Dream of Darkness and Dominion

by Hilary Thompson

  She returned the smile, and the seconds slunk by as their eyes held. Coren felt a bloom of hope open inside her chest, but it was swiftly followed by a twist of jealousy wringing her heart so viciously that she doubled over, gasping.

  Sister...remember me.

  She heard the words echo in her mind and then tap again at her heart, like black claws clicking against an empty chamber, clamoring for entry. “Jyesh,” she whispered, the scratch in her throat one of vital fear.

  Suddenly, she was transported back to being eight years old, running along the sand and salt with her twin trailing behind her. He was always a bit behind, never quite catching her, and never quite getting over it.

  As children, they could sometimes channel each other’s pain or happiness. Once in a while, they’d even caught full thoughts from the other’s mind. She’d seen Penna and Kosh do the same, though she didn’t know if it had to do with twin magic, or just knowing someone so well they were like an extension of one’s self.

  She didn’t know Jyesh like that anymore, though. The idea of him filling that spot in her heart now seemed wrong, like the slither of a cold current beneath the summer-warm water.

  Her breath shortened. Her eyes squeezed shut, and the sinews of her chest tightened beneath the image of those claws until she thought she might cease breathing altogether.

  Unknown minutes later, the sensation passed. When Coren finally caught her breath and was able to straighten, she realized the General was supporting her weight. He held her shaking body tight to his, trying in vain to protect her from something he couldn’t begin to imagine.

  He guided her to the chair, and she sank into it, her fingers white on the armrest.

  “My brother,” she managed because she knew an explanation was needed, and fast. “My twin brother. He nears.”

  “So, this brother also holds a claim to the throne? He shares your blood completely?”

  Coren nodded. “I’m older, thankfully. But this is exactly why I must take the throne. The Lord of Witches is not the ruler you want, General. I may be inexperienced, but he’s known nothing but cruelty most of his life. He was molded by Mara herself.”

  Watersend cursed under his breath. “Then we must do what we can to ready you for court before they concoct a plan to be rid of you and fight amongst themselves for the throne.”

  “Thank you.” She placed her hand on his forearm, and he looked down at her fingers. “I will be grateful for your help these next days and weeks, General Watersend.”

  Briefly, he covered her fingers with his. “It will likely take longer than that to sort this mess, but I will help you as long as you are helping Riata.”

  “I will. Thank you,” she repeated. It was much more than she had hoped for.

  “Call me Dain, then,” he added, his voice gruff with an emotion neither of them needed to explore. Her eyes flitted away from his and around the bedroom, remembering just whom this space had so recently belonged to. She would save his country, but she had no business with trying to save his heart.

  Her stomach grumbled, breaking their odd tension.

  He straightened, and she stood, breathing deeply to clear her head. “Are we having a meal in the throne room?”

  Dain nodded. “I thought you might want to eat before that ordeal, though.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He opened the door. “It’s customary for the rulers to provide a banquet to discuss large changes. If the court has mouths full of wine and meat, they spew fewer words.”

  Coren managed a smile, but it felt hollow. Her nerves were strung too tight. This certainly qualified as a large change. She followed him, praying that her spine would indeed prove to be steel, or black diamond, or whatever substance was the strongest in the world.

  AFTER LEAVING THE BEDROOM he’d hoped never to see again, Dain had drawn Corentine through each of the back halls and down narrow, rarely-used stairs before leading her directly into the bustling, steamy cavern of the palace kitchen.

  He glanced about the barely contained chaos, finally resting his eyes on the plump form of the woman who had always served him all he could eat with nothing but kindness and a raised eyebrow. She also had a good habit of telling him exactly what he needed to hear, as a child alone in StarsHelm Palace, and now as a man alone again after his brief happiness with Sala.

  Taking Corentine to Sala’s room had made sense, but it had made him too raw and too open to Corentine. He needed perspective, and that was one of Granida’s specialties.

  “Granida,” he called, and she turned, wiping floury hands on her wide swath of apron.

