Change of Darkness

by Jacinta Jade

  Her hair was dishevelled and her eyes bloodshot from asphyxiation, her hands streaked with blood that was rapidly drying, and around her neck, clear red marks stood out where Pyron’s fingers had gripped her throat.

  Siraay raised a hand to trace a finger over the burgeoning bruises and sighed angrily. He had marked her. Oddly, that made her more angry than the fact that she had been so close to dying. Violently, she ripped her top off and flung it to the side, wanting nothing more than to sink into a warm bath.

  She glanced back into the mirror briefly, meaning to turn and make for the steps that led up to the running water, but she spotted something interesting.

  More bruises were blossoming across the tops of her shoulders—dark points of colour that stood out against her skin. Yet she didn’t remember the blow that had earned her those … She stared at them for a moment, but when nothing occurred to her, she shook her head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t matter. The ones on her throat were the issue.

  How was she to hide them from Chezran? If he saw them, and knew that she and his chief archon had come to blows, would he think her weak for running from Pyron at the end?

  Or worse, would he think she had purposely tried to pick a fight?

  She called out to Trelar, ‘Let the kitchen know I’ll be taking dinner in here tonight.’ She peeled off the rest of her outfit and walked across the room and up the steps to the bath. It looked hot, but this time she didn’t mind. She wanted the heat of the water to clean Pyron’s touch from her body, to burn away those marks he had made on her.

  As Siraay’s body sank into the warm, circulating water, her submerged hands caused red swirls to bloom in the water.

  At least Pyron hadn’t gotten away unscathed. And next time, he might not get away at all.

  CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Siraay stood out on the balcony, watching small shapes flit about the city as the sun sank to one side, the cool temperature of the air keeping her alert. She was staring at the mountains in the distance and could feel a need building in her.

  While she was still getting to know how things worked around here, and didn’t want to be seen shirking any duties, she was also beginning to feel like a contained animal. True, her former self had been a captive of Xarcon for a number of days, but since she had been awakened by Chezran that day in the arena, she hadn’t yet had a chance to venture out beyond the walls.

  Maybe she could join one of the scouting parties … yet that would mean being escorted by her elite unit. And dealing with Drosni’s smile. She grimaced. Still, if it gave her the chance to stretch herself, and she laid down some ground rules for the unit …

  A knock at her room door distracted her from her thoughts, but she didn’t turn as she listened to the light but quick steps of Trelar travel across the room behind her as she went to answer it.

  A quiet conversation, some more light steps, then, ‘Archon Renhed for you, my lady.’

  Siraay shifted enough to indicate with a gesture that Trelar should let the spymaster in, then pivoted back around to the view before her.

  A moment later, a different set of boots sounded against the polished floor of her room.

  It’s amazing what you can tell from someone’s steps, Siraay thought. While Trelar’s were light and flitting, her uncertainty at times conveyed by the pauses in her steps, Archon Renhed’s were assured, even. Practiced. As should be the gait of a spy who needed to blend into enemy territory.

  The confident strides grew louder as Renhed emerged out onto the balcony, and Siraay watched from the corner of her eye as the female archon came to a stop at the railing nearby and placed her hands and arms leisurely on the stonework as she, too, gazed out at the city.

  Siraay could have smiled to herself, so well did Renhed play this game. But if the spymaster wanted something, she would have to speak first.

  Siraay counted three breaths before the archon finally spoke.

  ‘So I heard some intriguing gossip this afternoon.’

  ‘Did you?’ Siraay made sure her own tone mimicked that of the spymaster’s. Light, bored, and distant. She didn’t doubt at all that the female had heard some interesting things. If she hadn’t by now, one might wonder just how she’d earned her post.

  ‘Yes,’ responded Renhed, looking away to the right. ‘Seems that a pair of guards on an upper tower spotted two figures having a tussle on the stairs that lead to the elite units training area. They couldn’t make out who they were, of course—until one of the figures Changed and escaped up the stairs, leaving the other bloodied.’

