Dream of Darkness and Dominion

by Hilary Thompson

  “I don’t even know how I can defeat Mara when she returns, much less how to battle an enemy that can dissolve into the darkness, escape an earthen tomb, and feed on souls.” She shook her head, suddenly restless and disliking the fullness of her stomach. “I need to do something to help me think. I’ve been sitting and sitting every day, and my brain is mush. I need to run. To hunt. Something.”

  “Go train with Dain’s soldiers,” Resh suggested. “You’ll get to your book learning and war strategies and other Queenly duties soon enough.”

  Coren smiled gratefully at him, pushing away from the table. The brothers took their cues, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She rummaged through the massive double wardrobes, finally finding the slim-fitting training clothes she’d requested.

  There were dozens of outfits, all tailored exactly to her measurements. The training clothes looked a bit like Dain’s uniform, trimmed in Riata’s colors. She tested her range of movement, pleased. Eying her whip on a hook in the bedroom, she wrapped it around her waist, just under the edge of the slide-slit tunic.

  Yes. That felt much more like home. The weapon’s familiar coil snug on her skin, she strode to the doors with more confidence than she’d felt practically since arriving in StarsHelm.

  “Take me to General Watersend’s training grounds, please,” she told the guards, resisting her discomfort at giving a command, especially to people she barely knew.

  If she wanted to help her people, she had to help their world as well. Regardless of her own unease with ruling, Coren admitted that she was in the perfect position to blast her people’s light into the heart of the darkness that covered the kingdom of Riata.

  DAIN WATCHED COREN approach, noting she was the first of her friends to take his standing offer to train. This made him unreasonably happy.

  “I have no actual battle training,” Coren said by way of greeting Dain at the head of the training grounds. She scanned the field, filled with milling soldiers awaiting the morning’s decision.

  He grinned down at her, then turned to his waiting Lieutenant and delivered a crisp set of instructions. The man jogged away, and Dain watched in satisfaction as he saw the ripple of training begin, the drills and formations shouted from group to group.

  “You’re a fearsome weapon, though, and you have an instinct for the kill,” he said, turning back to the young Queen.

  Coren frowned, and he understood her discomfort. She hadn’t been trained as a soldier. Death was not something she’d been taught to cause.

  “Not everyone can stomach the kill,” he explained. “Fewer women,” he added. “Though Weshen women are said to be fiercer than most.”

  She smiled at that, and it filled his heart with a lightness he hadn’t enjoyed since Sala’s death. This should have resulted in a wave of guilt, but Dain found those feelings had lessened since the first day Coren had dropped into his life on this very field, her four wings spread in a magnificent show of power.

  She sighed. “Perhaps they were once. But many of the women I left behind were nothing but breeders and gossips.”

  Her harsh assessment of her people took him by surprise. “Your people have changed much since the Separation?”

  “My people have become cowards hiding on a rock. It was why Graeme was able to so easily defeat them.” She glanced up at him, shielding her eyes against the sun. There was no anger in her voice, but Dain heard the immense sadness.

  “I’m very sorry,” he offered, his voice soft. He wondered when she would ask which of the Generals had led the attack on her home.

  Sy had asked him during the ball, and Dain had cautioned him not to retaliate if he wanted to keep peace in the palace. Although Noshaya’s and Cusslen’s troops had both been sent to slaughter the Weshen, they’d done so under direct orders from the King. Nobody in Riata disobeyed orders and lived.

  Coren had turned away, glaring into the sun. Then she squared her shoulders, seeming to push away the memories of home and what had passed. She flicked her wrist beneath her tunic, and a brown coil slid down her hips. Dain’s eyes widened as she snapped a braided whip into the grass, neatly severing the tips of several blades of grass. “I learned long ago to push away memories of what’s gone, as it does no good to dwell on the past for long.”

  Dain heard the hollow, false note in her voice, but he didn’t press her. He knew too well what it felt like to be determined to move on yet be bound by the pulse of memories he couldn’t control.