  She bumped past the tables, her grin as kind as ever, clasping her fingers on his shoulders in a grip built from years of kneading dough and wrangling heavy pots of stew.

  “My Dain. You look well, if a little thin. And who is this?” she asked, never one to miss the point of his visits. “Never mind. This is clearly a young woman who needs to eat more than she needs to talk. Sit.”

  Dain hid his smile as Corentine was all but pushed onto a nearby bench. The rough wooden table before her was soon spread with a full bowl of simple stew, a chunk of rustic bread, and a fancier, silver platter of delicate pastries and sliced fruit that had been returned after breakfast, he guessed.

  He nodded to Corentine and tried not to watch her too obviously as she dug into the meal, closing her eyes in pleasure after nearly every new bite.

  Blinking back to Granida, he flushed at her arched brows.

  “This young woman just may be our next Queen. She holds the King’s blood in her veins,” he began in a low voice. Granida immediately shushed him, casting her eyes about as she bustled him into the vast, shadowy pantry. She closed the door and leaned her considerable weight against it.

  “Is she the one we have prayed for, then?”

  Dain shrugged, but his smile couldn’t be hidden. “She could be. She claims her friend has slain Graeme, and she wears the black diamond. She also claims Mara and Aram fled from the battle in Sulit.”

  Tears had risen in the old woman’s eyes, and she fanned herself with a wrapped bunch of herbs. “Oh, just imagine. She’d make a beautiful queen.” Another raised eyebrow. “She fits well in Sala’s dress.”

  “I have no interest in another woman. You know how much I have lost,” Dain said, cutting her off before she could begin planning a wedding feast. He’d made waves a few years before as Riata’s youngest General, and Granida loved to dream that he might somehow earn his way onto the throne after the King and Queen died.

  Dain had given up trying to convince her it was impossible. “But she claims she doesn’t want to rule; she’s mainly here to keep her twin brother from claiming the throne, or in case Mara returns.”

  “And he isn’t someone we want to rule?”

  “He is the Lord of Witches,” Dain bit out. Granida cursed, blessing herself, fear shining in her eyes. He continued, “I think she’s honest that she doesn’t want to be Queen. But as long as the threat of her brother remains, we can use it to mold her into what Riata needs. Tonight, I’ll pledge to be her protector from the Lords and other Generals. And I’ll be there to offer her advice on each matter, of course.”

  Granida nodded, a knowing smile on her full mouth. “Of course. But I see strength in her you won’t be able to disregard. Sala’s memory won’t always be so strong. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself discontent with such a limited place by this girl’s side.”

  Dain ignored her comment. Granida had been nearly as heartbroken as he when Sala was killed by Brujok several months ago. He knew Granida didn’t mean to hurt him, but he still couldn’t believe he’d brought Corentine into his fiancé’s room and allowed her to wear Sala’s clothing.

  He thought he’d borne it well on the outside, but now each part of him felt made of glass.

  Granida placed her broad palm on his shoulder. “Loving another won’t mean you loved her less.”

  He gritted his teeth. This was going nowhere. “I�
�m not worried about loving anyone.”

  “You need a new mission. Helping this girl will be good for you. FatherSun knows what you need.”

  Dain saw his opening. “I need you to prepare a feast for the court. They wish to question her, and I wish their teeth sunk in your spiced lamikin instead of Corentine’s intentions.”

  Granida let loose a laugh that shook her belly and her extra chin, but she nodded. “That I can do. Now, go sit with your charge and try to resist watching her mouth as she eats.”

  Dain shook his head. There wasn’t a thing in the world to say to stop a woman like Granida. She opened the pantry door and emerged with a shouted list of instructions that whipped the kitchen staff into a storm of activity.

  Corentine watched the people running past and around her with wonder until Dain sat across from her. Then she fastened her gold-flecked eyes on him.

  “Thank you,” she said. “This is like a bit of home.”

