by Jen McIntosh
And then it was over.
The night echoed with the ragged gasps of their breathing and the ringing silence of death. He wiped the blood from his blade, flinching from the sound of it splattering the earth beneath his feet. His heartbeat was a dull roar in his ears and rage a bitter taste in his mouth. He rounded on Théon, restraining his temper long enough to shove the sword back in its sheath before he started lambasting her.
‘What the bloody hell was that?’ he snarled, kicking Maeve’s corpse out of his path. ‘Were you trying to get yourselves killed, or are you just incompetent?’
‘Watch your mouth,’ growled Théon, helping Illyandi to her feet.
‘Answer the fucking question then!’
The old man spluttered in indignation. ‘You dare—’
‘You’re damn right I dare.’ Alexan cut him off, gesticulating at Théon and her sister. ‘The two of you have the power to level mountains! And instead, one of you relies only on steel and the strength of your arm in a fight while the other cowers like a child and does nothing?’
‘Blood calls to blood,’ Théon snapped. ‘You understand how it works. By using our power we’ve just announced our presence to anything with magic in its veins for a hundred miles in every direction. Nightwalkers. Darklings. Gods, maybe even a Shade. They’ll all be after us now.’
‘Better that than dying, don’t you think?’
‘We had it covered.’
He laughed at that. ‘No. I had it covered. Now you all owe me a life-debt. Actually, no.’ He paused, pointing at Théon. ‘You owe me two. Now help me clear the path, and let’s get moving.’
She had the good grace not to argue. It took only a few minutes to move the bodies out of their way. They could have done it in less time, but Illyandi refused to help. Didn’t want to get blood on her hands. By some miracle he’d controlled his temper at that pronouncement. Just.
The old man caught his eye as he was swinging up into the saddle. ‘You knew them.’
It wasn’t a question.
‘Jenia’s Hunt. Or part of it, anyway. I trained most of them myself.’
There was a pause. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ he snorted. ‘They’re all Phoenix-born, and we don’t have time to hide the bodies.’
Another pause told him the old man understood what he was saying. ‘How will she find them?’
‘She just will.’
Silvermane let it drop, and they continued on in silence.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was almost sunrise when Théon joined him at the front, pulling her steel-grey stallion alongside him. She said nothing, but he could feel the tension rolling off her. Sensed the argument brewing. Didn’t bother with tact.
‘You need to train,’ he said. There was a heavy pause. From the corner of his eye, he saw her lips purse and her fingers tighten on the reins. But when she looked at him, it was with the air of someone waiting for the punchline of a badly told joke.
‘You think so?’ she asked, unable to hide the amused irony in her voice.
‘Yes. Kieyin almost killed you, and you wouldn’t have lasted long against that Hunt.’ He didn’t bother to mention that if Kieyin had been intent on killing her, she would be dead already.
She snorted. ‘I would have been fine.’
‘Really?’ he snapped. ‘Then why didn’t you use the Casting?’
‘I told you why.’
‘Bullshit,’ he countered. ‘You didn’t hesitate to rely on the Casting against Kieyin. Why not this time?’
Théon snarled, baring her teeth and a wild, unbroken part of herself. ‘I had to use the Casting against Kieyin, but I didn’t need it against the Darklings. I wanted to feel their lives spill out on the edge of my blade.’
‘And that was your first mistake,’ he insisted. ‘You let your emotions cloud your judgement and almost died as a consequence.’
‘I would have used the Casting before—’
‘Your second mistake,’ he said, continuing as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘was insisting on doing it all yourself. Illyandi is at least as powerful as you, and you’ve not trained her to fight. She’s reliant on you for survival. Worse than that. You’re overconfident, undisciplined and reckless, and one of these days, it’s going to get you both killed.’
It was something that had bothered him since he’d first laid eyes on her. Keriath was the same. They were arrogant, the pair of them. That arrogance was likely to be the end of them. Petulant rage crackled in her eyes, that terrible, eerie light pulsing again. But she swallowed it, nodding in understanding.