  “Show me this weapon, then,” he challenged, ready to make good on his offer to help her act instead of think.

  “It might be useless against steel, but it’s faster and has longer reach.” She stepped several paces back, allowing the braid to move in the grass like a dark snakka stalking its prey. A flick of her wrist sent the coil spiraling up his ankle and calf, and she yanked on the handle, pulling his leg from under him.

  He twisted and managed to save his fall with little grace, but her skill with such a simple weapon was impressive. Standing, he stepped to a nearby shed and grabbed a wooden practice sword.

  “Pretend you are a witch with those vines,” he suggested. “We could use some ideas on how to combat those.”

  Coren nodded and began stalking him in a circle, lashing out at him every few steps. He parried with the sword, blocking with the blunt edge. He wondered if his steel would cut the braid. It hadn’t had much effect on the witches’ vines.

  “I’ve been told my weapon has Umbren blood magic,” Coren offered as she twisted her wrist. The whip twined tightly around his blade, yanking it to the ground. “It glows and is hot to the touch if it soaks in enough blood.”

  Dain felt his eyes widen. “That sounds like alchemy.”

  “Perhaps I can have Lord Gernant examine it,” she said, but her sneer showed she had no intention of that.

  “It’s wise to be careful with Gernant, but he is very knowledgeable.” Dain retrieved his wooden weapon and offered one to her, showing her the basic grip and stance. She made a face, but she curled the whip back around her waist and tried the sword. A few awkward swings later, she was blocking him slowly but steadily.

  “What will you do with my country, now that you are officially Queen?” Dain asked as he led her movements.

  Coren dodged a light swipe of his wooden sword, avoiding a tap on her shoulder. “So, you do claim it as your country?”

  “Of course,” he answered, cocking his head at her. “Even though my ancestors lived elsewhere, I’ve lived in StarsHelm and the palace my whole life. These are my people.” He gestured toward the groups of soldiers strewn about the fields, then wider, including the city on the horizon.

  Coren watched the movement, her eyes traveling over the soldiers.

  “They’re your people, too. Graeme’s blood makes it so, just as much as the vote to crown you Queen.”

  Her face pinched at the mention of Graeme. “I want to help all of the Riatans,” she began. “But I can’t ignore the fact that there are so many Wesh prisoners here. My father showed their barracks to Sy when we hid here before.”

  Dain nodded. “I assumed you would want them freed as soon as possible. I have been trying to stay informed of their care, but Lord Gernant is...slippery.”

  “Gernant is in charge of them?”

  “He studies them for his alchemy. Kashar was the one who reported to Mara, but since his disappearance, Gernant has filled that role.” Dain hadn’t been pleased with that decision, but he’d had no way to change it until now. “You can appoint someone new to care for them.”

  “I’d rather have them freed. Are there still near five hundred prisoners? Kashar told me that.”

  “More, since Graeme’s attack on your city.”

  “There were survivors?” Her eyes rounded, and her wooden sword slipped through her fingers to thump the grass.

  “I assumed you knew. Graeme brought back nearly three dozen - the ones who used magic. Again, I have been trying to protect them, but you will have much be
tter success now, as Queen.”

  “I wish you’d told me sooner,” she said, her voice tight.

  “I apologize,” he said, hurrying to make this better. “But we can free them as soon as you want. You are Queen.”

  “Yes. I am Queen.” Her shoulders stiffened, and Dain hid a smile as she tossed the wooden sword on the ground and began to march toward the palace’s side entrance.

  She glanced back at him. “I think I’d like to do this by myself. Thank you for taking care of them.”

  Dain bowed slightly. “Send for me if you need me.”

  She inclined her head, and he marveled at how naturally she had taken to the movements of nobility. He’d never thought such things ran in a person’s blood, but perhaps her pride was the same, although it was not the result of pampering and privilege.

  Her pride was that of a ceaselessly independent person - one who would always refuse to be ruled by country or circumstance.

  COREN’S FIRST TRUE act as Queen had certainly caused a stir, and Sy had never been prouder.

