by Jen McIntosh
‘What did you see?’ she asked.
Lucan gulped. ‘Darklings. You?’
‘The same. And … a tower. Two women.’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘I can’t remember their faces.’
‘And the woman in the forest? With the scars?’
She nodded slowly.
‘It’s not real,’ she whispered, her eyes wide and her hand pressed to her chest as she tried to catch her breath. ‘It was just a dream.’
‘Yes, just a dream,’ he said, rolling his eyes. His throat was sore from yelling, not that he’d share that. He didn’t want her fussing over him all night. So he threw his covers back with a sigh. ‘Come on.’
She dithered for a moment then scurried across the room and crawled in beside him. He forced himself not to flinch when her icy toes pressed against his leg. She would laugh at him if he did. Besides, he was used to it. She always suffered in the cold.
‘Lucan?’ she murmured.
‘Yes?’
‘Why do you think we have the same dreams sometimes?’
Lucan hesitated for a moment. He’d asked himself that question often enough. He had his own theories about it, but she’d never believe them, and he was too tired to argue.
‘I don’t know,’ he sighed. ‘Perhaps it’s because we’re twins.’
Suriya nodded. ‘That would make sense, I suppose.’
A change in her breathing, moments later, told him she was asleep. But Lucan couldn’t sleep. He lay for hours, staring up at the ceiling, replaying his dream. Who was the beautiful, burned woman? And why were the Darklings chasing her? Where was the tower, and who were those two women? Their faces had seemed familiar, yet he could no longer recall either. Had they said their names? He couldn’t remember. And what had they been talking about? Questions continued to race round and round in his head until exhaustion claimed him.
Renila didn’t seem surprised to see Suriya snoring away in Lucan’s bed when she bustled into their room the next morning. His sister had been restless after their nightmare, so he’d given up on sleep and moved to the armchair by the window to watch the sunrise. He was still there when their nursemaid entered – though nursemaid was perhaps an unfair description of her role in their lives. There had been plenty of times growing up where she’d seemed more like a mother to them than their actual mother. Not that it was hard …
He braced himself for a lecture – she’d nagged for months about how tired he looked every morning before he’d told her about the dreams. Not that it had helped; she just fussed more than ever. It wasn’t until he could hear her stripping the sheets off Suriya’s unoccupied bed that he dared to glance around.
Shorter than Lucan and skinnier than Suriya, Renila didn’t seem much older than the twins at a glance. She had bright amber eyes and hair the colour of red wine, and a smile warmer than hot chocolate by the fireside in winter. As always, she hummed to herself while she moved around the room, pulling clothes from the dresser to lay out for them.
‘It happened again,’ he mumbled.
She paused and looked up, her face creasing with worry.
‘More nightmares?’
He nodded. ‘Both of us.’
‘What happened?’
‘A woman was being chased through the forest,’ he began. He broke off, forcing himself not to sound so afraid. ‘I think they were Darklings.’
Renila crossed the room and touched a reassuring hand to his cheek. ‘It was just a dream. Darklings don’t exist, Lucan. They’re just a bedtime story.’
Behind her, Suriya stirred, and he looked back out the window. Renila’s worry was bad enough. He didn’t want to deal with his sister’s too.
Suriya was trying very hard to sit still. She ground her teeth in frustration as Renila pulled a comb through the snarls of her dark gold hair. Lucan had shot her a glare when she’d woken, then he’d darted off before Renila could insist on brushing his hair too. Through the open window, Suriya could hear him playing in the courtyard with the other boys. She didn’t need to ask what the glare had meant. Sometimes she could almost read her brother’s mind.
Say nothing about the dream.
And even though it chafed against her better instincts, she’d do as he wished. It was always her burden to yield to her brother.
‘Renila?’
‘Mmm?’ Renila mumbled, a large hair pin clamped between her lips.
‘Would you tell me a story?’ she asked. ‘Please?’
Renila stuck the pin in her own hair and fixed Suriya with a knowing look. ‘Since you asked so nicely. Any one in particular?’