‘Alright.’
It was a minor victory, but he savoured it. ‘We’ll need to stop and rest soon, but once you’ve recovered, I want to get an idea of what I’m working with. I don’t want to get caught off guard again.’
It was another day before the opportunity to test her presented itself. She was more drained than he’d realised, and it had taken far longer than he’d expected for her to recover. He wasn’t full of energy himself, though he did his best to hide it. But when they both had the strength, and felt safe enough to linger a little longer, he pressed the point.
‘Let’s start with some basic hand-to-hand,’ he said. He picked a wide-open space away from the camp, partly to minimise damage but mostly to avoid the old man’s steely glare. Her overall fitness and competence were a pleasant surprise, but as suspected, her discipline was lacking. He held off mentioning it until the fifth time he’d knocked her into the dirt.
‘Sloppy,’ he noted, stretching a slight tightness in his chest muscles. His own lack of condition was concerning, and his body complained at the rough handling. He’d need to feed sooner rather than later. Théon swore at him, spitting blood from her mouth and touching the side of her face where he’d struck her. He stilled as the scent filled his nose. Gods, the power in that blood. She could sustain him for days if—
He shoved the thought away. Some things didn’t bear thinking about. He chuckled, trying to hide his discomfort. ‘Come on,’ he taunted, ‘I thought your father taught you everything he knew about power and pain?’
She swore again and launched herself at him, tackling him to the ground. It was all too easy for him to use her own weight and momentum against her.
‘You let your emotions control you,’ he told her, pinning her down. Tried to ignore the feel of her body against his. ‘It makes you predictable. Predictable will get you, and your beloved sister, killed.’
Without warning, she went limp, her eyes sliding from his face to stare at the sky above.
‘Let me up,’ she said in a dead voice. He blinked, surprised that the fire had gone from her so fast. Part of him wanted to keep pushing, to find out what had prompted the change, to sniff out the potential weakness there. But he’d seen that expression on her face before. Heard that tone in her voice. Knew what it meant. It had shattered his heart then, and it hurt just as much now. She was lost. Despairing. Hopeless. He released her and stepped back, offering a hand to help her to her feet. She didn’t take it.
‘I’m sorry,’ he heard himself say. But she didn’t even look at him as she turned and walked away. He didn’t follow. Some paths had to be walked alone.
He was more than a little surprised that, when the next opportunity presented itself, she asked to continue training. She’d avoided him after that first session, and he’d kept his distance rather than risk another fight. And although he was pleased she wanted to try again, it was obvious some part of her was still lost in whatever darkness he’d roused.
To be fair, she took his steady stream of instructions without argument or complaint. But her attacks were half-hearted and her defence pathetic. The fight had gone right out of her. Like a candle snuffed out in the snow. And it was his fault. He missed it, that wild savagery. The ferocity. Only the hint of grim determination in those evergreen eyes, glinting every time she picked herself up out of the mud, offered any hope. Downtrodden, yes. Hurting. But not broken. Not
yet. He tried to provoke her, to turn that resolve into aggression, but even the most humiliating defeats got only sullen silence in response.
‘You’re not even trying,’ he said, watching her wipe the blood from her face. He held his breath. Folded his arms across his chest to hide his shaking hands. She didn’t even bother to deny it. ‘Come on,’ he goaded her, ‘even Illyandi could do better than this.’
Something flickered behind those eyes. ‘Leave her out of this.’
He stilled and smiled. There it was.
‘Why?’ he pressed. ‘I was going to wait until we’d made more progress, but she needs this as much as you do. Perhaps more.’ The edges of her aura flickered to life as she fought for control.
‘Don’t. Leave her alone.’
He turned towards the camp. ‘She has to learn to fend for herself.’
