Dark Ember

by R. D. Vallier

  The television hissed static. Two rebels rolled the master onto an old sheet, his belly ballooning. The wide eyes of the woman hostage in the neighboring cell darted between the corpse and Delano. Her cellmate huddled in the far corner, weeping against his knees. The hound snarled from its crate, all slaver and bloodshot eyes; its sniffer appeared to be meditating. My lack of depth perception gave everything a surreal, movie-quality feel.

  Delano's tears went on and on. His plumbing had burst. Raw sewage gurgled out of the pipes and every memory he wanted flushed surged into the open, soaking the carpet, staining the walls. Eyes peeked from the camp's corners and the upper level banister. I pretended Orin didn't exist. My mind flailed, grasping for a life preserver in this emotional flood. What on Earth did someone say in these situations? There, there. Your old slave master is dead now. You'll never be raped or tortured again. I bit my tongue, terrified any words risked further psychological damage. Hot chocolate couldn't fix this. Hell! A decade of therapy probably couldn't fix this! The moment felt overwhelming and dangerous. A soft danger, like the roll of dice across green felt with all your chips on the table.

  Empathy twinged my heart, but buried in the pain, hope glimmered. Like Orin on the battlefield, I'd watched a prisoner become the jailer, saw a slave become a master. I hoped, despite the gruesomeness, Delano gained a sense of control. Maybe his nightmares would slip away, be defeated. Maybe he'd realize I'd stick with him no matter his sordid past, and discover a safe embrace to fall into. Life wouldn't be the same—how could it?—but maybe it would improve, become stronger. Maybe we'd become stronger.

  Ten minutes later, Delano calmed. Five minutes more, he pulled away, his eyes swollen.

  "You're safe." He brushed his thumb over my jaw as if he'd woken me from another nightmare, ready for chocolate to scrub fear and sorrow, start a new day. He scraped thin icicles off his cheeks, then slid on sweatpants Vina had left at the bedside. He sagged into the chair with a deep sigh, his chin pressed to his chest.

  My heart steadied. I breathed for the first time today, sensing a calm in the storm.

  Then Delano's head snapped up and I realized his tears were the drizzle before the typhoon. "Take the darkshine." His tone squeezed like razor-wire. "Now."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  "What?" My good eye fluttered. I must've misheard Delano because his tears had stopped falling and his chest had stopped hitching and everything was supposed to be better.

  Delano's new-moon pupils ripped into me like shrapnel. "Take the darkshine."

  "N-no. No. I dunno."

  "I've asked nothing from you, but I am asking now. Take the darkshine."

  "I can't…" I said.

  Delano leaned back. "What? Is it me? Do you want another … territory? Maybe … Maybe I can—"

  "No! I love being here! It-it feels like home."

  Delano's eyes narrowed. "But you won't take the darkshine."

  "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm not ready."

  Delano lowered his head, pressing his hands against his eyes. The sniffer's hound growled and the rock tumblers rumbled. Vaguely, I acknowledged the scurrying, whispering fae around me, but my nervous heart locked me between his chair and my cot.

  After a moment Delano said: "I can't do this."

  "What? What can't you do?"

  "This. Us. What happened," Delano snapped, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes. "This is bullshit, Miriam!"

  My mouth fell open. "You're angry at me?"

  "Of course I'm angry! I watched the Realm's foulest creature carve you like a ham because you refuse to take the darkshine."

  I scoffed. "Blame the victim much?"

  "You're not a victim if you willingly play Russian roulette!" Delano snapped, a vein bulging in his forehead. "The darkshine is your birthright and your goddamn responsibility. You promised you'd change if night magic got dangerous. Well, it got dangerous!"

  "Don't twist that on me!" I snipped. "Not when you lacked the balls to warn me in the first place!"

  Delano looked stung, and I experienced a callous gratification. Memories swept me like an undertow, and every argument where I failed to stand up to my husband flowed in on a tide of shame. Urges to adopt my old role beat like waves, demanding I drown in meekness and sacrifice myself for my spouse's insecurities and delusions. My eyes narrowed as hostility became my harbor. Never again, I thought, spitting water and treading waves. I prefer to be alone than hollow.