‘One you haven’t told me before,’ requested Suriya, after a beat.
Renila hesitated, her brow furrowing. Then her gaze became distant, as if she was drifting down into the story itself.
‘There are many tales of the mighty heroes who have walked this land, many tales of the Graced warriors and their great deeds. But only one speaks of their origins,’ she began. ‘Destined to be the light in the darkness, they were born during the depths of Sephiron’s Rebellion and tempered like steel. Forged in the fires of battle and quenched in the blood of their enemies.
‘The Immortals were losing the war. They were powerful, yes. But their numbers were few, and their enemy was many. For every Darkling they destroyed, ten more would take their place. During the darkest days, when hope was all but lost, their leaders sought desperately for the power to end the war. But they knew the price Sephiron had paid for his power, and they refused to sacrifice their souls for that same black magic.
‘It was only when, in his madness, Sephiron stole a newborn babe from her crib that the tide began to turn. No one knows why he took the child, but it was like the falling of small stones that begin a landslide. For it was not just any child he stole, but the only grandchild of one of the great Immortal Princes.
‘Enraged, the Prince and his son rallied their people and rode out to war and ruin. Left behind, alone with her grief, the child’s mother planned her own revenge. She was one of the mightiest daughters of her people – a Princess in her own right, revered by all for her wisdom and power. And now all her rage was turned against the Dark Prince Sephiron and his twisted spawn.
‘She alone realised that they could not hope to defeat the enemy by themselves. Not when they were so hopelessly outnumbered. She began to think like her enemy. If magic had created Sephiron’s army, it could create one for her.’
A sharp rap at the door broke the spell of Renila’s words.
‘Lady Suriya!’ called a voice from the hall. The Lady’s maid. ‘Breakfast is ready and waiting.’
Renila shook herself and with deft hands finished the intricate style into which she had woven the girl’s hair. Then she pulled Suriya to her feet, checked her dress was clean and not creased, and ushered her outside and down the hall.
‘That’s not the end of the story,’ Suriya objected as Renila guided her towards the stairs.
‘I’ll tell you the rest later, I promise,’ Renila assured her.
Suriya threw her a look heavy with disappointment and trudged downstairs to join her mother in the dining room.
Pausing on the threshold, she studied the Lady of the keep. She sat at the head of the table, her back straight and proud, holding a letter in one hand and pouring her morning tea from the pot with the other. She didn’t even glance up from the letter as her daughter entered the room, and Suriya was thankful for that.
Neither Suriya nor Lucan looked anything like their mother – or each other, in truth. She was petite with dark gold hair and eyes, while Lucan had blue eyes and silvery-blonde hair. He was tall and fair-skinned, where Suriya had a distinctly olive cast to her complexion.
Their mother, by comparison, was pale and statuesque – her pure-white hair so at odds with her breathtaking face, unlined and untouched by age. And her eyes … her eyes were other-worldly. As vast and endless as the night sky. Deepest, darkest blue with hints of emerald, magenta, aqua and violet swirling thr
ough them – the light of a billion stars glittering in their limitless depths, if Suriya was feeling poetic. Eerie, if she was being more honest about it. She didn’t know how anyone who wasn’t the Lady’s daughter could even bear to meet her gaze.
‘Good morning, Mother,’ she said, curtseying as she made to sit down.
Those eerie eyes glanced up from the letter. ‘Good morning. I trust you slept well.’
Suriya hesitated, instincts raging. Lucan would be furious if she mentioned the nightmares.
But what if their mother could help them?
Her mother raised a delicate eyebrow when she noticed Suriya’s hesitation. Cursing her brother and his pride, Suriya smiled and slid into the chair across the table. ‘Yes, quite well, thank you.’
Her mother frowned but returned to her letter.
‘Where is your brother?’ The Lady gestured at his empty place with a jerk of her chin. Suriya shrugged. ‘Don’t shrug, Suriya, it’s not ladylike. Now, where is Lucan?’