‘She lives by Benella’s code,’ Théon snarled. He rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide it. He’d already gathered as much, but it made it no less irritating to hear it out loud. The Graced worshipped the ancient Elf-Queen, but her vow of non-violence had left her – and anyone who had followed her example – vulnerable. Illyandi wouldn’t kill, even to save her own life. But that didn’t mean she shouldn’t know how to fight. Besides, the discussion was getting a rise out of Théon. It was too good to let pass.
‘She should still know how to defend herself,’ he insisted. ‘She can’t rely on you forever. There are plenty of ways to survive without killing anyone.’
‘She knows enough to stay alive,’ Théon ground out from between clenched teeth, ‘and she can always rely on me.’
Alexan shook his head, ignoring the warning tone. ‘Knowing and doing are two separate things. She should practise.’
‘Alexan. Drop it.’ There was no mistaking the pure command in her voice. He repressed a triumphant grin as he turned to look at her, puffing his chest out in a way that he already knew would make her see red.
‘If the only instruction she’s ever had is from you and the old man, she’s likely fucked anyway,’ he said. ‘She wouldn’t last five minutes against a mortal Darkling, let alone someone like Jenia or your father. And if she’s taken alive, well … I’ve seen first-hand what they do to girls like Illyandi. I wonder if she’d shy away from violence if she knew that was her fate?’
Théon snapped. She flew at him, spitting and snarling like a wildcat. He grinned, whooping in triumph as he met her charge. Once again, he used her own weight and momentum against her, throwing her to the ground with ease and pinning her down with the full weight of his body.
‘Once again, Your Majesty,’ he jeered, ‘emotional and predictable.’
She growled and wrenched a leg free, the hint of a Casting flaring around her as her control frayed with her temper. But yet again, she didn’t reach for the magic. She planted her foot, driving up through the hips, and pushed him off her with impossible strength. She twisted quickly, far too quickly, with one of her legs coming down on his neck while the other kicked him beneath his sternum. Winded, he couldn’t stop her as she grabbed his wrist and held it tight to her chest. His arm was trapped between her legs, and she jerked her hips skyward with a vicious smile, wrecking his elbow. He yelled out in pain as the joint tore, but she didn’t stop, twisting his wrist until the bones in his forearm splintered. Then she was on top of him, her fingers gripping his face as her nails bit into his cheeks.
‘This is what happens if I let my emotions control me,’ she breathed, squeezing hard enough that he thought she might just rip his jaw clean off. He could smell the blood from where her nails had broken his skin, but the sting of the wounds had been lost amongst the other pain sweeping through his body. ‘If I am predictable, it is because I’m too much in control – so tightly bound that I cannot breathe.’
She broke off, releasing him and leaping back like he’d burned her. Alexan took a deep breath, luxuriating in the air filling his lungs. He cradled his ruined arm to his chest, rolling to his feet and trying not to wince.
Though there was regret in her steady gaze, there was no hint of an apology on her face. Something flickered behind her eyes, but it was gone before he could register it. Instead, she held out her hand and sighed with impatience when he hesitated. She took his hand, the gentle rush of a Casting gathering.
A wave of dizziness followed as her power swept through him, healing his wounds. She gripped his good arm and held him upright until it passed. He could have done it himself. Would have, if she hadn’t got there first. But he took the gesture as she meant it. A peace offering, if not an apology.
‘Thanks,’ he grunted, flexing his fingers. She nodded in acknowledgement and turned to walk away without a word. But Alexan wouldn’t drop it. He grabbed her elbow and spun her to face him. ‘Théon, please,’ he begged. ‘Don’t do this, not again. We’ve been through this before. I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.’
‘I’m not a child anymore,’ she said, pulling away. ‘I don’t have the luxury of handing out my trust to whoever I wish.’
‘You gave me your trust back then,’ he argued. ‘Why should it be any different now?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Because back then you weren’t a Darkling, bound to my father of all people.’
‘I don’t want to hurt you, Théon.’
