Change of Darkness

by Jacinta Jade

  She narrowed her eyes at Chezran, ignoring everyone else in the room, as she glared at him, making her feelings known.

  He had enough control over himself not to react, but she knew her response had surprised him.

  ‘No?’ he repeated softly.

  Siraay left her glare in place. ‘No.’ She raised her chin. ‘I do not follow. I fight, and I will die, if necessary, for what I believe in.’ Her whole being seemed to reverberate with the rebellious words and the risky line she was walking by saying them. ‘I will show these Resistance captives why the Mother brought them to us. Why our cause is the only one for them, and why they, too, must devote themselves, hearts and minds, to it.’ She moved ever so slightly, her body leaning forwards just enough so that Chezran would notice that she had closed the gap between them. ‘I do not follow—but I will lead. I will help you lead your army to victory.’

  It could have been just her and Chezran alone in that room, so intense was the look exchanged between them, a living thing with its own energy.

  After a moment, Chezran relaxed back a little into his seat. ‘And so you shall.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  AS CHEZRAN SAW out the last members of his inner circle from the council room, he turned to face Siraay, his eyes locking on to hers.

  She, in turn, remained standing by one end of the V-shaped divan, having hung back while the others departed. She held her silence, knowing that he would speak first if she waited long enough—just another round in the dangerous game she was playing with him. Because he was dangerous. Even though she didn’t know much about him, this she knew instinctively.

  But then you didn’t need to know every little thing about a species to identify a predator when you saw one.

  They stood there, two opponents facing off across an empty space.

  Chezran’s head tilted slightly as he considered her. ‘You surprised me before.’ Despite its softness, his voice was matter-of-fact, carrying clearly across the room to her from his position closer to the double doors that led into the dining hall. ‘But if your intention was to win over most of my inner circle, consider it done.’

  He finished speaking, and for a moment, Siraay let the silence own the space between them once more before she gestured with her hand, dismissing the assumption in Chezran’s words, his eyes following the slight movement carefully.

  ‘I did not have any such an intention, but if it is done, then all the better, if we are truly in agreement about my purpose here.’

  Chezran’s eyes bored into hers. ‘And I’m guessing you want to know now my full intention in pursuing this war?’ he asked lazily.

  Yet Siraay detected the hidden undercurrent of seriousness in his words. ‘Have no doubt about my commitment, Lord Chezran.’ She spoke his title and name slowly, drawing out the sounds so she could be sure of his complete attention. ‘You set my mind free so I could be all that I am, not the mindless sky-eyed follower I was.’ This time her gesture added emphasis to her words, sweeping low to indicate what she thought of her previous self. ‘To me, this is a battle for power—both sides fighting to win the right to determine the future of our people.’

  She let her lips curl into a smile that she hoped showed her to be every bit the predator he was.

  ‘I would rather be in a position of … influence,’ she said, letting her lips curl further, ‘than be a mere follower.’

  Now she let the smile drop abruptly, and this time, it was she who tilted her head ever so slightly, one predator sizing up another. ‘But yes, before I help you win this war, I want to know … why?’

  Chezran had been listening quietly as she spoke, his eyes never leaving her face, his body motionless and poised.

  When he finally shifted, his feet moving him gracefully forwards a few slow, measured steps, it was almost a shock, such had been the previous stillness in the room.

  ‘As you have stated, there are followers … and there are leaders.’

  Chezran’s eyes had not left Siraay’s face, but there was a new intensity in his gaze that she was trying to decipher.

  ‘My father’s father was Lord Grenlan,’ he stated.

  Lord Grenlan … or Grenlan the Grievous, as Kaslonian history had recorded him. A master strategist, Grenlan had commanded his army to mercilessly cut down the peace-keeping fighters who had fought to defend the cities against him. Once a member of the Ruling Council, Grenlan had abruptly resigned his position one day, disappearing into the wild, no whisper to those who had known him of coming back.

  Until he had returned cycles later as the leader of Xarcon City—with an army behind him.

  Siraay eyed Chezran more carefully. The strong jaw, the dark hair and eyes … all traits that hinted at his lineage, if her memories of her old self’s days studying Kaslonian history were correct.

  Chezran continued speaking, amused as he watched the recognition appear in her eyes. ‘Although Lord Grenlan fought well, Xarcon was defeated. But our cause did not die, and Grenlan’s son, my father, spent his life rebuilding the Xarcon army.’ Chezran strolled a little closer still before pausing some body lengths away. ‘And he also spent his life training me so that I might one day seize the victory that Xarcon deserves, so that Xarcon, so that I, and my own, can rule—as we always should have.’

  A few more graceful steps narrowed the space between them further.

  And although part of Siraay was intrigued at the history Chezran had revealed, she refused to be so easily swayed from her question, which she repeated now. ‘Why?’

  She thought her unrelenting persistence might annoy the lord. Maybe reveal a weakness.

  But he merely smiled appreciatively.

  ‘Because there is a bigger threat out there. Bigger than Xarcon, bigger than the combined might of Kaslon. And only I have the knowledge, and the will, to defeat it. Only I can do what must be done.’