‘I don’t know. He’d already left when I woke up.’
Her mother’s scowl deepened, but she said nothing. Instead, she folded the letter, set it aside and began eating her breakfast in silence.
Lucan had, in fact, finished his breakfast hours ago and was hungry enough for a mid-morning snack. Which was how he ended up racing through the kitchens with a large loaf of bread straight from the oven clutched to his chest.
‘Master Lucan! You come back here with that!’ yelled Mal, the large woman who ran the kitchens. He ignored her, dodging the hands grabbing for him with ease. Then there was an almighty clatter as she slammed her rolling pin on the countertop and knocked over a tower of pans. In amongst a torrent of swearing, she barked after him, ‘I’ll tell your mother!’
That pulled him up short, but only so he could turn and laugh in disbelief. She wouldn’t dare. Everyone in the castle feared his mother. It was an unwritten rule that you didn’t speak to her unless she spoke to you first. And that went for her children too.
Mal scowled at him, waving him away.
‘You make sure you share that with Erion,’ chided the blacksmith, Alec, standing by the door waiting for Mal to hand him whatever she wanted repaired that day.
Lucan just winked at him and darted away.
He raced through the corridors, ducking into rooms and slipping through as many hidden passageways as he could to avoid the few people he might encounter. He knew all the castle’s secrets. As soon as he’d been old enough to walk, he’d started exploring, and now he knew every inch. Quite right too, since it would be his one day.
He paused just long enough to make sure no one was watching then slipped into his mother’s library, knowing she’d be in the dining room having breakfast with Suriya. He crept over the squeaky floorboards, crossed the room and heaved open the bookshelf beside the fireplace to reveal a long, narrow passage behind it. With a grin, he flitted inside and pulled it closed behind him. He hurried down the dark corridor, despite the darkness, clutching his prize tight to his chest. Still warm from the oven, the smell wafting up into his face making his mouth water.
It didn’t take long to reach the end of the passage. He’d learned the hard way to count his steps so he avoided banging his head off the door at the end. He pressed his ear to the door, listening for a moment before knocking. The door creaked open in answer. A pale but serious face appeared in the gap, but once the aroma of warm bread wafted through, the serious expression broke into a broad grin.
Lucan almost laughed. Trust Erion to get excited about bread. He was always hungry. Mal had once said the boy had an appetite like a half-starved bitch with a litter of ten pups. Not that Lucan was much better.
‘Took you long enough,’ Erion said, throwing the door wide open. He was tall for his age – taller than Lucan – but still built like a skinny little boy. His hair was dark and his face plain. He was almost unremarkable …
At least, if it wasn’t for his eyes.
Peculiar didn’t even begin to describe them. They never seemed to be one set colour, but instead, changed with his moods. When he was happy, they were a bright amber colour, just like Renila’s. When he was angry, they turned a ferocious wolf-yellow. When he was unsettled, they became a deep, stormy grey. Sometimes they were green, sometimes blue, and sometimes they were the colour of amethyst or as pale as the moon.
They’d been friends so long that Lucan barely noticed it. What he did notice, however, were the ever-darkening circles beneath those peculiar eyes. He pushed into the room, turning his back to hide the worry on his face. Erion wouldn’t appreciate it.
‘I was trying not to get caught,’ explained Lucan, throwing himself down on the bed. Erion flopped down next to him and held his hand out. Lucan broke the bread in two and handed the larger piece over without a word, trying not to laugh as Erion bit into it with feverish excitement.
‘Mmm, it’s still warm,’ he mumbled, around a mouthful of fluffy white dough.
Lucan grinned, happy to see him eating again, and began picking at his own piece. ‘Mal spotted me,’ he said, after a minute. ‘Threatened to tell my mother.’
‘No chance,’ Erion snorted. ‘Far more likely to tell mine.’
‘Where is Renila anyway?’
Erion shrugged. ‘She went upstairs to get you and your sister up, but I haven’t seen her since then.’