  “Of course,” he answered, pleased to see a healthy color in her cheeks. “I wish I could guarantee such a smooth reception with the court, but tonight will be brutal. So, did you know your grandmother was also one of our Commanders?” he asked, quickly changing the course of the conversation. He was curious to know how much of her magic had survived being mixed with the King’s Riatan blood.

  Corentine nodded. “My mother told me once. She almost never spoke of Lorental, though. I have no idea what she looked like or really what she did here. Who could she have been to fall in love with such a man?” Her words softened at the end, speaking to a struggle even more personal than the question of her heritage.

  “I’ve heard tales of her shifter abilities, yet seeing your wings in person...”

  “I have more than wings,” she admitted, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She swallowed a last spoonful of stew, wiping the bowl clean with a final crust of bread.

  “It’s true, then, the rumors that the Weshen have regained their full magic?” He tried to keep his voice neutral. He knew Graeme had slaughtered so many of the Weshen men, bringing others back to rot in the StarsHelm dungeons. He also knew of the Prodigal Knight’s efforts to protect them, but the Knight was just one man against a king.

  “Some of us have, but we are too few. I don’t know if the women and children on the island survived the attack, and I know nothing of what magic the Wesh people scattered throughout Riata might possess now. Some may be very powerful.”

  Her eyes grew faraway, but not sad, and he guessed she knew exactly how much power some of the Wesh might have.

  “And the rumors of a SoulShifter?” he pressed.

  She looked sharply at him. “I did not know there were rumors of such a thing. I assumed Mara had kept that to herself.”

  Dain shrugged. “In a place like StarsHelm, information is bought and sold. Someone always knows your secrets.”

  “And my secrets? How much are they worth to you?” Her voice had grown hard, and Dain realized what he had implied.

  She wasn’t entirely wrong, though.

  “If your plan is to help Riata increase in free people instead of conquered people, then your secrets are worth more than any gold in the King’s treasury. Our rulers have been cruel to your people, but our people also bear the scars of cruelty. Riata deserves a kind and fair ruler.”

  “We all do,” Corentine murmured, considering him for a long moment. Dain felt pleased by her scrutiny, but he was embarrassed to find himself heated around the collar. He cast his eyes to the wooden table, ashamed at how quickly he forgot his mourning for Sala when staring into this stranger’s golden eyes.

  Chapter 7

  AS COREN FOLLOWED DAIN back through the hidden door into the throne room, she was amazed by the swift change.

  The vast space had been transformed into a dramatic dining hall, with a head table on the raised dais, and dozens of long, narrow tables set precisely into the diagonal pattern of the floor. Chairs were arranged so the occupants could look only at the King and Queen before them. Crisp black tablecloths brushed the floor, the tables glistened with cream and silver dishes, and hundreds of tiny candles illuminated the space, casting flickering shadows partway to the high ceiling.

  The windows far above showed that daylight was nearly spent, and again, Coren worried for her friends. She wanted to ask Dain to send soldiers to meet them, but she wasn’t sure she could guarantee that sort of loyalty. Not just yet.

  Sy would know enough from their last visit to wait at the outskirts of the palace until it was safe, though. She wasn’t worried about that. She was more concerned that Jyesh would do something to ruin everything.

  “Mara and Zorander held dinner here at least once a week,” Dain murmured as her eyes swept the room, trying to take in all the strange finery.

  Coren hoped she wouldn’t be expected to do the same. “I thought dinner would only be the people from before,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. There were so many chairs here.

  “I spoke with the other Generals while Gernant was testing your blood. Since you’re not taking our kingdom by force, we thought a vote would be best. It hasn’t been done since Zorander took the throne, but his father, the Silver Sovereign, used representatives elected by the people to advise him. The court is what we have left of that.”

  Coren ran her hand over a silver candlestick and thought about this. She wished they had consulted her as well, but it seemed to be a good plan. “I like the idea of the citizens choosing leaders, and those leaders working together. I’ve never seen it.” Even in Weshen, where things were less formal, General Ashemon’s word was law, and Matron Behrenna’s, too, when the women were alone on the island.