‘Whether you want it to or not, it will come down to you or me. Every minute we’re together, you’re studying me for opportunities, assessing anything you can exploit when you’re given your orders. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’
He didn’t bother to deny it. ‘Why do you think I want you to train? I don’t want to hurt you, but I might not have a choice. If that happens, you need to be prepared.’ She sighed and turned away, running a hand through her hair in frustration. He grabbed her again and forced her to look at him. ‘Listen to me, Théon. After everything we went through together … everything we’ve suffered since … I’m not about to turn my back on you now. But I can’t help you if you shut me out.’
She held his gaze, emotions warring behind those evergreen eyes. He forced his expression to remain impassive. He’d seen her like this once before. When she’d returned from more than a decade at her father’s side. She’d been confused and shy. Timid and broken. Unsure who to trust. Diathor had done her best but trying to entice a daughter she barely knew out of her shell was no simple task. And her husband had been no help – if anything, he’d made matters worse. Sarron had been a hard bastard at the best of times. A Shade child living in his home hadn’t improved his manner.
Alexan had witnessed it all. He’d lasted a month before taking the task upon himself. Théon had been taught how to fight by the King, and she’d gravitated towards the training grounds. He’d spotted her there late one evening – long after she was supposed to be in bed – watching him spar. She later confessed that she was plagued by nightmares, and the ring of steel on steel was as close to a lullaby as she’d ever get. So he’d handed her a practice sword and gone from there.
Her voice dragged him back to the present.
‘They bound it,’ she murmured, ‘trapped the power inside, so it couldn’t hurt anyone. But it can hurt me. It whispers to me, trying to make me do things I know I shouldn’t. Sometimes the spell is the only thing stopping me.’
‘What?’ he breathed, his fingers tightening around her arms.
Her eyes widened with fright, and she shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ She gasped. ‘It’s nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not supposed to tell anyone. I was never supposed to tell anyone.’ She was trembling, tumbling over her words in her panic as she tried to run from him. It was a struggle to contain his rage, but he forced himself to control it while he held her fast.
‘Théon,’ he said, his voice firm. ‘Calm down. You’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you. Now tell me what this is about.’
She was shaking, but she met his gaze and nodded. She took a deep breath, though the fear and anxiety did not fade from her eyes, and when
she spoke, her voice was barely more than a terrified whisper. ‘When Kalielle took me from my father … I fought her. Every step of the way, I fought her. Even once I was back in Illyol, I was always looking for a way to escape – to get back to him. The Shade breed true. Children are always loyal to their lineage. We can’t help it. It’s blood magic, corrupted to the extreme.
‘They couldn’t destroy it, not without killing me, so they found a way to suppress the Shade and block the ties binding me to him. It’s a spell – an ancient, powerful spell, far beyond my reckoning. It keeps the Shade power, and all that it entails, bound beyond my reach. I don’t even know if it can be broken, but I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. Not ever. If word got out, my mother knew that my father would tear the world apart to break the spell. She wouldn’t risk that.’
‘But it’s still there, isn’t it? Just biding its time and waiting for an opportunity?’
She nodded. ‘At first, I kept it secret because I didn’t want to let it go. My mother was a stranger, and I wanted to go home. But as my father’s influence over me waned, I saw him – saw myself – as others saw us. Monsters. Monsters that needed to be put down. So I held my tongue out of fear. I was scared that if they ever realised it was still inside me, speaking to me, that they’d kill me rather than risk it breaking free. I realised that the spell couldn’t be broken, not from within anyway. But by then I had grown to love my mother … I didn’t want to hurt her by telling her the truth. She was so happy to see me free, even for only those few years.’
Alexan nodded in understanding. He too would have done anything to protect Diathor from harm. But what was it the old man had said? Just because that magic slumbers, doesn’t mean it is gone. Silvermane understood the inner workings of the spell itself. Théon was still keeping secrets. ‘And now?’ he asked. ‘Why keep lying to them now?’