  Fury shivered my voice. "You're not demanding I increase my magic. You're demanding we meld. I was married for nine miserable years, and attached to that bastard since I was fourteen. You're demanding centuries without escape."

  "I'm not Sam!" Delano yelled.

  "You're right!" I yelled back. "I don't know who you are! I've known you barely five months! You insist we're alike, how I get you, but never tell me about yourself."

  Knots of faeries whispered from the tables and the sleeping quarters banister. Some peeped, some stared, all spied hungrily into our personal life. Cham looked downright gluttonous, and I expected the smell of popcorn to soon accompany this soap opera. Only Orin averted his eyes, focusing on a pocket knife twirling in his hands.

  The heat in my core out-burned the heat in my cheeks. I flapped my hand at Delano, as if fanning my ire. "You hide behind ear-buds, numb yourself with music, drown yourself in books. How the hell am I supposed to know you?"

  "None of that matters!"

  "Doesn't matter?" I gasped. Delano became Sam then, a man looking for a prop, disregarding me. "This is my life, asshole!"

  "That is not what I mean. The darkshine—"

  "Is that why you never mention Lydia? Because she didn't matter, either? We're just physical bodies who—"

  "Don't you dare bring her into this!" Fury poured off Delano so intensely I thought his cold flesh would melt. Everyone goggled as he raged about partners and privacy, caution and stupidity. Even the water-spots on my drinking glass stared. I had hoped Delano's past being exposed would strengthen us, force him to see my support, destroy his fear of rejection. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Delano's past was a viper which had sunk pockets of venom beneath his flesh, leaking in slow increments long after it slithered away. Sam and my mother had given me the same. Their venom reared in every compliment, self-doubt, and glimpse in the mirror. Except this venom was contagious. Delano was catching the effects of mine, and I was catching his.

  The tight walls grew tighter, pulling like a drawstring, creating no separation between my cot and the jail cells. I should've understood Delano's perspective. I should've related logically and empathetically since venom gnawed his nerve sheaths as it gnawed mine. But the past tainted my vision and instead of a compassionate darkling who loved the world, I saw echoes of a marriage I wished I'd handled differently. I saw a shot at redemption for lacking the strength to kick my husband to the curb. I had a chance for dignity … if I punished Delano for Sam's crimes as Raina wanted to punish me for his.

  Delano snarled and frothed and gesticulated. "—isn't your business," he was saying, "because my past is irrelevant."

  "Obviously not if it caused that," I said, thrusting my finger at the jail cell. The master's corpse had been wrapped in a sheet and dragged to the tables. "Jesus Christ! If half of what they said you went through is true, then you—"

  Delano flinched as if I swung a punch. "Shut up." His eyes darted around the camp, wide and panicked, as if suddenly noticing our audience. A cynical smile threatened to crack my swollen lips. Good. Embarrassment burned my ears; my body howled in pain. I wanted Delano to taste that. I wanted him to suffer as I suffered. The rebels gawked, but I didn't care if they thought I was a roasted flamingo or a freak-show or hell's cruelest harpy. I cared only about the darkling with the raging glint in his eyes, reminding me of the husband I despised.

  "I'm sick of silence," I snapped. "I shouldn't have to learn about you from—"

  "SHUT UP!" Delano's face twisted like when his nightmares jolted him awake, and I win
ced. I'd touched something deep and raw and horrible, as if my fingers penetrated his psyche and molested a slumbering demon. His body shuddered with disgust. My satisfaction disintegrated; indignity rushed in. My heart split. One side ossified, demanding I defend myself at any cost to prove I was no longer a doormat. The other half bled, wanting to hug him, apologize, do anything to stop his hurt.

  Oh, God. I'm a disaster. Shame surged. I wasn't standing up for myself; I was lashing out. Or was I? What was the difference? I wanted to be strong, not a raging bitch. Was Delano handling this poorly or was I? My lungs shrunk to the size of dime bags. My breaths came short and fast. I felt as if someone handed me a box of engine parts and no manual and told me to make it run.

  My head pounded. Remorse wrung my guts. "I don't care about your past…"

  Delano's grimace softened and for a heartbeat I thought he'd fall against me with the skin-pinch of fingers clenching what they feared they'd lost forever. But Delano didn't fall and his hands balled into fists. "Well I care! They doomed you to repeat it because of us. Because of me."