  Siraay felt a small smile try to work its way onto her face at the thought of Pyron injured and bleeding, but she forced it back. ‘Ah,’ was the only comment she made.

  The archon shifted slightly towards her. ‘They identified the animal that sped back into the palace as a sevonix.’

  There it was, then. Siraay turned to the spymaster, keeping her face interested but otherwise giving away nothing. ‘Hard to mistake it for anything else, I suppose.’

  ‘Mmmmmm. Want to tell me what happened?’ Renhed nodded at the marks that could just been seen poking out from the high collar of Siraay’s tunic.

  She shrugged at the archon. ‘We had a disagreement. Tempers flared. He marked me, I marked him. That was the end of it.’

  The spymaster nodded. ‘This will make things a bit more exciting around here if you two keep up a running dislike of each other.’

  Siraay nodded. ‘It may.’ A thought popped into her head. ‘I want to leave the city tomorrow. Run with a patrol, maybe.’

  The archon’s eyebrows rose. ‘I could set arrange that. I know that His Lordship set you up with an elite unit. I can schedule you for a patrol starting in the morning, if you like.’

  Siraay nodded, pleased. ‘But not too early. I still need to train.’

  Renhed’s eyes shifted back to the marks on Siraay’s neck. ‘Even after today?’

  Siraay pivoted away from her, looking back out at the city, the winter light softening now as the sun sank still further. ‘Especially after today.’

  The archon nodded and, pivoting away, began to walk back into Siraay’s room, her footsteps sounding out an even beat.

  Then they paused. ‘You know I’ll have to say something?’

  Siraay nodded, her eyes on the rocky mountains beyond the city. ‘I know.’

  ***

  Her meal had been brought up and Trelar was laying the table while Siraay lounged in front of the fire. She was in her sevonix form, giving her body a rest and allowing the greater healing abilities of the large feline form an opportunity to repair the damage done to her throat.

  Her neck was hurting more now than it had earlier, the swelling having taken effect, and the recovery process seemed to be taking longer than usual.

  Yet with nowhere to be at that particular moment, and with the warmth of the fire against her back, Siraay wasn’t complaining. And the smell of her dinner was definitely making her mouth water, even in this form.

  Or maybe because she was in this form.

  Whichever it was, Siraay could smell with a high level of precision just what it was that Trelar was laying out on the table.

  Meats and a range of grains and other foods that were wafting delicious smells towards her.

  Stretched out on the rug before the fire, Siraay watched Trelar turn towards her.

  ‘Your dinner is—’

  A knock sounded at the door, and Trelar broke off, uncertain.

  Siraay remained as she was, her tail twitching with curiosity, unstartled. In this form, she had been able to hear the footsteps approaching from down the hallway. She watched as Trelar collected herself and made her way quickly to the door, obviously not wanting to delay seating her mistress at the table. The servant opened the door and Siraay saw the female’s face go through a number of reactions.

  First surprise, then flustered, then gravely respectful.

  ‘Where is Lady Siraay?’ the visitor ask
ed.

  Clearly hearing the words and identifying the speaker all at once, Siraay raised her head off her paws, squaring her shoulders.

  Trelar’s quiet response swiftly informed the visitor of what he wanted to know, then the servant was stepping back to pull the door open, bowing her head.

  Quick, powerful steps. Chezran entered and walked a few steps in, and Siraay watched as his eyes rapidly scanned the room before finding and stopping on her where she lay before the fire.

  He strode closer, stopping a short distance away from the rug. He paused to take in her feline form for a moment longer before he tilted his head a little down to her. ‘Show me,’ he said.

  Siraay lifted her head a little, looking back up at him. But while quietly spoken, his words were, without a doubt, a command.

  She breathed in, her large lungs visibly expanding, and Changed.

