The Darkest Night

by Emma V. Leech

  Corin ran an impatient hand through his hair. “Very well, but anything you hear you take to your grave, do you understand me?”

  Eavan gave a curt nod, looking insulted at the idea he’d do anything else, and Corin gestured for the man to back off at least, which he did. Corin turned away from him and walked up to the throne, meeting Auberren's eyes.

  "Now, then, where were we?” he said, staring at the man who had caused such misery to so many. “Oh, yes, the idea that I am, in fact, a bastard.” Corin chuckled, though it was not a pleasant sound. “I’m so sorry to disappoint you, Your Highness. That is true enough, but I am not your bastard," he said with a sneer.

  The king laughed, his tone smug now, malice glittering in his eyes. "You're sure of that, are you? Strange, how your parents only managed to produce one son, when I have eight healthy children and I was a regular visitor to your mother’s bed nine months before you were born. I thought it would be an interesting development, to give the elven queen a Light Fae bastard.” He narrowed his eyes to see what affect this news had had on Corin, and his fury was evident when Corin just tipped his head back and roared with laughter.

  “Gods, man, please don’t tell me you harboured any romantic notions that she was seeing you and you alone?” he demanded, genuinely amused by the king’s foolishness. “How often did you see her? Once a week, at the very most, I would imagine? So dreadfully inconvenient to arrange these little trysts when your every move is watched, but then that’s what makes it all the more exciting, isn't it? Believe me, I know,” he added with a sly smile, remembering sneaking into this very castle under Auberren’s nose some years previously. “However, I am afraid that the queen’s needs are rather more voracious than that, and I promise you, she is far too astute to get a child on her from a man like you. She would be well aware of the trouble that could have caused. I am much more likely to be the bastard of a guard or one of the palace entertainers than any of your leavings.” He watched Auberren, and a slow smile spread over his face as realisation dawned and he began to chuckle. "Gods, I never figured it out before, how very dull I am. Did you actually think that she would be easier to negotiate with if you gave her a son? You bloody fool! I imagine you discovered your mistake fast enough. I'll admit her longing for children was never a secret, but if you seriously thought it would have any impact on the way she ruled ... I'm afraid you really do not know her at all. Sentimental, she is not."

  Corin shook his head and considered the king, who looked ready to commit murder now. "It must be galling,” he said, a thread of amusement audible in his voice. “To have tried to get her with child and failed, and now .... someone else's bastard is ready to take your life and your crown. Dear, dear, that must smart." Corin looked at Auberren’s outraged expression with satisfaction. “If you must be deposed, much easier to believe it was your own son who managed it, a chip off the old block, eh? Better that, rather than someone you would consider beneath you. The son of a groom, perhaps?” he added, laughing now before his face grew hard. “Sorry to disappoint you, but ... no.” His voice was implacable. He knew, had always known there was a question mark over his parentage, but he also knew with no trace of uncertainty in his mind that Auberren was not his father.

  The king got to his feet and stood to face Corin, his eyes burning with hatred. “I’m not dead yet!” he spat, his frail body rigid with fury.

  “Oh, believe me,” Corin said, the words low and savage. “That is something I would dearly love to rectify. Depriving you of your life is something I am quite desperate to arrange. You cannot imagine how I long for the moment I put an end to you.”

  “Then do it ... if you have the stomach for it!” the king said, sneering at him.

  Corin laughed and walked up the steps of the dais, his hand trailing over the back of Auberren’s throne. “You may be surprised just what I can stomach after everything I have seen in your kingdom. Tell me …” he asked, keeping his tone light and conversational, despite the horror of his words making his own stomach roil. “Do you sleep at night, or do you hear the cries of the starving children whispering in your ears? Do you hear the land screaming in pain as I do, or have you pulled so far away from her that you don’t even notice her cries any longer?”

