Change of Darkness

by Jacinta Jade

  Trelar paled, then rapidly said, ‘No, my lady, that will not be necessary, I assure you.’ Then she added with another curtsy, ‘I am happy to serve and consider myself privileged to be attending you.’

  Siraay nodded, satisfied at the female’s grovelling and that her threat had been understood. ‘Now you can leave me. I will call for you if needed.’

  Trelar didn’t hesitate but moved quickly to the doors, opening one and slipping through without a word, the door closing behind her.

  Siraay watched the female’s departure, then shook her head, amused. It was only a matter of time, she could see, until Trelar would try to ‘free’ her. She pushed the matter to the back of her mind. She would deal with it when it occurred, but presently, she had more important matters to consider.

  Such as what to wear when she joined Chezran for the evening meal later on.

  She walked over to the section of the wall where her wardrobe was still on display and began thumbing through the garments. One in particular drew her eye due to its colour, and she pulled it out to examine it more closely.

  She smiled. Perfect.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  MUCH LATER, the rays of the setting orange sun were spilling across Siraay’s room when she pulled open the double doors to the space and stepped into the corridor where a different pair of guards came to attention. Again, both were female.

  ‘Take me to Lord Chezran,’ Siraay commanded.

  The guards nodded once and moved off from their posts by the door, leading Siraay down the hallway towards the grand staircase she had climbed earlier that day. As she descended the stairs behind her escorts, Siraay let her hand glide over the polished stone that formed the bannister, the length of the dress she wore requiring her to take extra care as she moved.

  When they reached the landing at the bottom, Siraay half expected the pair of guards to lead her back to the large landing where Chezran had showed her the canvasses. Instead, her escorts turned right at the landing, leading her along a new hallway towards a large pair of doors set into a long wall at the far end. There, they paused before the doors, grabbed the handles, and pushed.

  Warmth, light, and a myriad of sounds crashed like a wave over Siraay, all growing stronger as the doors opened wider ahead of her before suddenly quieting down as numerous heads swivelled to look in her direction. One long, gleaming black table occupied the centre of the room, almost stretching its length, and Siraay quickly counted the eleven places set there, eight of them filled. Nearly all the persons who filled those places were attired in neat dark jackets and pants, although Siraay saw one female wearing a long, flowing black dress. Simple clothes, but the fine tailoring was obvious.

  Within the room itself, the glint of rare metals and gems set within the tableware, plates, and dishes, and the large and brilliant canvasses adorning the walls, only added to the feeling of wealth and power that permeated the gathering.

  And upon her entrance and the sudden silence, at the head of the far end of the table, the Lord of Xarcon stood.

  ‘May I present to you, Lady Siraay.’

  Chairs scraped softly against the stone floor as everyone in attendance followed suit and stood, dipping their heads respectfully in Siraay’s direction.

  Interestingly, Siraay noted that not one but three of the figures present were females, their faces inscrutable, although Siraay did think she saw a glimmer of dislike flash across one face.

  Chezran left his seat and went to stand by an empty one to the left of his own place. ‘Come, my lady,’ he said, gesturing to the chair.

  Lifting her chin, Siraay began the walk down the length of the room towards Chezran. She could see his eyes widen slightly in appreciation as she drew nearer, and the slightest of smiles on his face told her everything she needed to know about her appearance.

  The dress she had selected was made out of a red material that looked like glittering scales. It had a high neckpiece that wrapped around her entire throat—over which lay her new accessory—but which left her shoulders, collarbone, arms, and back bare, her skin contrasting beautifully against the ruby colour of the gown.

  From her throat, the neckpiece extended downwards over Siraay’s chest to form a V shape that joined to the main part of the garment at her sternum.

  From there, the dress rose in a sweetheart neckline across her breasts. The torso of the dress curved in tight to her waist and down over her hips and upper thighs before dropping away to a straight front, which had just enough of a slit at the bottom that her matching red heeled boots could be seen.

  At the back, the dress flowed into a train, the scales giving way to a softer material that whispered along the stone floor behind Siraay as she walked.

  The scales of the dress had been arranged such that the collar and neckline, and the detailing on the bodice, were all darker than the rest of the dress, drawing the eye. It was a dress of seduction, but also one that commanded attention, and Siraay had chosen it purposefully for the evening, knowing that Chezran would be introducing her to those who helped him command his army.

  And she had chosen her makeup just as carefully, powdering her face until it, too, was flawless, before applying a shade of red powder that was just slightly darker than her dress to the upper lids of her eyes, right up to her eyebrows and around to the inner ridge of her nose. Then she had lined the inner waterline of her lower lids in white before applying a darkening liquid to the lashes of both her upper and lower lids.

  Her lips were painted a slightly more subdued red, enough to make them stand out but not bright enough that they drew any attention away from her eyes. Or at least the attention that moved away from her dress and other assets.