  Now she stood in her normal form once more, looking up into his eyes. She knew her expression was haughty and slightly rebellious, but Chezran’s eyes shifted directly to her neck, hardening as he seemed to confirm something he had already suspected.

  ‘Are you hurt elsewhere?’ His voice was clipped and curt.

  She didn’t move her head at all but kept holding his eyes. She needed him to know she wasn’t weak. ‘No,’ she told him firmly, even though her mind flashed back to the bruises on her shoulders that she had seen earlier in the mirror.

  ‘Why?’ Another command. This time, for an explanation.

  She felt her face harden. She wasn’t some reckless youth or inexperienced minion to be commanded. She was a Lady of Xarcon. A predator. A sevonix.

  Her lips parted slightly, and she knew she was breathing through her teeth, but she couldn’t stop the signs of irritation from showing. And why should she cover them?

  ‘We had a difference of opinion. He lost control. I showed him what I would and wouldn’t put up with.’

  ‘And became the talking point of my palace today, it seems.’ Chezran’s voice was cold, displeased.

  Siraay grew more annoyed, and she raised her chin higher, straightening her spine. ‘I won’t submit before someone like him. If he, or anyone else, doesn’t like me being here, then they can face up to me or get out of my way.’ She let her head tilt just slightly, and her voice became slightly softer. ‘Or I can always remove them if they insist on being an annoyance.’ There. She’d said it. She would not put up with a charade of friendliness or neutrality while people plotted against her behind closed doors.

  Chezran’s face didn’t alter as he kept looking at her, his eyes firmly locked on hers. Then he nodded once, spun abruptly on his heel, and walked briskly back to the door, Trelar just managing to open it in time for him to depart.

  After the servant had closed the door, Trelar turned her face towards the fireplace, her expression confused and fearful.

  Ignoring her, Siraay faced the fire once more, her hand going to the bruises at her throat. Her fingers brushed the collar of her dress before she let her hand fall back to her side.

  The dress was lovely, a deep purple that clung to and flowed down from her hips, showing off her lean figure. Its collar sat high around Siraay’s neck and flared out as it extended stiffly upwards. It covered the majority of her throat.

  But left enough of it bare to reveal a hint of the bruises on her neck.

  Just enough so that anyone who looked at her and saw the marks would think she had been trying to hide them.

  ***

  She appeared to be standing in the council room, but it was almost completely dark, save for one torch that burned and flickered on the wall by the door.

  Siraay blinked a little as she glanced away from the torch to get her bearings and then paused.

  Had that shadow moved?

  She tensed as she saw the shadow shift again. Yes—there was definitely something stirring in the shadows. And it was coming towards her.

  She wanted to back away, to run from the unknown thing, but her feet seemed to have become a part of the floor, a part of the darkness. The shadow advanced swiftly towards her, and Siraay opened her mouth to cry out. There wasn’t much she was afraid of these days, but unknowns were always the most dangerous. How could you prepare to fight against a foe you knew nothing of?

  Yet even as she tried to expel her breath, no sound came. Fear blanketed her as the shadow continued to approach.

  Closer and closer, twin points of light reflecting from its dark mass …

  Siraay felt her mouth drop open, both in confusion and surprise, as the shadowy form resolved itself into a form.

  It was a sevonix.

  Chezran.

  But how had she ended up in the room with him? Yet Siraay quickly forgot that matter as the lord came within attacking distance … and passed her.

  It took her a moment to realise nothing had happened. Nothing at all. There was no recognition of her in those feline eyes, no glance towards the sound of her breathing, which must have sounded like a storm in his ears.

  Could he truly not see or hear her?

  A sound came from the other side of the door—a careful knocking.

  Chezran wheeled swiftly in his feline form—he was so much larger and more powerful than Siraay—and seemed to fade backwards into the deeper shadows within the council room.

  The door opened, and a figure stepped through, briefly silhouetted by the light from the dining hall before closing the door behind them.

  Then, ‘My lord? I was told by Archon Renhed that you wanted to see me?’

