Change of Darkness

by Jacinta Jade

  Siraay wanted to jerk her face away from his hand and strike that stupid smile from his face.

  But instead, she felt her body step closer to Baindan.

  She began to feel angry. Just how long was she going to have to put up with these pitiful memories? Her anger grew sharper the longer that hand lingered on her face, and when it seemed to reach a peak, the Baindan before her shimmered and disappeared.

  To be replaced by an image of herself.

  Siraay was shocked enough for a moment that she didn’t realise that she could move until she felt her mouth work as she struggled to say, ‘What is this?’

  She was no longer a passenger. She could now control the body she was contained in.

  The other Siray was staring at her with dislike, the scars over the female’s eyes crinkling slightly as she glared. ‘You are not real,’ the other said. ‘You are an amplification of all my base traits—but you are not me.’

  Siraay smirked. ‘I am you. I’m just the stronger version of you, the one you’ve been suffocating all this time.’ Siraay’s smile flashed like a freshly honed blade as she showed her teeth. ‘But no more. This is my body now. And although you may resist, you’ll eventually tire and fade away.’ Siraay’s grin took on a feral edge as the other version of herself seemed to pale a bit at her words. ‘Only the strongest survive,’ she told her former self. ‘And I am in control.’

  The mouth of the other Siray thinned, her brows lowering. ‘Not here, you’re not.’

  Before Siraay could argue, her former self waved a hand, and suddenly they were both standing on the edge of an impossibly high cliff.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Siraay stammered quickly. The other Siray couldn’t be controlling the dream—it shouldn’t be possible.

  Then her former self was standing right in front of her. She brought her mouth to Siraay’s ear to breathe two words into it.

  ‘Killing you.’

  Then a violent shove by her former self caught Siraay in her middle, and she found herself stumbling backwards … off the edge of that cliff.

  Air was rushing past her before she was even aware of what had happened, the other Siray’s face and the edge of the cliff speeding away from her.

  She was falling.

  And now the dream no longer seemed like a dream.

  Siraay could feel the coldness of the air as it whipped past her, tendrils of her hair escaping from her braid as the wind pulled fiercely at her body, tugging her this way and that.

  Siraay felt a sweat break out across her whole body as she realised that she was, in fact, going to die.

  Buffeted by the wind, her body was spun in the air so that she was no longer looking back up at the cliff top, but down—at the ground hurtling towards her.

  Siraay flailed her arms, trying to do anything to save herself.

  But there was nothing to be done.

  She slammed into the ground.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  SIRAAY’S EYES FLUTTERED open, her relief at waking up from her nightmare quickly replaced by concern. What had awoken her? Was someone in her room?

  She scanned the space quickly, her ears straining to listen as she kept her body still and relaxed, her breathing even as if she had not yet woken.

  Then it came to her. The first orange rays of a new dawn were creeping into the room, dispelling the dark shadows, and although she was a brand-new person, this body was not.

  It was used to being dragged from a cell, or bunk, at first light. It knew that a rigorous training routine usually followed waking, and that food came soon after.

  Of course she was awake. Her body was programmed to rise and perform at this time, although the coolness of the morning made her loath to leave her bed.

  Now, Siraay thought smugly to herself, I will decide what I do when.

  Not that she was going to forgo her training this morning—if anything, she needed to ramp it up, knowing as she now did what was coming.

  War.

  She needed to be ready.

  Sitting up, Siraay flicked the blankets away from her body, swinging her legs gracefully around to the floor and standing up as she stretched, naked, working the kinks from her muscles.

  Funny—her body was rested, but mentally she felt … sluggish. She wondered at that as she ran her fingers reassuringly over the gem that still rested at her throat, but then she gave the equivalent of a mental shrug. Yesterday had been a long day, the first day of her awakening. Of course she was going to feel a little drained.

  A strenuous morning of training would fix it.