  Her hair was slicked back and twisted up into a thick, high bun on her crown, not a wisp of hair out of place, her fingernails painted black.

  She was a vision—a warrior goddess made real.

  And Siraay knew that the scars that crossed over her left eye and cheek only added to the look.

  As she sashayed her way past the people seated on that side of the table, she noted the stares of the males from the corner of her eye, and knew from the slight parting of lips, from the eyes that strayed over her body, that all of them wanted her.

  Yet she kept her eyes on Chezran, only interested in assessing the full measure of his reaction. Because while she had wanted to stun them all with her carefully cultivated look tonight, she had also wanted to remind them that, like them, she was a warrior and someone to be reckoned with. Maybe even feared.

  As Siraay drew closer to Chezran, she guessed that the faint smile on his face was probably because he also knew why she had chosen this look. Handsome, powerful, and cunning. Potentially an equal. She would find out.

  As she reached him, Chezran drew out her chair for her, and she seated herself gracefully, turning her eyes towards the others at the table as the lord pushed in the chair for her before resuming his own seat.

  ‘Allow me to introduce my inner circle to you, lady, which is made up of my archons, and my army captains.’ Chezran addressed her formerly, by the title he had given her. ‘At the far the end of the table is my spymaster, Archon Renhed,’ he said, pronouncing the name as ‘Rened’ with a particular emphasis on the n.

  A dark-haired female with intense eyes, the spymaster dipped her head to Siraay, her expression unreadable.

  ‘Across from Archon Renhed is Archon Onan—he looks after the needs and security of Xarcon City.’

  Onan dipped his head smoothly to Siraay, his eyes examining her curiously.

  ‘Then you have Archons Nisos and Atalia—my head technologist and head tactician.’

  Siraay looked at the pair sitting opposite each other, glancing quickly at the angular-faced Nisos before switching her attention to Atalia. That a female occupied the likely coveted post of head tactician was very interesting to Siraay, a fact made more so by the look Archon Atalia shot her way even as the female dipped her chin just the tiniest bit.

  At
alia had classic features, but her pale skin, hair, and eyes seemed to wash her out. And she obviously wasn’t pleased to see this new addition to her lord’s inner circle.

  The doors to the dining hall opened then, and a figure slipped inside, strolling rapidly down the length of the table opposite Siraay to take a place next to Chezran.

  For her part, Siraay ignored the disruption, not wanting to miss any part of the lord’s introductions.

  ‘Then,’ continued Chezran, either not caring about or choosing not to remark on the new arrival’s lateness, ‘you have my three captains, who are in charge of training, preparing, and, ultimately, leading, the divisions of my army—Captain Ziph and Merca to your left and, across the table, Captain Raque, who I believe you already met.’

  The captains nodded to Siraay, including the brunette female, Merca, with Raque giving Siraay ia smug smile.

  The seat next to Raque remained empty and Chezran gestured to it.

  ‘My other archon will be late, unfortunately, but across from you I would like to introduce you to my chief archon, Pyron.’

  Siraay’s eyes tracked past the empty chair and met the eyes of the chief archon Chezran had just introduced.

  Her body tensed and her lungs froze.

  She knew those eyes. Knew their steely depths, the wildness and cruelty they contained. Had stared into them a number of times, so that their blue colour was ingrained on her memory.

  Silver.

  Around the intense blue of his eyes, the familiar silver mask extended down to sit across his nose and cheeks, reflecting the light from the chandeliers positioned high above, the male’s dark hair contrasting against the mask.

  Siraay’s thoughts stopped. No wave of anger, no pain, just blankness.

  Chezran couldn’t fail to notice her stillness, even if her expression gave nothing away.

  He shifted his glance from her to Silver thoughtfully before turning back again. ‘I understand you’ve also met my chief archon before.’

  It took a moment for Siraay to activate her powers of speech again. ‘We have.’ Her voice had just a slight hoarseness to it, which she hoped they wouldn’t notice. Revealing any kind of weakness here would be like drawing blood in a cave full of hungry cripwofs.

  The memories were spilling through her quickly, and although they were memories of her former self, Siraay couldn’t let go of the fact that it was this male who had tortured her.

  Then again, he had done so under Chezran’s orders.

  Siraay’s mind coldly analysed the problem as she continued to stare blankly across the table at Pyron, the tension in the room growing thick enough to taste. Yes, Chezran had had her tortured, but he hadn’t known at the time just who, or what, she was. They had obviously thought initially that she was just a female with the ability to Change into multiple forms. And if her previous self had cooperated, they might not have had to torture her.

  Regardless, those events remained part of the path that had led her here, so Siraay turned back to Chezran and forced an amused smile onto her face. ‘I do in fact remember … Pyron, was it?’ she said, glancing back at the masked male now scowling across the table at her. ‘And I remember the lacklustre security arrangements.’ She smiled sweetly at Chezran.