  Pyron.

  Siraay felt her lip curl at the sound of that drawling voice.

  Yet when Chezran didn’t respond, she twisted her head to scan for the lord. But he was no longer behind her.

  And she wasn’t the only one uncertain of what was happening.

  ‘My lord?’ Some of the confidence had left Pyron’s voice, and the little light coming from the lone torch in the room glinted off his silver mask as he awkwardly turned his head to search the darkness.

  Awkward, because he was stiff from the injury Siraay had given him.

  Siraay flexed her fingers in satisfaction, but then she stilled as her eyes caught further movement in the dark.

  Without a sound, Chezran attacked from Pyron’s side.

  Siraay only saw it happen because her eyes were already used to the dark, and because the dark silhouette stood out for her against the badly lit area by the door.

  But for Pyron, who had walked into the only lighted area, and who was looking out on a dark room, there was no hope of seeing the powerful form that had launched itself at him.

  The chief archon went down with a shocked gasp as a mass of muscle and sinew and fur hit him square in the chest, making him slide on his back a little way across the polished floor until his head bumped up against the wall.

  The struggling male gasped again, and Siraay could see that he was trying to get air back into his lungs. As soon as he was able to manage a mouthful, he gasped out, ‘My lord? I don’t understand! What did—?’

  A roar cut him off. Deep, loud, and truly terrifying, it held nothing back and reverberated so loudly in the large space that Siraay wanted to throw her hands up over her ears, yet they, too, seemed to be frozen at her sides.

  Pyron shrunk back at the roar and wisely chose to stop struggling as the large black-and-silver predator bent its head low and stared at him hungrily.

  Then Chezran Changed. He stood over his chief archon, glaring down from his full height.

  Yet Siraay could see the predator that remained just under the surface of that normal form, so close to breaking through again.

  ‘Never,’ Chezran growled out, ‘touch my lady again.’

  Pyron’s mouth dropped open further. ‘My lord, I—’

  ‘Quiet!’

  Pyron’s mouth snapped shut, and Siraay’s eyes widened.

  ‘The Lady Siraay is mine. You are not to touch what is mine unless it is in defence of her life.’ Chezran leaned in closer. �
��You might have killed her today, you fool. Though I think the risk of it is actually less than both you and I might suspect. Have you forgotten what I told you? Have you forgotten the prophecy?’

  Chezran’s shout reverberated off the polished surfaces of the room, but Siraay barely noticed the volume as she took in his words.

  ‘No, my lord, I have not forgotten,’ whispered Pyron.

  ‘Then explain your actions to me before I rip out your throat for disobeying me.’

  The chief archon seemed to struggle wordlessly for a moment before words burst from him. ‘She is unbearable, lord. She struts about like she owns this place, like all within are pawns at her disposal. She acts like she could take on the whole of the Resistance by herself and win. She is arrogant, stubborn, over-confident, annoying …’

  Pyron’s voice trailed off again as Chezran’s head tilted.

  It was a subtle gesture, but Siraay read the movement for what it was. A predator wondering just how quickly it could devour the prey before it.

  ‘Tell me—do you need to visit the technologist wing, or do I need to reconsider your allegiance to me, Pyron?’ Chezran’s words produced a silence that was deeper and more still than before.

  ‘Neither, my lord,’ the prone archon managed to say in a croaky voice. ‘I only owe allegiance to you. And I will not disobey you again.’

  Another tilt of the head. ‘Good. But I want you to present yourself to the head technologist tomorrow, anyway.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ came the quick answer.

  Chezran angled his head away but didn’t move. ‘Deadly. Predatory. Tenacious. Aggressive.’

  ‘My lord?’ Pyron’s voice was clearly confused this time.

  Chezran glanced back down. ‘Your description of the lady should also have covered those things. Because it is she who will help us win this war.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  SIRAAY AWOKE WITH a start the next morning, sitting up quickly and breathing heavily as she glanced around wildly.