  Auberren sneered, his face devoid of any guilt or regret. “You did this!” he raged, his eyes febrile, fanatical as his words came fast now, his justification for everything he’d done falling at Corin’s feet. “You drove me to this, to protect my land. I didn’t believe it when the first seer came to me with his vision of your treachery. I had him flogged for it! That is something I do regret,” he spat, pointing at Corin, his face a mask of contempt and loathing. “I should just have had you killed then and there. You were just a baby, after all, it would have been easy enough, but I did not believe it. That some spoiled, arrogant little boy could take my kingdom!” he shouted, fists clenched, his emaciated figure vibrating with resentment.

  “So you lay this at my door?” Corin demanded, hardly able to believe the man’s audacity. “I am responsible for you letting your land perish and your people sicken and die as you bring filthy human weapons into our world! You have managed to tarnish our land beyond anything their race have done with theirs!” Corin paused and hauled in a breath. The desire to just put his hands around this old man’s throat and squeeze was hard to resist. He caught movement by the door and waved Eavan back, his Stallari clearly sensing danger. “Well,” he said, his tone even now, though it took a great effort of will. “Maybe you have a point. For I have run from this for far too long. I have pretended I didn’t hear her calling me for decades, because I did not want to take the land. I knew it would mean a war, and I didn’t have the stomach for it.” He looked Auberren in the eyes, wondering if the man had any idea of what he’d done. “I have no desire to be King of Solastire, but I cannot pretend that I do not hear her. Not anymore. We will meet on the Field of Kings, you and I,” he said, stepping closer as his voice grew fierce. “And I will watch you burn with pleasure.”

  The king smiled at him, a calculated smile that made Corin clench his fists. “Ah, yes, but she calls loud,” he whispered, a snide, hateful glint to his eyes. “I have heard how she torments you, heard how she has been driving you out of your mind. Even your own men fear you, by all accounts,” he added, with satisfaction. “They whisper that their prince is insane, unstable. Well, then, we will meet on the Field of Kings, if you are fit to stand ... in three days.”

  Corin snorted in disgust, shaking his head. “You think I didn’t expect this? You think that I have not known all along that you would make me wait, to try and drive me from my mind in the hope I will be too weak to stand? You are a fool,” he raged, aware than Eavan was moving closer as the tenuous grip on his temper slipped further from his grasp. “And you clutch at straws.” He turned to Eavan and gestured to him to restrain the old king. Eavan barked a command for the guard and men hurried into the room to escort Auberren away.

  “One last thing,” Auberren added, attempting to snatch his arm from the guard who tried to escort him away. “You’ll find the cellar well stocked, do please help yourself,” he added, a twisted smile at his lips.

  “Get him out!” Corin yelled as anger made the power he had been holding so carefully in check burst to light, and the guards ducked as the blaze of it filled the room, pushing and pulling the snarling king with them.

  Corin watched them go, sitting down on Auberren’s throne as his legs gave out. He put his head in his hands, wondering if Auberren was right. Could he really last another three days? It seemed like a lifetime as the cries began all over again, demanding he act now. Closing his eyes, he wondered where Laen had got to. He’d hoped to have him at his side for that little interview, but perhaps it was as well he’d not witnessed it. He needed to find him now, though, for there were still things he needed to say, to explain, as best he could at least.

  ***

  Laen surveyed the ranks of his father’s personal guard with
foreboding as he rode into the camp. These were the core of his father’s supporters, those loyal to the king. Do-or-die, battle-hungry men who had sworn blood oaths. Their dark eyes and judging gazes rested on him and he kept his head erect, ignoring their sneers as he always did. These were some of the most powerful men of Mechstrana and the kind of men Laen knew he could never win around. They despised him for rejecting their ways, for his friendship with an elven man known for his liberal views. That Laen had begun to share those views, they found a betrayal of their creed. They thought it made him weak. When Laen became king, he would have enemies a plenty, thanks to their bigotry, and his father’s animosity towards his own heir.