  Siraay walked across to touch the panel that made the hidden door to her closet spring open. Surely there would have to be—ah, there it was.

  Training gear.

  The shirt was sleeveless, with panels of lighter and thicker material strategically placed. And although the top’s neckline looked like it would hug Siraay’s collarbone, at the front and back, a large triangle had been cut from the material. A pair of pants also hung nearby in the closet.

  Moments later, Siraay had wrapped her chest and pulled on her undershorts, and after slipping into the dark training outfit, worked for a number of breaths to lace up a pair of black boots that finished halfway up her calves.

  Standing, Siraay made her way closer to the large reflection panels that lined the room’s walls. Her makeup today was far lighter than it had been the night before, but she had still accentuated her blue eyes, using the powders to darken their outline and make them appear more stunning and mysterious.

  The rest of her face she had left mostly free of any powders, knowing she was going to be training hard, and her hair was swept back into a long red braid that started at the crown of her head.

  But her outfit really stole the show, simple as it was. The sleeveless top showed off her toned arms, the upper section of the front clinging to her chest, displaying her shapely upper half as it curved down again to meet her sternum.

  And that was where the cut-out triangle began, the top splitting away into two parts and revealing the ridges of her flat stomach at the front and the supple muscles of her lower back just above her hips. And while her stomach and back were bare, the two panels that veered away from each other didn’t stop at her hips but kept going, a sheerer material woven into the first so that the ends of those flowing side panels formed a point at the ends.

  The effect was that, as Siraay moved around her room, her boots and black pants tight against her skin, the ends of the shirt panels drifted from her sides to trail behind her, revealing more of her define torso.

  She looked like a dangerous wraith.

  Despite moving leisurely, dressing had only taken Siraay a short time, her efficiency a learned trait from months of training that was both as much a physical memory as it was mental conditioning.

  And that’s another interesting aspect, Siraay thought to herself. While this personality was her own, she still had access to all the strengths and mental lessons her previous self had acquired.

  Hence, she was dressed, more than presentable, and out her door before the rays of the early-morning sun had reached much farther across the room.

  ***

  Once out in the hallway, Siraay paused, listening for a moment. The stairwell at the end of the corridor was, as far as she could tell, empty.

  If you didn’t count the guards who were still stationed outside of her room, that was. And suddenly this bothered her.

  Siraay began to stride away from her room and down the hall at pace but immediately heard the footsteps of the two female guards fall into step behind her.

  She spun quickly, and had a moment of pleasure as she caught the surprised and slightly fearful looks that flashed across both female’s faces as they swayed with the force of the sudden stop.

  ‘Why do you insist on following me everywhere?’ Siraay demanded, her tone like ice.

  One of the guards managed to overcome her shock at the sudden verbal attack enough to respond. ‘We’re under order
s, lady. From Lord Chezran himself.’

  Instead of calming Siraay, this response made her seethe further. ‘Is that so?’ she hissed.

  The guard nodded quickly.

  Siraay didn’t say a word more but spun on one booted heel and continued to stride down the hallway, growling low enough so the guards couldn’t hear, ‘We’ll see about that.’

  Her wrath carried her swiftly to the grand staircase and down its sweeping length, until she reached the landing at the bottom and realised she didn’t know where her intended destination lay.

  Inwardly grimacing, Siraay angled her chin over her shoulder and queried more calmly, ‘Where is the training hall?’

  This time, it was the other female guard who responded, seemingly keen to keep her lady happy. ‘This way, lady,’ the guard said promptly, briskly moving away and to Siraay’s left to lead her down a passage opposite from where Siraay had dined the previous evening.

  Siraay followed the guards through a couple more twists and turns at hallway intersections before the pair invited her to step through an open doorway.

  A large, mostly empty space, the walls were lined with weapons—staffs, both traditional and with edged blades; curved knives; short battle sticks; and throwing knives of various shapes and sizes hung from select locations around the room.

