Change of Darkness

by Jacinta Jade

  Nor could she keep up the pretence much longer of being back to full health already.

  As Siraay pivoted away from Loce and began walking towards the weapons rack against the wall, she waited for the question to come, and was just two paces away from the rack when he asked it.

  ‘Care for some company? I would be interested as well, especially as a number of them are soldiers we trained with when we were with the Resistance.’

  A slow, knowing smile crept across Siraay’s face as she placed her staff into the vertical holder. Then she wiped it from her expression as she turned, a more pleasantly agreeable countenance now showing, and nodded at Loce. ‘Of course.’

  ***

  Once they had bathed and dressed again, as agreed, Loce met Siraay at the foot of the grand staircase.

  Watching her descend from his position at the foot of the stairs, his eyes stayed on her exposed midriff just a heartbeat too long, which she pretended not to notice.

  Her dress was a burnished yellow, and the colour set off her tanned skin and red hair, which set off the gold of her necklace and the brilliant purple of the gem.

  The top part of the dress dipped down in a V to show a hint of Siraay’s breasts, and the back crisscrossed in small sections of material before it swung about her hips to join up at the front.

  Leaving her toned stomach exposed.

  That, and the splits up both thighs, meant Siraay was exposing a lot of skin as she made her way gracefully down the stairs.

  It was a dress that drew the eye. Perfect for her needs that day.

  Loce managed to get his reaction rapidly under control as Siraay joined him at the bottom of the stairs, and he stared straight ahead as he escorted her through the palace towards the tunnel door that led to the arena.

  ‘Apparently, you’re the talk of the palace at the moment,’ commented Loce.

  Siraay smiled indulgently. ‘Am I?’

  Loce nodded. ‘I’m told that the story of how you took on an entire squad of Resistance fighters has been told so many times now that you’re almost a legend here.’

  Siraay smiled again and pretended to brush an imaginary piece of lint from the folds of her dress. Right above her thigh. ‘Soldiers will talk.’

  Loce peeked over at her motion as they walked, then looked forwards again. ‘Yes, but I think it’s more now. With that battle, and your recovery, and what they saw you do before you … joined us, they are beginning to believe the prophecy. That you are the weapon that was foretold.’

  Siraay stopped, her eyes lighting up at the revelation. She shifted to regard Loce. ‘Weapon?’

  He blinked at her. ‘Yes. The prophecy says …’ He trailed off as Siraay raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, right. You never got to read it.’ The recently titled archon seemed to think for a moment before he abruptly said, ‘This way,’ and grabbed Siraay’s elbow, pulling her from the passage and into a small room.

  Once they were inside, Loce closed the door and spun back to her. ‘After you asked me about the prophecy, I wrote you a note. But obviously after things went … badly … you never had the chance to read it.’ He moved away from her and rummaged through a small storage box on a nearby table.

  Seeming to find what he wanted, Siraay watched as Loce jotted something down on a piece of paper before turning and thrusting the sheet into her hands. ‘Here.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Siraay asked, taking the paper carefully from him.

  ‘It’s the prophecy,’ Loce replied simply.

  Siraay’s eyes dropped to the paper immediately, excitement building within her.

  Two will fall,

  And two will rise.

  One who wears two faces,

  One who wears many.

  Through trial and hardship,

  They will meet.

  A new path forged,

  The white fire will burn.

  She will defeat those who oppose.

  Finally. The prophecy.

  What Loce had talked about.

  What Chezran and Pyron had talked about.

  And none of it made sense to her.

  Siraay glanced up from the note at Loce. ‘What does it mean?’

  He seemed to hold his breath for a moment, as if considering how much he should tell her and weighing that against what Chezran might think if he found out.

  So Siraay subtly shifted her hips, exposing more leg, and widened her eyes innocently.

  Loce’s next words came out in a quiet rush. ‘Chezran thinks it tells the story of two people who will change the course of Kaslon history. He thinks it speaks of one male and one female who, together, will rule Kaslon.’ His gaze shifted to the paper for a moment, then over Siraay, before lifting back up to meet her eyes. ‘He thinks the female is you.’

  This time, the widening of Siraay’s eyes was genuine, and she stared at Loce, stunned and silent. But, automatically, her eyes turned back down to the paper, and she read over the lines of the prophecy again.

  And memories began flashing quickly through her mind.

  Two will fall, and two will rise.

  She had almost been killed numerous times since leaving Lalinta, and had finally been awakened by Chezran in the arena, leaving her old self behind.

  One who wears two faces, and one who wears many.

  She could Change into different forms, not just one like most Kaslonians.

  Through trial and hardship, they will meet.

  Well, that bit was obvious to her—fighting and surviving was all she had done for the last few seasons.

  A new path forged, the white fire will burn. This bit was more intriguing. A new path forged … could that be what she and Chezran were trying to do as they planned for the battle to come, and what they would do after their victory? And what about the second part of that line, the white fire? Was it symbolism for something? Her healing ability? It certainly had felt like fire was rippling through her both times she had managed to summon that power. Or did it mean something else entirely? A cleansing of sorts? She certainly meant to help Chezran wipe out the Resistance.