  Immediately after speaking with Dain, she had gone straight to the prisons and demanded every Wesh or Weshen be brought directly into the throne room. The guards had hesitated at the unprecedented request, but Coren persisted, and soon nearly four hundred prisoners were shuffled onto the black and white marble.

  Sy had recognized some of them as recent captives, and he was full to bursting with what this boon could mean for rebuilding Weshen City. There were precious few children, though, thanks to Mara’s cruel contribution to the Sulit war.

  Sy stood near Coren now, listening carefully as she argued with General Cusslen. Dain waited at her other side, his expression strained but neutral. Sy was pleased the man was letting her truly be in charge.

  Jyesh strode in from a side door, tailed by Resh and a string of guards.

  “I was not consulted,” Jyesh announced.

  Coren rolled her eyes, and Sy snickered.

  “No one was consulted,” General Cusslen snapped. “This is simply not how a kingdom works, young lady!”

  Coren stood immediately, drawing herself tall and stepping into Cusslen’s personal space. She waved away the guards who had run forward to protect her. “You will address me properly,” she commanded. “I am your country’s chosen and rightful Queen, and I demand you get off my dais, or I will have you removed.”

  The General blustered, and Coren snapped her whip from around her waist. She still wore her training leathers, and although she didn’t call on her Vespa, she still cut an imposing figure. The General moved to yank the whip from her hand, and she snaked it around his wrist.

  A drop of blood fell to the floor between them.

  “You have only yesterday sworn yourself to me,” Coren hissed. “I may be unlearned in Riatan lore, but even I know what weight a blood oath carries.” She pulled the whip taut, and the General gasped as it rubbed at his skin. “I find it very hard to believe Mara never did anything without your permission, and I’m guessing this is exactly how a kingdom works.”

  Dain stepped forward. “I am here, Your Majesty.”

  She never even glanced at him. “War is soon upon us, General Cusslen. And you stink of treason. You will not move to touch me again!” She released the whip’s pull, and it snaked back between her feet.

  General Noshaya stalked into the room, moving between Coren and Cusslen. “Your Majesty, please be patient with us. We want to trust you, but we know so little of your motivations.” She turned to Cusslen and muttered something Sy couldn’t hear. Cusslen seethed, but he stepped away, backing off the dais to stand near the wall. Noshaya bowed to Coren.

  “Tell him he will be removed as General and imprisoned if he ever threatens my authority again,” Coren said, the words clear enough to carry to Cusslen.

  Resh had slunk closer to the man, casual and unnoticed, but Sy bit into a grin when he saw the glint of a knife in his brother’s palm. He wished Coren would remove Cusslen now - and Gernant, for that matter. But he understood her desire to give people one more chance.

  It would be up to him and Resh to make sure those chances didn’t hurt her.

  “I need full reports on each of these people,” Coren called, pointing at several guards and motioning to the prisoners. “Have any been convicted of violent crimes? Or is their sole crime having the wrong blood?”

  Gernant snorted, and Coren whipped her gaze to him. He said, “Your Majesty, very few of the men and women in the prisons have ever been formally convicted of anything. You’ll find few reports.”

  Coren nodded, and Sy wondered at the Lord’s response. The words didn’t surprise him, but their source did. Maybe Gernant would learn from Cusslen’s behavior.

  The prison guards began to crowd around Coren, listing names and purported crimes.

  Sy called to a servant for paper and ink.

  “No need for that,” Coren replied. “Guards, please separate the prisoners into three groups. The prisoners fresh from the battle in Weshen City, those innocents whom you call Wesh, and those Wesh whom you believe have committed crimes against Riata.”

  People began to shuffle about, completing the task, and Coren turned back to Sy. “I mean to send them home,” she whispered. “Immediately.”

  He couldn’t keep the grin away. “I can ask Giddon to send a message to Nik. Resh believes he’s likely living on the island now.”