  But like the dining hall she had visited the evening before, subtle touches of decadence were evident throughout the hall. Gleaming chandeliers, polished black marble floors, and gems as big as Siraay’s fist set within pairs of crossed golden swords hanging on the walls.

  And then Siraay spied the rooms leading off from this one.

  One room was full of training equipment—squat blocks and taller barriers—to teach one agility and balance.

  A sound entered into her awareness then. A muted thudding, repeated over and over, and to no particular rhythm.

  Thud.

  Thud, thud, thud, thud.

  Thud, thud.

  Siraay strolled farther into the main room until she was able to spot the source of the sound. Off to her right, yet another room opened up, containing a number of long, oblong shapes hanging from a wide beam that stretched from one end of the room to the other.

  And it was into one of these hanging shapes that a muscular figure was repeatedly plunging his wrapped fists.

  Curious, Siraay walked silently across the main floor and up to rest one hand on the wooden beam of the entrance to the room in which the male was vigorously sweating.

  Siraay’s eyes were instantly drawn to the defined muscles standing at attention in the male’s back, his dark hair slicked back with sweat.

  But as a spinning backhand blow caused the male to rotate his torso enough to expose his profile, Siraay grimaced with distaste.

  Pyron.

  Narrowing her eyes, Siraay shifted and leaned her back against the thick beam of the entrance, stretching out her legs casually before her as she eyed the masked male. ‘Interesting strategy,’ she quipped, both announcing herself and taunting him. ‘Does it actually hit back, or is this how you plan to win against the Resistance—by hoping they only throw mindless, useless grubs at you?’ Her voice carried clearly through the room, audible even above the thumps.

  Yet Pyron didn’t turn to look at her. Didn’t seem the least bit fazed as he kept pounding the hanging object, his voice almost lazy in its reply. ‘There is more than just battling the enemy. There is also the war within our own minds that needs to be waged. And won, each and every day.’

  Such words should not have intrigued Siraay, coming from Pyron, who she detested, but for some reason they did. And it made her all the more uncomfortable that she wasn’t able to articulate why.

  She smiled widely at the male, showing teeth, and presenting the very image of smugness. ‘Some of us don’t have that issue. But I guess for weaker minds …’

  That did it. Pyron’s hands fell away from the bag, and he spun towards her, making Siraay’s heart begin pounding harder in anticipation of a fight, and it took all her control to keep her body relaxed, to maintain a bored expression as she leaned against the beam.

  Yet she didn’t think Pyron would be stupid enough to attack her, not when Chezran had made so clear the position she now occupied in this place.

  ‘Weaker minds?’ Pyron’s voice was a growl. ‘Remember who almost broke you that time in the cells. Remember that I have seen you at your weakest. Your most desperate.’ Pyron began to walk silently towards her, sweat making the muscles in his arms and chest glisten. He moved gracefully for someone so powerful. ‘You should remember that I could do those things to you again. Cause you pain that would make you beg for me to kill you.’

  Siraay was no longer leaning against the beam. She was standing tall and tense, her body coiling itself as Pyron’s steady tread brought him closer and closer.

  ‘You won’t ever get to touch me again,’ she hissed at him, glaring, all pretence of languidness gone.

  Pyron smirked. ‘Maybe—’

  ‘I see you found the training hall.’

  The voice, once again, stirred odd feelings in Siraay. She still wasn’t sure how to treat Loce, back from the dead. He was a former friend of her old self—or had pretended to be so. But he was most assuredly a current ally.

  Yet, regardless of her current thoughts about him, of her feelings concerning her former self being fooled by his pretending, she would take his company any day over Pyron’s.

  Knowing it would anger the masked male, Siraay turned smoothly away from Pyron as if he no longer existed and devoted her full attention to Loce.

  Thus, she managed to catch the final slip of Loce’s eyes as they rose rapidly back up from her midsection to her face.