  “I only hope it doesn’t overwhelm you to have many differing opinions. You’ll find General Cusslen agreed to a vote because he thinks you will lose.”

  That thought made her nervous.

  What if the people truly didn’t want her as their ruler? Would she have any reason to stay?

  Dain bent close to her ear as he guided her toward the thrones. “I don’t think you will lose.”

  Side doors opened, and soldiers began to file in, lining the walls. Coren raised her eyebrows as the space filled with guards, even more than there were seats at the tables. She looked pointedly at Dain.

  “My Northern army. It’s a precaution. And a show of power.”

  “Your power or mine?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. She decided not to press the point and stepped onto the dais, reluctant to begin. The paired thrones were centered at the head table, with two plates on either side. “One for each General?” Coren guessed, remembering she’d seen four.

  She stepped onto the dais, reluctant to begin. The paired thrones were centered at the head table, with two plates on either side. “One for each General?” Coren guessed, remembering she’d seen four.

  He nodded. “We have Generals heading the North, South, East, and West armies. Mine is Northern.”

  Coren eyed the pair of plates before the thrones. “But who is supposed to sit next to me?”

  Dain’s eyes widened. “A mistake. I’ll call a servant.”

  She smiled. “No need.” Using her shifter magic, she dissipated an extra place setting, sending the sources to a waiting tray in the corner. She started to push away the King’s throne with her magic as well but paused.

  “I will not marry to take this throne,” she warned.

  He smiled, but the expression was tight. “I’m glad to hear you have your own mind on that. However, it’s part of Riatan law that a Queen may not rule more than a year unmarried. Nor can a King,” he added, and she raised her brows. “Riata recognizes balance, too, though in a different way than Weshen and Sulit.”

  “You’ve studied our people?”

  “All Generals are educated in the ways of countries Riata wishes to conquer.” His tone was laced with a bitterness she was relieved to hear.

  “Then you must know that Weshen have not wed in decades.” She looked at the Queen’s t
hrone, considering what Resh would do. With a shove of shifting, she reduced it to a pile of boards beneath the tablecloth.

  Dain stared at the empty space next to the King’s throne, his mouth open as though to protest. “By the FatherSun,” he muttered, clamping his lips closed before the curse could finish.

  Coren scooted the King’s throne to the center and sat on the edge. “I have Zorander’s blood. I’ll take Zorander’s chair.” The massive seat seemed to tower over her, but if she imagined Resh watching, she knew her sly one would approve. No, she wouldn’t take Riata by force.

  But she also wouldn’t let their traditions and prejudices run her life. She reminded herself that she was here to change Riata into a better country. She needed to assert her power now, so when she proposed something as huge as allowing the conquered countries their freedom, she would at least be sitting in the correct chair.

  Coren flushed as she examined the three plates and seven utensils set before her, then the four glasses, all of different shapes and sizes. This was nearly the entire contents of her kitchen on Weshen Isle.

  “I have no idea what to do with any of this,” she admitted, just as the throne room’s doors burst open, and people began to flood into the great hall. The good meal she’d eaten in the kitchen threatened to come right back up as she watched the tables fill with suspicious, curious, and gossiping faces.

  Suddenly, she felt even more alone than the day she’d been banished, when all of Weshen fed her one mouthful of food at a time and sent her away without even a word goodbye.

  “You’ll be doing more talking than eating, though I suggest you don’t drink the wine at all,” Dain said, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Is it poisoned?” she asked. She had meant it to be a joke, but her voice trembled.

  Dain’s face was grim, however, as he nodded toward a pale servant waiting just at the edge of the dais. “It’s just strong. But we do have a taster ready.”

  Her stomach churned at the idea. Could she sense the source of a poison in her food? She doubted it. She may be able to separate the sources, but knowing a spice from a poison would be impossible without training she didn’t have.