  She will defeat those who oppose.

  That line she liked, given all its inferences.

  Siraay’s eyes moved from the paper to Loce again. ‘Why does Lord Chezran think this is about me?’

  ‘Because of what you have done. Because of what you are—a sevonix. Everyone knows that only Kaslon leaders are given that form by the Mother. It marks you as special.’

  Loce’s voice grew soft on the last word, but Siraay ignored the nuance as she continued to press him.

  ‘There must be more to his theory than that.’

  Loce nodded readily. ‘You can also heal others. An extremely rare gift in itself. Something I had never even heard of, until I saw you do it.’ He took a step closer to her. ‘And you are ruthless,’ he breathed. ‘The way you fight … you wouldn’t know, but watching you’—he paused for a moment—‘I can only describe you as a weapon. Forged by the Mother, to do her will.’

  Siraay watched as Loce’s hand moved towards her slowly, as if his mind was warring over his need to touch her while knowing that she was not his to touch.

  Siraay wondered if he would actually dare to do it, although she was prepared to remind him of her status if he actually did.

  Thankfully, footsteps sounded in the passage outside the closed door, and Loce snatched his hand back faster than if Siraay had threatened him herself.

  ‘We should get to the training ground, if you still want to do your inspection, lady,’ he said formally.

  Siraay nodded at him, keeping her expression blank as she turned away, folding and tucking the bit of paper into a tiny space where the cloth of the dress curved over her breast.

  It would keep safely there for further scrutiny later.

  Loce opened the door for her, and together they proceeded down the hallway.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  STANDING ON THE balcony looking out over the arena where Chezran had watched her kill to
save her friends, Siraay observed the newest group of soldiers training on the sands.

  As she had stepped out onto that balcony, Siraay had absentmindedly wondered just how many Xarcon soldiers she had killed on that fateful day when she had been awakened.

  Enough to be impressive, she was sure. Her former self, the old Siray, had held nothing in reserve during that fight.

  And that was what had finally brought Chezran down to claim her, knowing that her true potential was as yet untapped at that time.

  She eyed the end of the arena now where it had all happened. She had spilled blood here … and her own had also been spilled.

  Her eyes turned back to the soldiers before her. It was hard to believe that these males and females were the same that had come into the city with her. Now, of course, they all wore tarzneum bands around their wrists. Marching in unison, the large group halted as one on Herrin’s command.

  Crump.

  Silence followed the sound of many feet halting together.

  Loce raised a hand and motioned to Herrin. He had been down to have a quick word with the training master while Siraay had breezed by, heading directly for the platform above.

  Herrin was now an underling, and it pleased her to ignore him completely and let Loce deal with him in her stead, briefing him on what Siraay was looking for.

  At Loce’s signal, Herrin called out various numbers. Then he let silence fall for an instant before shouting, ‘Move forwards!’

  Several soldiers stepped forwards to form a new line before Herrin.

  Peering down, the rays of the sun through the glass dome roof clearly illuminated the space before her, and Siraay was very interested to see who was in that line. Although identifying their faces required her to recall a number of her former self’s memories to ensure she was correctly naming the figures.

  The first face she noted was Wexner’s. The most experienced of her former allies, he stood out now, easily the most confident and self-assured.

  Next in line was Genlie. She, too, had already had battle experience, and the soft face Siraay recalled from earlier memories was now set in a hard mask.

  Beside her, unsurprisingly, was Kovi, and Siraay wondered if the two of them were still committed to each other, even after they had been indoctrinated.

  Her gaze moved on, and she didn’t need to access any memories to identify the male that stood at attention beside Kovi.

  Baindan.

  Siraay looked hard at the male, carefully analysing her own emotions. If she found herself feeling anything for him, or if old Siray’s emotional attachment came through at all … well, she wouldn’t be able to let that kind of weakness stand.

  Would need to remove the cause of it, actually.

  After a moment of thorough self-examination, though, Siraay was satisfied that she didn’t feel anything but mere curiosity.

  Her eyes slid right … to the other attractive male that stood there. This one, she remembered, was called Zalorand. And, like Baindan, she recalled that he had had a thing for her former self.

  Not that he would still harbour any of those same feelings, of course.

  She liked the lines of his face, and his physical frame, which was far more impressive than any of the others in the line.

  Grudgingly, she let her eyes move on, and discovered that next to the golden-haired male was a much leaner form … a male, with a cunning look about him.

  Tamot, Siraay recalled.

  He, in turn, was standing beside a dark-haired female.

  Presently, Herrin began putting the new line through their own set of drills—manoeuvres that were far more complex than what the bulk of the soldiers had been doing before. But more than that, it was the speed, efficiency, and lethal accuracy with which that single line now moved that made Siraay catch her breath as Herrin called out command after command.

  Wexner was by far the most impressive, his experience clear in the lines of his muscles and how he achieved maximum effect with minimal effort. A true warrior.

  Genlie was the swiftest of the line, her graceful efforts making the males seem almost uncoordinated in comparison.

