air after a heavy thunderstorm—the scent of enchantment—and felt the power of it prickle his skin.
Elias let out a roar as his hands lifted and grasped around his own throat.
Around him the shadow creatures stirred. The Nightgenga nearest watched the captain with rheumy eyes, its large, white hands twitching at its sides, its flat face keen. Next to it, Dusk Imps squealed, raking their claws on the stone seat, as if it took all their will not to launch themselves at the Captain of Anthor.
One of the men of Anthor—the sharp-featured, bearded soldier—shouted a curse and launched himself at Elias. The other soldiers followed. Yet the shadow creatures flanking the men merely grabbed them, hauling them back. They would not come to their captain’s aid.
Elias fell to his knees. His hands had clamped around his neck; he was literally squeezing the life out of himself.
Mira muttered something under her breath, while next to her Ninia inhaled sharply. Asher couldn’t look away from Elias. The man was strong; he fought the Thracken’s pull with bared teeth. Only, his hands would no longer obey him. The man’s face grew dark as the lack of air started to affect him. Moments more and the captain would die.
Elias suddenly let go of his neck and pitched forward, choking and gasping for breath.
“That was a taste,” the Thracken said, its voice rising over the excited chatter of shadow creatures, all craning forward to watch the unfolding spectacle. “I can make you do much worse to yourself, prince. Next I shall make you gouge out each eye.”
Asher watched Elias look up, still gasping for breath, defiance twisting his face. “Do it then.”
“Tell him what he wants to know,” Mira choked out. “Spare us at least.”
Elias heaved in a breath, his gaze swiveling to her. “What’s wrong?” he croaked. “No stomach for torture?”
“I can tell you what the King of Anthor plans,” Ninia blurted. She had turned to face the Thracken. “I’m Ninia, Princess of Thûn.”
Darg’s attention shifted from Elias to Ninia, while around them the hall quietened. “What do you know, girl?”
“Reoul of Anthor has long coveted the Swallow Throne,” she replied, a quaver in her voice. “He invaded Thûn, murdered my family, and sent his son after me to make sure there would never be a claim to the throne.” She broke off here and heaved in a deep breath. “But Thûn isn’t enough for him. He now mounts a campaign against Rithmar.”
Darg watched her, the captain momentarily forgotten. “How did you come by this information?”
Asher glanced over at Elias and saw he was staring at Ninia, lips parted.
“I’m royalty,” she replied without a trace of arrogance. “I grew up surrounded by politics … and I paid attention to the things my father and his advisers discussed.”
“So when will Reoul press north?”
A beat of hesitation followed before Ninia replied. “Late spring at the latest.”
Asher watched Elias’s face as the princess spoke. The captain’s gaze narrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but a gesture from Darg cut him off.
How does she know this? Asher swiveled his attention back to Ninia. No enchanter of either the Light or the Dark had ever been able to read minds.
Darg, Lord of the Thracken, watched Ninia. Asher had the unnerving sense that the plans of Reoul of Anthor were no longer of interest. This young woman had drawn its attention.
“A princess and an enchanter.” The cold voice echoed in the now silent hall. “The servants of the shadows saw what you did to those men. Such power for one so young.” The empty cowl shifted to Asher, and he felt something heavy grip him by the shoulders, pinning him to the spot. “She is even stronger than you, Asher of the Light.”
Asher sucked in a breath. “How—”
“How do I know your name? We all know it—Asher of the Light is a cursed name here. I was there that night beneath the Shadefells. I saw you bend torchlight to your will and strike us down. But now you walk into our domain, making an offering of yourself.” Darg paused here, a growl rising from the surrounding benches. “For years enchanters have hunted us, pushed our kind back into the margins. Your death won’t just be an execution; it will be retribution. You should have chosen another path west.”
Asher swallowed. He had not realized shadow creatures had the wit to harbor grudges. Until today he’d never imagined them capable of organizing themselves, that there was a pecking order among them, or that they had a base or a purpose beyond serving the Shadow King. He’d been ignorant of much it seemed.
The Thracken’s gaze swept from Asher to where Ninia and Mira stood beside him. “I was going to execute the prince of Anthor and his men first … but I’ve changed my mind.”
Asher’s pulse accelerated. Around him the gathered shadow creatures roared. They were hungry for blood; he could almost taste their eagerness.
“Bring them up here,” Darg commanded, moving back from the edge of the dais.
30
Our King No More
MIRA WATCHED EVENTS unfold—frozen to the spot as if her feet had grown roots.
A Nightgenga unfolded itself from where it crouched a yard away and moved toward her. Strangler hands reached out and gripped her by the arms, hauling her up the steps toward the dais. Struggling against the creature’s bruising grip, she glanced over at where Asher fought the grasp of a Hiriel.
“Mira,” he rasped, despair in his eyes. “I—”
The Hiriel yanked him forward. He was a tall man, but the shadow creature dragged him easily up onto the platform. Ninia, herded by a growling Fen Hound, followed close behind.
Upon the dais, Mira stepped close to Ninia and placed an arm around the girl’s trembling shoulders. The Thracken shifted back to the far edge, leaving the three of them alone.