  His words were gasoline, my anger a match. "You have no right to dictate how I handle my life. The Realm will always hunt me, but if I'm a darkling they'll kill me!"

  "You don't get it," Delano snarled. "Raina said she'd imprison you in my cell. In the men's quarters. Must I spell out those ramifications? My sentence was easy compared with their intentions for you!" My throat tightened. I never considered what Raina meant. "You'll beg for death and they'll never grant it. I refuse to participate or condone you pussyfooting between magics where I can't protect you and am forced to watch you suffer."

  Everyone tensed as Delano stood. His new-moon pupils punctuated his whites like periods, marking the end of a line. "I won't be a cuckold to your indecision, so let's make this simple. If you reject the darkshine, then join the rebels or live alone or whatever. But you will never put me through that again."

  The pounding in my head sunk to my chest, my arms, my legs. "You-You're breaking up with me?" I felt penned and stabbed, a bull collapsing from a matador's swords. My eyes darted around the audience agog at me writhing. "Now?"

  Delano's face struck as if he'd retract every word. Then his expression hardened, his breathing so tight his nose wheezed. "What is there to break up, Miriam? Huh? You come near, you pull back. You want closeness, you push away. You use me to learn night magic, then refuse me when it pulls us together. You treat me like a goddamn yo-yo and I'm sick of it!" Delano swung his backpack over his shoulder so violently it careened into the dish of birdshot. Pellets sprayed the infirmary in a cacophony of ticks and clicks.

  I had wanted this to end so things could be better, but could things improve only if we weren't a we? Stress lanced our embedded hurts. I leaked ammonia and Delano leaked bleach, and the resulting gas choked everything between us. This wasn't a cathartic purge of poison. This was an execution.

  Vina spun away as Delano stormed past. He stopped with a jolt when he spotted her wings. "You!" he hissed. Vina shrieked as he whipped her around and yanked her close enough to kiss. "This is your fault too, lieteller!"

  Orin shoved Delano off her. "Leave her alone!"

  Delano snatched Orin's collar, lurching him to his toes. "She's the reason for idiot mockingbirds like you," he snarled. "We should've been partners retrieving Miriam. Instead you filled her head with lies from taletellers like this one!"

  "Don't lecture us on truth and deceit when you never bothered warning Miriam about hybrid dangers," Orin sneered. Delano twisted his shirt, and my respect for Orin grew tenfold when he raised his chin instead of his fists.

  Tears shimmered in Vina's eyes. "I thought I told the truth about darklings, about everything." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I thought I was helping and doing good, I swear."

  Delano laughed spitefully and shoved Orin away. "Ignorant kindness like yours shall kill or enslave us all," he said, then vanished in a demonic billow.

  Shadows dissipated. The camp filled with shuffling feet, whispers, nervous laughter. I dropped my swollen face to my hands, wishing I was buried in a deep, inescapable pit.

  "Hey, sweetheart," the sniffer called with a double-whistle. Shwee! Shwee! "I'm great at killing darklings if you want your problem eliminated."

  "I'm great at killing sniffers so shut your hole or I'll give you more," Orin snapped with film noir bravado.

  The faeries' scrutiny crowded like gripping hands and judgmental ears. My heart ached—an overworked muscle exhausted on adrenaline and strain. How did life change so fast? Last night I almost crawled into Delano's bed. Now I wanted him to go screw himself. Strung and shot, I had swayed beneath the gallows-branch, panicking I'd lose him forever.

  And I did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Shlink. Smack!

  I woke gasping, my mind clinging to dreams where Delano screamed about my indecisiveness in a rotting cathedral, the wind from his voice shattering stained glass.

  "Leave, Leont." Smack! "But we're not done."

  Reality swirled in: Pain. Linen. Fluorescent lighting. The lingering scent of chicken grease. Through my good eye, I watched Orin shove a red-headed man who held a pair of scissors. The man flexed to fight, then caught me staring. His expression stretched with shock. He sneered at Orin, then flew to the sleeping quarters and vanished amid dreaming fae.