  ‘I did,’ she responded, affecting ignorance of where his eyes had just been wandering. ‘Or, at least, my guards did.’ She placed a slight emphasis on the word ‘guards’, making her disapproval clear.

  Loce nodded, not acknowledging her obvious annoyance at being constantly escorted around the palace, and Siraay looked more closely at the blond male. He carried himself so differently here, compared to the persona he had assumed as a member of the Resistance. And he, too, was dressed for training, but instead of wearing black, he was dressed in a charcoal-grey top and pants, black wraps around his hands and wrists.

  Then Pyron’s voice floated from over her shoulder. ‘Lady Siraay,’ he said, drawing out her title just enough for it to sound insulting, ‘was just saying how badly she needed a training session. Maybe you could spar with her?’

  Siraay gritted her teeth. She wished she could round on Pyron and give him a sound lashing, but Loce’s eyes were on her, and she had no wish for anyone to know just how much she hated the chief archon standing somewhere behind her.

  So instead, she gave a curt nod and chose to retake control of the conversation. ‘That’s right. While the training methods of Herrin and Raque have been useful, I need to sharpen my skills quickly.’ She smiled winningly at Loce. ‘Pyron here has already tired himself out, but maybe you might be so kind as to assist me?’

  Control, and a parting shot at Pyron. Siraay struggled to keep the polite smile plastered on her face from becoming smug as she felt the chief archon tense behind her at the insinuation he had ‘tired’ himself out merely hitting that hanging bag.

  Yet he wasn’t given the opportunity to respond as Loce eagerly agreed. ‘I understand completely. I, of course, trained here first before being assigned out to submerge myself into the Resistance training camp.’ His chest puffed out a little. ‘It was quite hard to keep from giving myself away as the real fighter I am, during that training phase.’

  Siraay thought she might have heard a derisive snort sound from behind her, but she was far more interested in what Loce had just said.

  ‘So you were spying for Lord Chezran?’ She moved with the slim male towards the larger room, leaving Pyron to watch them depart.

  Loce was nodding as he fell into step with her. ‘It took a long time
for me to find the right way in, and then it really tried my patience to have to follow along at the crawling pace of the Resistance instructors. But’—and he lifted his chin—‘I am now a favourite with Lord Chezran for the intelligence I was able to feed him. And for finding you again, of course.’

  Siraay smiled in simulated admiration. ‘You must be highly skilled to have achieved that.’

  Loce’s spine straightened just a little more. ‘His Lordship did make me an archon,’ he said.

  ‘And,’ Siraay continued, ‘of course, you have my gratitude, for assisting in bringing me here, to be fully awakened to my real potential.’ She smiled again at him—an appreciative, kind smile. Not too much, just enough.

  Loce gazed into her eyes just a breath longer than was necessary before Siraay turned her head away, forcing a blush. Then she straightened one side panel of her shirt. ‘Now, where shall we begin?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  LOCE STARTED OFF their session by briefly explaining that a variety of training methods were conducted in the room, including strength, agility, and weapons training. He also explained that sometimes, to test their skills, they would face off against a number of their own soldiers.

  When Siraay showed surprise at this, Loce just shrugged. ‘We need to be the best if we want to lead this army, and our soldiers are very well trained. Although they might be more … dedicated’—and here his eyes flashed quickly to the necklace against Siraay’s throat—‘than normal soldiers, they still need to be shown why we are in charge.’ He shrugged again. ‘Training against them helps to remind them why we are leading this force and also puts our skills to the test.’

  Siraay tilted her head to the side slightly. ‘I would have thought that they might be loath to fight against you and the other members of the inner circle?’ Actually, she would have expected that soldiers who properly respected and feared their leaders would never raise arms against them.

  ‘We incentivise them,’ explained Loce. ‘Anyone who shows great skill or who manages to harm their opponent—or possibly even win the fight—is rewarded.’ Loce gestured in a wide arc. ‘Better quarters, an increase in rank or maybe appointment to special duties.’