“Dusk Imps,” Darg called out. “Come forward.”
A howl went up, and a babbling frenzy of small dark imps, their tails switching from side to side, surged out onto the aisle. They pushed and elbowed each other out of the way to get to their destination first, their lean, whip-like bodies quivering with anticipation.
Mira watched them rush toward the platform, shoving the men of Anthor aside as they went. Captain Elias looked on, his face still ashen from the encounter with the Thracken. His gaze met Mira’s for a moment, and held. In the depths of his eyes she saw something move. Pity, despair, vindication—it was difficult to tell.
Mira looked away, following the tide of imps that now clambered up onto the platform. They jabbered, one or two starting to scrap as their blood-lust rose. A squeal of pain echoed through the hall when one of the imps near the front sank its teeth into its neighbor’s neck.
Asher tried to step forward, to provide a physical barrier to Ninia and Mira, but Mira hauled him back. Their gazes met, and she shook her head. “We face this together.”
Next to Mira, Ninia whimpered. They’d all seen how the Dusk Imps killed; they’d witnessed the bloody pulp that soldier had been reduced to the
night before.
The imps had worked themselves up to a frenzy now. Some of them were scrabbling at the polished stone floor, sharpening their claws, while others strained forward whining in eagerness. One of the imps let out a howl, while beside it another starting yipping like an overexcited hound. They were waiting for their lord to give the command to attack.
Mira’s chest began to ache, and she realized she was holding her breath, waiting for the frenzy to begin. Her bladder started to tingle.
Ninia was weeping now, her cheeks wet, her eyes wild. Asher had gone still. His gaze swept the surging mass before him. He moved closer to Ninia then and whispered something to her, something that Mira didn’t catch.
Ninia didn’t take her eyes off the imps as he spoke, although her features tightened. She shook her head. “No,” she gasped. “I can’t.”
“You have to,” Asher replied, his voice hard and flat. “Or we all die.” He said something else after that, but the whooping, heckling, and cackling that echoed down from the seats around them drowned his voice out. The shadow creatures were standing up now upon the stone benches, calling for the execution to begin.
“Attack!” The Thracken’s voice sliced through their chatter.
The Dusk Imps surged. A scream rose in Mira’s throat. They were coming for her.
“Ninia!” Asher’s voice cut above the roar, savage with fear. “Do it!”
“No!” Ninia shrieked in reply—but even as she screamed the air inside the great hall shifted.
The darkness around them, the shadowed corners where the otherworldly glow of the Hiriel didn’t reach, came to life. A formless bulk rose from the edges of the cavernous space and roared toward the dais, unleashed.
A dark entity rushed toward them. The men of Anthor threw themselves to the floor, as the howling wind flew overhead.
The darkness flowed like liquid pitch, hurtling into the midst of the crowd of Dusk Imps just as the creatures reached the three of them. The first had just raked its claws down Ninia’s leg, but the girl was oblivious. She stood tall, eyes squeezed shut, her right hand sweeping before her as she gathered the Dark.
The Dark … Mira watched Ninia, confusion warring with terror … but how?
The shadows found their voice, a howl that shook the walls. They clove into the imps, picking up the small creatures and whipping them into a vortex that now raced around Asher, Mira, and Ninia.
Then, when the shadows had gathered the last of the struggling imps up into their embrace, they released them. Dusk Imps scattered like autumn leaves caught by a dust devil. Their bodies writhed, and their limbs cartwheeled. The imps’ mouths were open wide in screams of wordless rage. They flew shrieking through the air, propelled back into the crowd.
At the far edge of the dais, the group of Thracken drew back, crouching low to avoid the edges of the tempest that raged before them.
The Dark continued to roar, rotating around the Ninia, Mira, and Asher for a short while longer, before it quietened to a rippling pool at their feet.
Ninia opened her eyes, her gaze sweeping across the chaos she had wreaked. For a moment, Mira barely recognized her; Ninia looked older and harder, her eyes luminous and ageless. Her expression was savage.
The princess flexed her right hand, and the Dark answered her, expanding and growling upon the dais, readying itself for her next command.
“Enough,” Asher rasped from beside her. “Let them lie for now.”
Ninia blinked, as if realizing that the enchanter stood beside her. She came out of the trance she’d entered after gathering the Dark, and her features softened. The girl Mira knew returned to the world.
At the edge of the platform, the group of Thracken slowly rose to their full height once more. Darg inched forward, careful not to touch the swirling shadows that still warded the three prisoners. Silence fell in the great hall, broken only by the whimpers of the fallen Dusk Imps.
“What trickery is this?” Darg whispered through the stillness.
Ninia’s eyes were huge on her pale face as she stared back at the Thracken.
Mira’s mind whirled. She knew the basic rules of enchantment—there were few alive in The Four Kingdoms who did not. Enchanters could gather either the Light or the Dark. Only Valgarth the Shadow King had ever been able to master both.
Yet she’d seen Ninia do just that. They all had.