  Siraay looked into Chezran’s eyes. There was not one shred of doubt in them. He was committed. And she wanted to know more.

  ‘What is the threat?’

  Chezran shook his head. ‘More on that later. At the moment, it is enough that you know such a threat exists. And that our world, as it is, cannot hope to defeat it.’

  ‘And you believe that only you can prepare us to fight back against this threat.’ It was a matter-of-fact statement.

  The lord answered by crossing the rest of the space between them quickly, moving so swiftly and smoothly that he was almost in front of her before Siraay had registered his motion.

  His next action was even faster—one of his hands was gripping the back of her neck before she could blink, forcing Siraay to fight down all the urges in her that wanted to react defensively.

  To knock that arm aside and break it into pieces, as she would have done with any lesser male if they tried to exert such authority over her.

  Chezran, his height causing her to look up a little, stared fiercely into her eyes. ‘From the moment I saw you Change, I knew we could force this world to kneel before us.’ His face tilted lower still, his gaze roaming across her face. ‘Fight with me. Help me take down those who stand in our way, so that, together, we can do what must be done.’

  Siraay arched her neck and back slightly, the movement pressing her body up against his broad chest as she glowered at him. ‘Is that a request or a command … my lord?’ She rolled his title around on her tongue, letting him hear the stiffness in her voice, feel the tenseness in her body. She would not be ordered around. They would be equals, or they would be enemies.

  The grip on the back of Siraay’s neck tightened, just enough to cause pain, and Chezran leaned down to whisper in her ear, ‘Whatever it takes.’

  The lord’s grip swiftly altered as he abruptly crushed Siraay to him and pressed his lips urgently against her own. So much was in that kiss. Longing, strength, cruelty, control …

  Siraay leaned harder against Chezran, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders tightly as she let her lips pull back just far enough. Then
she bit him sharply on his lower lip, tasting blood.

  He responded by grabbing her shoulders and spinning them both around and back several steps, pinning her back swiftly against the closest wall, his strength and speed making his movements a blur.

  Siraay let out a soft gasp of pain as her back and head hit the wall, but that was all she got out before Chezran was kissing her again.

  She crushed herself against him, just as hard, her hands twining in his shoulder-length, dark hair.

  Then she heard the sound of one of the doors to the council room opening …

  Chezran’s wrath at the interruption was a thing of beauty to Siraay.

  ‘What is it?’ the lord growled, his bottom lip bright with a droplet of blood.

  A guard stood just inside the partially opened door, his face lowered, and turning pale, at his lord’s angry tone.

  ‘My apologies, lord, for disturbing you; however, one of your archons is here to see you.’

  ‘Who?’ Chezran’s growl was deeper this time, and Siraay knew he was losing patience with the guard. Maybe she would get to see him in action after all … her eyes creased with pleasure at the thought. He was cruel, powerful, and he wanted her. Perfect.

  ‘It is I, Lord Chezran.’

  The new voice stopped all of Siraay’s thoughts. She knew that voice, even though it sounded different now. More … confident. Unerring. She turned her eyes, which had been amused an instant before, to the figure by the door in disbelief.

  It was Loce.

  ***

  Siraay stared.

  Loce.

  Alive.

  And calling Chezran ‘my lord’ …Siraay’s mind spun as all her memories of Loce fought to realign themselves to fit with this new information.

  Meanwhile, Chezran’s displeasure was quickly disappearing. ‘You’re late,’ he snapped, stepping away from Siraay and turning more fully towards the door.

  Loce. An archon. Siraay’s mind was still spinning furiously, but it was catching up. Loce was a spy. The spy, as it turned out.

  Contempt bloomed in Siraay’s mind. She and the others in the Resistance had never guessed. All that time, running, hiding, making plans. No wonder the Faction—or the Xarconians, as she now knew them to be—had always been just a step behind.

  Chezran gestured for Loce to enter the room, and Siraay’s stomach tightened in annoyance at the untimely interruption. Still, probably a good time to slip out anyway, before she gave Chezran too much of a taste in one sitting. After all, her goal to maintain influence with him would be fed by a number of things. And if she had to use her body to help achieve that power … well, it was no different from using her other abilities.

  And besides, there was a lot about Chezran that attracted her.

  So she slid away from the wall, her boot heels clicking as she sauntered past him. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Chezran nodded, glancing sideways at her. ‘Come to the training hall, first thing.’

  She nodded back and proceeded towards the doorway.

  Loce shifted to the side, averting his dark eyes as he dipped his blond head respectfully, but not before she saw his eyes widen a little as he really took her in.

  Her, and the dress hugging her body.

  Those dark eyes made a quick sweep of her length, and his mouth worked for a moment before any sound actually came out. ‘My lady,’ he managed to stutter as she moved past him.

  She bobbed her head once in acknowledgment, noting the small scars that peeked out from Loce’s hair at his temples, and left, her dress swishing around her legs and rasping over the marble in the otherwise silent room, the feeling of eyes on her back and lower body making the edges of her mouth curl in pleasure.

  ***

  As soon as Siraay left the dining hall, two female guards fell into place behind her.