  The humour she was projecting swiftly dissipated the tension at the table, and Siraay realised that Chezran and the others must have been wondering if she was going to Change and attack Silver—or rather, Pyron.

  Inwardly, Siraay smiled to herself. It was a tempting idea, to get revenge on the male who had caused her former self such physical pain, but Chezran would obviously not appreciate any warring between his inner circle.

  Yet the fact that they were all still wary of her was also interesting, and it raised the obvious question. Who here, apart from Chezran, could really take her?

  This time, her smile was genuine as she gazed around at her new allies spread along the table.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  AFTER GETTING OVER her initial shock of encountering Pyron face-to-face once more, the rest of the evening went more smoothly, although Siraay found it hard to acknowledge the mask-covered male by any other name than the one she had previously assigned to him.

  Pyron … it sounded too normal. She hated the name almost as much as she hated the male himself, regardless of the fact that they were now supposed to be allies.

  And that was another odd thing, or something that should have maybe felt odd—here she was, sitting down to a meal with the enemies of those she had once called friends. But really, what had she been fighting for before? To maintain the status quo? To put others in power who probably couldn’t run this world any better than those who had ruled before them?

  Her old self hadn’t really understood what was important at the time—hadn’t understood the only thing that really mattered in life was progressing one’s own place within it. And now, Siraay would fight for a cause whose aspirations were the same as her own—power.

  As she listened to the surrounding conversations, learning more about Chezran’s inner circle and answering questions put to her, she could see from the corner of her eye the lord watching her now and again. She was keen to have a discussion with him tonight about his plans—wanted to know more about what he was after, what drove him.

  Because the more she knew, the more she could influence him. And that would give her power, something she had been lacking until this point.

  But no more.

  So she talked with Chezran’s captains and those that he had awarded with the title of archon, giving considered but concise answers to their questions. Enough to keep them happy but not so much that they weren’t curious for more.

  At one point, one of the three captains, Merca, asked her, ‘So what do you think is the Resistance’s biggest weakness?’

  Conversation slowed around the table as the others heard the question and faces turned carefully towards Siraay. Yet she knew they were less interested in her answer than in whether she would actually respond—a test, to see if she was actually on their side.

  She smiled slightly at the female captain, a show of tolerance at the other’s curiosity. ‘They have many weaknesses—smaller numbers, less experience, a joint leadership system, camp locations that must constantly be moved.’ Her tone was steady and factual. ‘But I would have thought, captain,’ she purred, ‘that you would have been more interested in their strengths.’

  Merca’s eyebrows rose, displaying the female’s interest and amusement at Siraay’s response. ‘Why bother with strengths when you can exploit a weakness?’

  Siraay allowed a smile to curl the edges of her red lips, and she paused to take a sip of her drink, a sweet nectar that immediately brought other memories to mind—younger, less experienced faces laughing as they toasted each other with drinks in a meal tent—and which she just as quickly pushed away.

  Other conversation at the table had died down by this point, and all eyes were now on her, waiting for her answer.

  Siraay could feel two gazes in particular, like pressure against her skin—Pyron and Chezran, studying her.

  She set her glass down gently and shifted to eye the captain again as candlelight played over her, setting the red depths of her dress alight as her smile became more feline.

  ‘Because it’s the last thing they will expect.’

  ***

  When the meal was finished, the table was cleared rapidly by a number of swiftly moving but discreet servants, who also ensured that all glasses were full before Chezran stood up at the head of the table, offering an arm to Siraay as he did so.

  Hiding her pleasure at this overt preferential treatment, she stood also, a servant assisting to slide her chair out for her. Lifting her glass chalice from the table, Siraay accepted the lord’s arm, and as they moved away from the table, the others all stood respectfully.

  Yes, Siraay thought smugly to herself, I could get used to this.

  Chezran guided her around the end of the table and past hi
s seat to another pair of doors that were set into the wall. ‘This is our counsel room,’ he explained as the doors were swung open for them by a bowing pair of servants.

  Siraay let herself be escorted inside, taking the room in with a few sweeping glances.

  The key feature of the room was a long, low divan with two sides that formed an apex at one point. And placed before the V-shaped seat was a raised square of blank wall, about the size of a large window, set at a forty-five-degree angle to the floor.

  As Chezran led Siraay around one end of the long seat, heading towards the point at which the two long arms of the divan intersected, she peered at its other side, trying to discern its purpose. Yet that side was also devoid of any features, and Siraay gave up on guessing its function. She wouldn’t ask either, as that would reveal a lack of knowledge—a weakness, of a sort—when she might very well be granted the answer in due course.

  Settling himself down on the cushions at the point of the V, Chezran indicated with an elegant gesture that Siraay should be seated next to him.

  As she sat, she noted that, due to the formation of the divan, no one could sit in a greater position of authority than in the space where Chezran was currently positioned. A slight turn of the lord’s head to the left or right, and he would be able to see the face of any speaker in the room, while everyone else would be required to turn their heads in varying directions.