“She wields both the Light and the Dark,” Asher said when it was clear Ninia wasn’t going to answer. “Would you deny what you’ve just witnessed?”
Mira’s gaze flicked between her companions’ faces, confusion giving way to a chill that drilled deep into the marrow of her bones. They’d both known, she realized, but Ninia and Asher had deliberately kept the truth from her.
Asher glanced across at Mira and saw her face go stiff. A dull sense of fatalism rose within him.
She hasn’t heard the worst of it yet—she’ll hate me when she does.
The hollow rasp of the Lord of the Thracken’s breathing drew Asher’s attention from Mira then. He became aware that the audience of shadow creatures around them—including the Dusk Imps, who had peeled themselves up off the floor—now stood, heads bowed. Meanwhile, Elias and his men had also gotten to their feet and were looking around them in confusion.
Asher tensed. He too wasn’t sure what this meant.
“Mistress,” Darg whispered. “Forgive us.”
The Lord of the Thracken bowed low, seeming to diminish in size. Darg’s companions followed suit, and then—upon the staircase of benches that circled the dais—the audience of shadow creatures all did the same.
Asher glanced back at Ninia to see her observing the scene before her, a stunned look on her face. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.
The Thracken raised its hood. The void within its cowl appeared a deeper black even than the shadows that now slumbered at Ninia’s feet. “We serve the Master of the Light and the Dark.” Darg’s thin voice grew strident. The Thracken lord raised its arms high into the air. “Valgarth is lost to us, our king no more … all hail, Ninia, Daughter of Light and Darkness. Our queen.”
A roar went up in the great hall, one that shook the walls and echoed high into the domed ceiling. Asher stared, alarmed at the sight of all these creatures who now prostrated themselves before Ninia. He had wanted to believe the princess would learn to use her abilities as a force for good in the world. Would this corrupt her?
He glanced back at Ninia and saw that she was trembling. Stepping close, he put an arm around her shoulders.
“I don’t want this,” she whispered to him, her usual confidence stripped away after all she had endured in this chamber. “They terrify me.”
Asher squeezed her gently. “Good,” he replied, wariness rising within him, as the cheering continued in waves that rose and fell like surf upon a rocky shore. “Never forget what these creatures are.”
Eventually, the cheers died away. The mood had altered in the hall. Gone was the menace; the atmosphere was now reverent. The shadow creatures appeared almost docile.
Standing between Asher and Mira, Ninia relaxed her right hand, and the shadows surrounding them on the dais dissolved, slipping back into the dark corners of the vast chamber.
“What do you wish, mistress?” The Thracken lord prostrated itself further, robes pooling upon the stone. “We exist to serve you.”
Ninia swallowed, her gaze darting around the hall.
“Play along,” Asher whispered to her. “We’re not out of danger yet. They want a queen … so give them one.”
Ninia’s mouth compressed, although she managed a nod. She stepped away from Asher then and moved forward so that she stood before Darg. The Lord of the Thracken still knelt before her.
“You may rise,” she said. Watching her, Asher fought an ironic smile. Of course, this was easy for Ninia—she had been born knowing how to command others.
The Thracken complied, rising to its full height, as did its silent companions.
“You may serve me by escorting me and my two companions to the western edge of this forest,” she continued. “We must leave Thûn.”
“But you will not be safe in Rithmar either, mistress,” Darg replied. “People will fear you … they will try to slay you.”
Ninia gave a tight smile. “They can try.”
“Remain here, mistress. We will protect you. Together we can bring down the kingdoms of men.”
Ninia’s small body tensed. “I’m not Valgarth,” she said after a long pause. “I have no interest in war and conquering. If I am your queen then you must heed me. There will be no campaign against The Four Kingdoms.”
Silence echoed through the hall, before the cowled head eventually dipped. “As you wish, mistress.”
A chorus of Hiriel voices shattered the hush that followed. “What of the prince of Anthor and his men?” A few of them slid from their seats and entered the aisle, surrounding Elias and the four battered soldiers that stood with him. “We shall end them for you, mistress.”
The Prince of Anthor straightened his spine, his hands flexing by his sides as he readied himself. He was without weapons. Yet he would fight. Likewise, his men stepped closer to him, preparing to protect their prince with their lives.
“No.” Ninia’s voice cut across the room. “Don’t kill them.”
The Hiriel gave a collective shriek, their opaque forms expanding and their eyes burning bright. “Why, mistress? These men were hunting you … they would slay you now. They don’t deserve your mercy.”
Ninia shook her head. “Enough blood has been shed. Take them to the eastern edge of the forest, and set them free.”
This command caused a growl of outrage to ripple around the hall. Asher hadn’t expected Ninia to take control like this.
“They’re right, Ninia,” Mira muttered. “Save your mercy for those who deserve it.”
“They were following orders,” Ninia countered. “I’ll not kill them for that.”
A few yards away, Elias of Anthor watched Ninia. His face was taut, for he’d been readying himself to die. The fact he’d been spared probably had not yet sunk in. Around the captain, his men were shaken and pale. The Hiriel, still shrieking their disappointment, drew back, taking their seats once more.