  Kovi was the strongest, Baindan the smoothest—as if this were an exercise he had been practising his entire life.

  But it was the dark-haired female at the end of the line, who Siraay hadn’t taken much of an interest in before, who now drew her attention. Or, to be more accurate, it was the female’s ferociousness that drew her attention.

  Although the others had their own strength, Siraay would have been willing to bet on this female against most of them, with perhaps the only exception being Wexner.

  The way the female gritted her mouth and threw herself into each and every attack fascinated Siraay, and she leaned hard against the stone barrier that was all that separated her from falling to her death onto the arena’s sands below.

  Loce noticed her sudden attention and turned to look back down at the line as well. ‘Someone caught your eye?’

  Siraay nodded and pointed. ‘That one—the female at the end.’

  Loce peered at the indicated figure and nodded his agreement. ‘She would make a fine addition to any guard.’

  Siraay pushed away from the edge of the balcony. ‘Let’s go down. I want to see them up close.’

  Loce gave a curt nod and led the way, moving downwards through the passages that wove along the inside of the arena’s thick walls.

  When they emerged out onto the sand, the temperature belying the truth of the winter air outside the dome, Siraay and Loce directed their steps towards Herrin, who called a halt to the drills when he noted their approach.

  And he was not the only one.

  Siraay saw multiple pairs of eyes register her presence and keep watching as she and Loce entered their field of vision.

  Pretending not to notice, Siraay nonetheless catalogued everything she read in the eyes and faces of each soldier—especially in the males. For she had chosen this dress especially, knowing that when she walked out into the arena, it would reflect the light, making her glow like a second sun, her red hair free flowing and bright against the dress. And, of course, the slits showed glimpses of her toned thighs with every step—which was not just an aesthetic touch, as Loce probably thought.

  No, Siraay wanted these soldiers to note that she wasn’t just a title—but that she had earned her place here, had trained, had fought, and was worthy of what she would command them to do. And, of course, the scars that marked the left side of her face only added to the effect she wished to produce.

  And even if they didn’t really have another option, should the tarzneum in their bands not have the exact required effect, soldiers would generally do anything for a superior they revered.

  Anything … for a potential queen.

  Siraay stopped in front of the line and glanced at Herrin, who pointedly moved his eyes upwards from her feet, taking a long time around her hips before finally reaching her face.

  As usual, Herrin’s eyes gave little away, but Siraay could now read his posture like a book. His muscles were tense and his feet were planted firmly apart at shoulder width, but his upper body was leaning forwards ever so slightly.

  She smiled a sensual, predatory smile at the training master, the dark makeup lining her eyes adding intenseness to her gaze.

  Herrin breathed in slightly as Loce addressed him. ‘Lady Siraay has selected those she would like for her personal guard.’

  Some of the waiting soldiers noticeably straightened further, but Loce continued on, as if he, Herrin, and Siraay were chatting alone.

  ‘Lady Siraay’s guard will, of course, accompany her around the palace, follow her orders over any others but Lord Chezran’s, and have the honour of fighting with her when our armies bring down the Resistance.’

  A deep silence seemed to reign over the arena, and Loce nodded at Herrin.

  The training master pivoted with that lethal grace to address the soldiers standing at attention in the line before him. ‘
If any of you, for whatever reason, would prefer to fight with the main division and not be considered for this honour, step aside now.’ Herrin’s eyes canvassed the faces before him carefully, looking for the slightest twitch.

  But, interestingly, all the soldiers remained completely still.

  Surprised, Siraay turned her head to look at the assembled males and females, running her eyes quickly across the faces before her.

  And actually blinked, losing her self-assuredness for a breath.

  Keen eyes, raised chins, and set expressions.

  Fierce loyalty. There was no other way to describe it.

  And although she was not the sentimental kind, the power Siraay felt transfer to her in that moment was incredible. Each male and female here would die for her, their bodies hers to command.

  She shifted her eyes away from the mass of soldiers and looked back to Herrin, who had raised one eyebrow.

  ‘It seems that the stories of your recent … activities have become well known, lady.’

  Siraay nodded. ‘So it seems. I’ll make my selection, then.’

  Herrin nodded and stepped to the side with a formal gesture, then fell into step with Siraay as she passed him.

  Good, she thought. Had the training master not deferred to her, it would have been necessary to make an example of him. Though, there was a small risk of that now that Herrin had seen the soldiers’ reaction to her.

  So Siraay walked across with Herrin to the line of familiar faces who had been called forward. The Mother, it seemed, had a plan for those whose lives kept entwining with her own. Although, as her personal guard, how long they stayed alive once they went to war would depend solely upon their skills.

  And their regard for her orders.

  Siraay eyed Wexner as she passed him and then admired Kovi’s large muscles as she strolled by. She stopped at Genlie. ‘You. Step out.’

  No names. Not yet.

  Siraay waited until the female had stepped forwards, then moved on, only to stop in front of Baindan and Zale. She peered carefully at the pair for a moment. The tarzneum would make them both obedient and loyal, and would enhance the traits and drives that made them both ideal soldiers. And if one of those traits was desire … she paused, considering, before making up her mind.