  Apart from noting that these two were different to the pair who had escorted her down earlier in the evening, Siraay paid them no other attention as she navigated her way back down the cool, dark stone hallways and up the grand staircase. Upon reaching the top, she automatically turned down the hallway that would lead to her room, her thoughts preoccupied.

  Unless she was very much mistaken, she thought she might have detected a brief flare of desire in Loce’s eyes as she had walked past. Not that she was in the least bit interested in him—who would be, when Chezran was on offer?

  But it was a weakness. And weaknesses should always be exploited.

  Upon reaching her room, Siraay was surprised to have the door swing open before her and Trelar’s voice greet her.

  ‘Evening, lady,’ the female said cautiously. ‘I trust dinner was to your liking?’

  ‘It was,’ Siraay replied, breezing into the room past the servant, immediately appreciating the fire Trelar had set burning in the fireplace to warm the room. She swished her way to the centre of the space, then proceeded to reach around to her back to begin undoing the gown.

  ‘Please—let me, lady.’

  Although she felt herself bristling slightly at the assumption that she needed help to undress herself, Siraay relented and decided to let the servant assist. Besides, she needed to keep Trelar on side to be sure she had another pair of eyes and ears here. She wasn’t ignorant enough to think her rise to Chezran’s side would be easily accepted by all.

  ‘Thank you,’ Siraay said purposefully, allowing Trelar to push her hair gently to the side and begin undoing the almost invisible clasps that joined the neckpiece of the dress together, followed by the line of clasps down the side of her dress to her hip.

  In moments, Siraay had slipped out of the dress and was walking up the steps towards her bath, then passing beyond it to access her own private washroom area, completely naked bar for the pendant that still hung about her neck. She was beginning to feel a creeping exhaustion that was building with each breath, and now all she wanted was to clean her face and climb into the big bed on the opposite side of her room.

  By the time she was in her washroom and had seen to her own needs, she felt like it was only sheer will that was keeping her going. But as she left the washroom, her face free of all makeup, her hair down and brushed, she kept her chin up, her shoulders straight, and her steps even, not a hint of her weariness evident.

  Trelar had already pulled back the blankets on the bed and was standing ready for any further orders.

  As she made her way across the room, Siraay wondered if the servant was made uncomfortable by her nakedness, but if so, the female gave no sign of it. Not that it mattered—revealing her body was simply another tool to use if it gave her an advantage over people around her. And speaking of advantages, she could not allow herself to perform poorly tomorrow from fighting off exhaustion.

  She didn’t even bother turning towards the female servant as she addressed her. ‘That will be all.’ Her dismissal was perfunctory—she wanted to lay her head down on the pillows that looked so very soft.

  A slight hesitation from behind her, then, ‘Yes, my lady.’

  Siraay listened as Trelar wheeled and left the room speedily and quietly. After the door had closed, she waited a count of five breaths to be sure the female wasn’t about to return for any reason.

  Only then did she allow herself to let out a heavy sigh of relief. It had been a long day.

  The exhaustion was reaching a peak that she didn’t think she would be able to fight off much longer, so, still naked, she moved up to one of the activation panels on the wall, and a simple flick of her fingers at the pad extinguished the light from the candelabras hanging from the ceiling, plunging the room into darkness.

  She loved the use of technology here.

  Unable to miss the bed, given its nearness, Siraay moved back to it, and once she could feel the blankets underneath her fingers, she climbed into the bed, her bare skin sliding pleasantly over the smoothness of the sheets. Making herself comfortable, she closed her eyes and let out another sigh, this one quieter and full of satisfaction.
r />   A lot had happened in such a very short time, not the least of which was her own awakening that morning.

  Tomorrow would be very interesting indeed.

  ***

  Strange dreams. She knew they were strange because, although Siraay was the central person in them, she had no control over anything.

  And the dreams themselves were odd. Many times, she recognised people who had been part of her former self’s life. At first, it was just a jumble of faces, then everything seemed to slow down as one face returned.

  Baindan’s.

  Then, as if his face were the anchor for everything else, a world that seemed a bit too bright around the edges began to form, spinning out from around the body that had joined Baindan’s face.

  And it wasn’t a bad face. Or body, for that matter, the Siraay in the dream thought. But the idealism she could see contained within his grey eyes … she shuddered mentally.

  He was a male who would fight for the Resistance out of some misguided belief that he was fighting for the greater good.

  She wanted to turn away from that face, handsome at it was, so she didn’t have to see those naive eyes.

  But her body was not her own to command in that dream, as instead of turning away, her hand rose involuntarily to touch his face.

  And a voice that was both Siraay’s and not said, ‘We can’t give up. Not me, not you.’

  Siraay wanted to laugh at the confidence in those words and taunt the one who spoke them. But she didn’t know how to break out of the prison that kept her quiet and restrained, a floating mind watching a dream play out through the eyes of another.

  Then everything seemed to blur for an instant, and it was like the world around Siraay faded out, only to be replaced by another.

  Now, she was standing on a hill, a massive mountain to her left. She felt something touch the cheek that wasn’t hers and her head turned.

  Baindan was smiling at her, his hand trailing down that cheek ever so softly. ‘I promise,’ he whispered. ‘I won’t leave you.’