  Orin hovered over me—a concerned, golden seraph with an AK on his back. He pulled a small lock out of my hair. "He didn't cut enough to notice. Thankfully, the idiot tried on my night to guard." Orin scowled and let the strands fall.

  I frowned at the hair on the floor, my stomach rolling. Were the rebels that desperate for cash? Were they bitter I consumed limited resources, offering nothing in return?

  Orin sighed. "I have an idea, but I need you on the bed's edge." He then disappeared into the camp. I heard a drawer open and close while I struggled to sit up, gasping and grunting and wincing.

  "Whoah! Easy!" Orin set two hand-mirrors and fabric strips on my pillow, then helped position my legs over the bed's side. I panted, my head throbbing as blood shifted. My back's stitching felt tight and itchy. Orin sat behind me on the mattress. His fingers brushed my hair.

  "Um, what are you doing?" I asked.

  "Tying your hair. It's safer to disguise the length until I talk with everyone."

  His mouth said talk with; his tone said threaten.

  Orin parted my hair into sections and started braiding. I grinned, holding in laughter. "Border sentry, retriever, squad leader, hairstylist. You're a man of many talents."

  Orin chuckled, our conversation held in whispers. "I learned for my baby sister. She was terrified during lockdowns, and braiding soothed her. Hours and hours I did this." He spoke with a groan, yet I sensed his longing. After a moment, he added: "You remind me of her."

  "Why?" I asked, but he didn't hear me over his task and memories. I let the question slide, and allowed his fingers to weave in silence, grateful his quirky ability might ease animosity toward me. I wished I faced the other direction, though. The sniffer watched us with eyes like two bronze coins, ancient and hammered. The kind of coins once exchanged for slaves. His dark hair gleamed purple beneath the florescent lights, like the leaves of a Japanese maple. The sides were short, but long strands swooped across his broad eyebrows. He was debonair, in an I-will-ram-a-knife-into-your-gut sorta way.

  Orin twisted my hair, brushed, twisted, folded, tied, wrapped. The sniffer scrutinized his untouched food. Why did you surrender? I wondered. He didn't care the master had been murdered at his feet, or that he lacked freedom or privacy. He didn't eat. He hardly drank. Why surrender when you're uninterested in living? He acted as if he already died, his body just hadn't accepted it.

  "There, done." Orin positioned both mirrors so I could view his handiwork.

  "Holy crap." An intricate weaving of hair and fabric swirled in a chignon meant for brides and celebrities. "Orin, that's amazing!"

  Orin shrugged. "We had a lot
of lockdowns." He arranged the mirrors and remaining strips on the bedside table, then sat beside me. "I can't guarantee it'll protect you, but it should help. I'll order everyone to leave you alone, too."

  I frowned. "Sorry."

  "It's not your fault."

  "Yeah, but I understand why they're upset. I'm a risk, consuming limited space and resources."

  "Some darklings charge rebels thousands of dollars to occupy their territories, but we're asked to recharge batteries. If anything, we owe you."

  "I'm not a darkling."

  "You work with Delano. Close enough."

  "Not anymore," I grumbled, seething. My face throbbed. "He's such an asshole."

  Orin's brow lifted. "Is he?"

  My eyes narrowed. "Is that a trick question?"

  Orin shrugged. "Retrospect allows clarity. I now know Delano could've hurt or killed me, us, during our trek. Same with the sniffer and faeries in South Dakota, and the rebels, too. Yet, despite everything, he doesn't. He defends himself and what he loves, but he's not an aggressor.

  "What happened there," Orin said, cocking his thumb at the jail cell. "Well, that mining master must've been one evil S-O-B."

  I wondered if Orin meant what he said or if he was justifying his own actions with Fino. "Gee, Orin. Don't tell me you like the guy."

  Orin's face wrinkled as if I'd picked my nose and offered him my findings. "I don't like him." Orin sighed heavily. "But you trust him, and that's good enough for me."

  "Trust him?" I snorted bitterly. "I'll never trust him after that blowup."

  Orin regarded me as if I was a mental patient. "Um, that fight is why you trust him." Apparently he saw the you've-got-to-be-kidding-me thought on my face because he added: "You fought."

  "I know." Tingles swept my throbbing face. "Everyone knows, it was so embar—"