Lucan grunted and then there was silence, save for the sound of teeth ripping into bread. When they were finished, Erion stood and made to leave, but Lucan didn’t move. Instead, he asked, ‘What do you know about Darklings?’
Erion looked at him, eyes cold and grey as his fingers played with the ring he wore on his left hand. A family heirloom given to him by his mother, still too big for him, the design of outstretched wings holding a glittering red jewel, fitting only his thumb.
‘You mean, other than the things my mother made up to scare us into doing as we’re told?’ he asked. Then he frowned. ‘You and Suriya having the nightmares again?’
Lucan nodded, picking up a piece of string and twisting it round his fingers. ‘I’m sure they were Darklings. They looked like people, but their eyes … they were dark and empty, but when they smelled blood … they glowed red.’
Erion’s eyes changed, and his gaze turned piercing. They were his cat eyes, Renila said, the ones he used when he was trying to stare right into your soul. Lucan fidgeted under the scrutiny. Only a few months separated them, and though it was Lucan who’d always been their leader, Erion was the cannier of the two. Lucan was the intrepid one, though lately he’d become increasingly unsure of himself. Not that he’d ever admit it.
‘They’re getting worse, aren’t they?’ Erion asked. Lucan glanced up from the piece of twine in his hands. Erion’s dark brows knitted together in concern as he studied his friend, eyes shifting back to dark grey.
Lucan nodded. ‘At first they were just flashes. Then they were all strange, like I was watching them through coloured glass. Then they were blurry, like I was seeing them from far away. But last night’s was clear. Like I was right there. Except that I can’t remember half of it – just that there was a woman being chased by Darklings.’
‘Did Suriya have it too?’
‘Yeah.’
Erion’s eyes narrowed, but he took a deep breath. ‘From what I remember of the stories, Darklings are basically people, like you and me, but tainted by corrupt magic. The magic makes them stronger and faster, but it also sort of freezes them in time. I mean, they don’t grow old. I don’t think they’re immortal exactly. They can still be killed, but they need to drink blood – to steal the life-force of others – to survive.’
‘But they’re just a story?’ said Lucan, more a prayer than a statement.
Erion shrugged. ‘I’ve never seen one – have you?’
‘No, I guess not,’ admitted Lucan.
‘There you go. Besides,’ he added, ‘if Darklings are real, then so are the Graced.’
Lucan looked up and sm
iled. He hadn’t considered that. Even the possibility changed everything. He stood, brushing breadcrumbs from his hands. ‘What’s the bet that old Mal has got more bread ready for the taking?’
‘Or cakes!’ laughed Erion, darting across the room.
Lucan tore after him, worries long-forgotten.
Lucan avoided both Renila and his mother for the entire day. He and Erion had returned to the kitchens to steal some sweet cakes, and found Suriya there, covered in flour as she endured a lesson in breadmaking. She’d caught up with them later, having extricated herself from the washing up, and they’d spent the rest of the day racing through the meadow with the other children.
As the sun set, they returned into the castle for their dinner and, attempting to avoid their mothers further, ate with the other children in the kitchens. They gorged themselves on roast chicken with thick onion gravy, carrots, parsnips and mashed potatoes. Mal even gave them the leftover sweet cakes, drizzled with honey, for dessert.
Stuffed and unable to climb the stairs to their room, they retreated to the library where someone had lit a fire. His sister curled up in her favourite chair nearby while Lucan lay stretched out on the rug before it, his eyes closed and his hands behind his head. He was vaguely aware of Erion scanning a bookcase on the other side of the room, and that Suriya was watching their friend closely. No doubt searching for any sign of the sickness returning. She had a tendency to fuss, though for once, Lucan didn’t blame her. This last bout had been particularly bad, though Erion seemed to be recovering.
‘Did you tell him about the dream?’ she whispered.
He opened his eyes with a frustrated sigh, but the spiteful retort died on his lips as he met her gaze. Rolling over to see her properly, the fear in her eyes was clear.
‘Yes.’