  He left his horse tethered and strode through the camp, towards his father’s tent, the black and silver colours flying overhead, snapping back and forth in the icy wind. Giving the guards outside the evil eye, daring them to stop him, he entered the tent with his heart pounding in his ears. He had long since stopped caring what his father thought of him, or at least, that's what he told himself. It had been years since he’d even laid eyes on the man, let alone heard from him. His father hated him, for reasons Laen had never understood and had given up trying to analyse. He told himself it didn’t matter. Nonetheless, he was likely to be in deep trouble for what he’d done in commanding such a force of men to go to war on behalf of the man his father despised even more than his son. Laen reminded himself that he was a grown man now. He had no need to feel intimidated by the impressive figure who had cast a shadow over his entire life.

  Not anymore.

  Laen found him at his table, a platter of roast chickens set out before him. He didn’t look up as Laen entered, tearing at the greasy flesh with his fingers and teeth and belching for good measure. Laen had the sudden desire that Corin were here to see the vile sight of the man who’d sired him. He could almost hear Corin’s mocking observations at such base manners, his urbain and cultured voice delivering some cutting comment and making the man look a fool. But Laen was alone as he faced a man he had equally feared, hated, and mourned the lack of, his whole life. At five-hundred and twenty years, he was the youngest of the three kings and a man in his prime. In black leather armour with gleaming silver fastenings and a heavy fur-lined cloak, his presence dominated the small space like a bear in a parlour. Laen was now as tall and as broad, but his father wore his crown with such an air of arrogance and entitlement that there were few who did not quake before him.

  He bowed, though he felt no respect for the man before him. "Father."

  The king looked up at him, eyes as dark as his son’s and full of disgust as he threw a half-gnawed bone to the floor for his dogs to fight over. "So you actually dare to face me,” he said, sneering at Laen with contempt. “I admit I’m surprised you’ve the guts. You have followed that treacherous bastard by the nose for so long, I wonder that you can still surprise me with your blind idiocy, but yet again you prove me wrong.” He sat back, glaring at his son as Laen met his eyes, holding his gaze with defiance. “Are you really so besotted with your pretty friend that you cannot see the truth that is right before your eyes?” His voice was hard, ugly with hatred and accusation, but Laen didn’t flinch. It was nothing new, after all. He’d heard it all before. His father got to his feet, walking towards him. “You trail after your golden boy like a lovesick puppy, making a laughingstock of yourself and me, for putting up with it, and all the while he’s making a fool of you. But this time …” he said, his voice growing louder with his fury. “This time you do it with my damned army in tow!" He smashed his fist on the table, making the plates clatter and the dogs slink outside, tails between their legs.

  Laen's hand tightened on his sword hilt, anger and resentment searing beneath his skin as he reminded himself that this was his father who spoke. Any other man would have lost his head by now.

  "Did you have something you wished to say to me, Father, or did you come all this way just to go over old ground?” he demanded, his voice cool and unruffled. He would not allow the man the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper. “I believe I have heard this argument many times before, after all." He looked at the king with icy contempt. His father had always despised Corin and had accused him of many dreadful things in the past, not least of having seduced his son. No matter what Laen had said, how many men he had fought and bested who had uttered such accusations, his father persisted in belittling him, getting some sick satisfaction out of accusing Laen of being less than a man - in his eyes, at least. He had accused Corin of everything from murder to treason and everything in between, too, and Laen had refused to believe a word of it. He knew Corin too well. He knew who he was.

  The king snorted and nodded. "Aye, well, I'm glad you admit to having heard it before. Haven’t I been telling you since you were a boy that the he was not to be trusted, none of his kind are, but least of all that ... that creature you call friend. If that is indeed all you are?" He sneered and Laen glowered in return, well aware of his implication and his father's prejudices. "Well, now, I have proof of his duplicity; he has been playing you for a fool for years, Laen, and finally his plans come to fruition."