  Coren nodded. “Or at the very least, to Matron Behrenna. She will allow the women to leave the island, I think. Weshen can be whole again,” she said, her gaze sweeping over the crowds. “No more separating men and women. No more hunts.”

  Gernant cleared his throat, and Coren looked back at him. “If you please, Your Majesty, General Cusslen and I have work to do with the captured witches. Are we excused?”

  “Yes. But report back as soon as you have any information. The Brujok will not give up.”

  Gernant bowed and hurried toward the door, corralling Cusslen.

  Sy leaned close to Coren. “I suggest having them followed, too.”

  Coren watched them go, her fingers massaging her temples. Sy knew she had too many things to worry about - too many threats. “I’ll take care of it and the message,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said, a grateful smile on her face.

  Sy rested a hand on her shoulder, then he turned and jogged from the room. He took care of sending guards to monitor the General and Lord and then headed straight for Giddon’s quarters. The fearful little man hadn’t relented a bit in his precautions, and it took Sy several minutes to coax him to open the door.

  “Can you help me send a message to Weshen?” he asked. “Coren has freed the Weshen prisoners.”

  Giddon muttered a prayer, a hopeful glint in his eye. “Perhaps she can help the Riatans soon, too.”

  Sy hesitated. Giddon was right. They did need to help the other prisoners. But he feared there would be a revolt if too much happened too fast. Coren was already overwhelmed.

  “I will send your message,” Giddon said gently, breaking into Sy’s thoughts. “I know these things take time.”

  He spread paper and ink before Sy and moved to his shelves of bottles and brews.

  Now faced with an open page, Sy wondered what he could say. Was he writing to Behrenna? Or to Nik? Would Nik have forgiven him for leaving? Or had their moment been lost forever in the wake of the changing world?

  Sy heaved a groan and began to write.

  Nik,

  I write to you from StarsHelm, where much has happened. We lead Riata now - Coren is Queen. I long to return to Weshen, to see you, to rebuild our city to greatness again. But I am trapped here in the palace by the King’s curse. With each passing day, I grow stronger, Resh grows more knowledgeable, and Coren grows in her power. Together, we will find the key to unlock the curse, and I will return to Weshen. To you, if you still wait for me.

  Until then, I send a boon. Coren is working even now to free hundreds of Weshen prisoners. Some were capture
d in the battle, but many more have histories like yours. They will need your help, Nik.

  Please help our people. I’m sorry for leaving. I will return one day, and the hope that you’ll be waiting for me gives me strength.

  Sy

  He nearly crumpled the paper after it was done, but a light touch on his shoulder smoothed his fingers flat against the table.

  “It is a good letter,” Giddon said, his voice more serious than Sy had ever heard. “Now, let me work my spell to send it across the land and sea. I need a bit of your blood and more of your memories.”

  Before Sy could ask, Giddon nicked his arm with a tiny knife, dropping the beaded blood into a steaming mug.

  “Now, think of the exact person this message must find. Imagine their face, their laugh, their tears. Think of the place they will be. Imagine the sights, the sounds, the smells.”

  Sy closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. “But how will I know if Nik will get it?” Sy asked, feeling foolish. Would Nik be in the city? The island?

  Giddon huffed. “It is magic, boy, not a letter delivered by courier. Imagine your best, and it will fly to him if it can. There are no guarantees.”

  Sy resisted asking another question and closed his eyes again, calling up Nik’s beautiful face, with his crystal-blue eyes framed in dark lashes, his easy smile that shouldn’t be carefree, but was for Sy. His lips...

  Giddon sighed, and Sy opened his eyes.

  “Go on,” Giddon said dreamily, sipping at the mug of potion. “I can see him.”

  Sy felt his face flush with heat. But this was important. He continued to paint a full portrait of Nik in his mind, filling the background with the island sand and the women’s village. He doubted Nik would have stayed in the city.

  No, Nik would be on Weshen Isle, helping the women. He would be gentle with the children, and strong for their broken mothers. He would help them find their magic and teach them to use it for everything but destruction.

  “It is done,” Giddon whispered.