  "Gods, Father," Laen growled, sick and tired of his father’s paranoia over his friendship with Corin. He’d never been able to fathom why it was such a crime, and he wasn’t about to tie himself in knots all over again to figure it out. "If you have something to say, then damn well get on with it so that I can leave.”

  “Oh, you will leave!" the king thundered, his rage making Laen jump despite his efforts to stand and take whatever was thrown at him. "You will leave and go and face him, and if you are any kind of a man, you will take his head for what he has done, for what he plans to do!”

  “What has he done, then?” Laen demanded, incredulous that after all they had been through, all they had come up against and prevailed over during the past days, not one word of congratulations, not one glimmer of pride was visible in his father’s face. Nothing but the usual contempt and loathing that was always there. “Father, you speak of being blind, but have you not seen the land around you? Have you seen what Auberren has done to his kingdom, to his people? Corin has come to help them, to save them.”

  “He has come to help himself!” his father raged, waving a massive fist in Laen’s face.

  Laen stood, facing the towering man in front of him without so much as blinking. He was in the right, he knew he was, and his anger grew with his certainty. “He had no choice, the land calls to him and I can understand why. She sickens and dies at the king’s hands. We have seen the people starving, Father!” he cried out, wondering if his father was just as bad as Auberren at heart. “Did you not see the children, babes in arms too weak to cry? Father, that is not right!”

  “Perhaps not,” his father replied, but with such indifference that Laen had to wonder what manner of man he really was. “But it is his land and his affair, not ours. He has not asked for our help nor our interference, and we should leave him to deal with his kingdom, as is his right.”

  “No!” Laen shook his head, vehement now. “No, we should not leave a tyrant to kill his people as he pleases. That is not his right!”

  “And what of our land?” the King said, his voice filled with fury as he moved closer to Laen, his black eyes glittering with malice. “Do you love that deceitful epicene so much that you will you put our land into his keeping without a murmur, too?”

  “I would like to see you say that to his face,” Laen growled, and then swallowed down a prickle of unease that worked its way down his spine. “But he won’t do that,” he said, remembering Corin’s words to him. “He promised me. He said it was possible that he could,” he added, seeing the look of disgust on his father’s face and raising his voice, determined to be heard out. “He said it calls to him, he admitted that to me … but he would never do that to me. I know that he would not.”

  “You know that he would not!” the king repeated, taunting him with his own words. “You damned fool. You know nothing. Gods
, he knew what he was doing when he took you under his wing. He has turned you against your own family, made you turn your back on who you are, and you have followed him, done anything he asked of you.” He stood closer still, his face so close to Laen’s that he could feel his stale breath on his face. “Anything to keep those golden eyes looking at you with affection, eh, boy?” he whispered.

  Laen stiffened, heat crawling down his neck, his body so full of indignation and fury that his father must be burning from the anger radiating from him, though he did not move away. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true. Laen repeated the words, reminding himself of all the lies his father had told before, all the attempts to break their friendship. He’d come close to succeeding too many times. If not for Corin’s forgiving nature, they’d never have made it this far.

  “Now you listen to me, and you listen good,” the king said, snarling the words as Laen’s skin seared with the man’s fury. “Your golden boy is going to take our lands from us. My land, my kingdom!” He was raging now, his eyes feverish and his pale skin mottled with anger. “I feel him pulling it away from me as we speak. He is power-hungry, my son, and he intends to take it all. So if you want to try and regain some self-respect, some shred of honour for the way in which you have abandoned your birth right to follow him instead of your father and your king, then go and take revenge on him!"

  Laen stared at his father, shaken by his words, but more so by the idea that Laen had abandoned him. "The birthright that I abandoned?" he repeated, staring at him in disbelief. "You banished me! You cursed me, and my sister, and you left us to rot! Corin has never done that to me. He never abandoned me, he always came if I was in trouble, always!"

  The king laughed and shook his head. "Oh, yes, he always came, but ask yourself one question ... Why?"