“Damn you!” the king roared, storming after him as the heat of his magic blew the glass from the windows and the frigid air outside came hurling in alongside the broken glass that clattered to the floor around them. “Damn you for ever befriending my son. I rue the day he ever met you, for you took him from me and corrupted him. He was never the same after you got your hands on him.”
There was a blinding flash of light and the king stopped in his tracks, and then took a step back, watching in alarm as Corin fought with everything he had to control his temper. He walked away from Braed, his fists clenched beside his ears. His mind was being cut into pieces, anger making his blood seethe in his veins and aggravating the screams that sliced through his head, ringing in his ears like he was stood inside a vast, clanging bell. It was becoming harder and harder to focus, harder to keep his rage leashed and bound. He needed to get away from here, away from the poison that this man brought to everything he touched.
Corin closed his eyes, leaning against the wall and concentrating on breathing in and out. Claudette was waiting for him; he clutched at that one, solid truth, holding it to him, clinging to the idea like a lifeline. She would save him. She would keep him sane. He opened his eyes and turned back to the king, who was looking a little less sanguine now.
“The gods have interfered in my life too many times for me to take the power they wield for granted,” Corin said, denying himself with the greatest regret the pleasure of letting his magic loose on the king. “But I tell you this …” He stood up straight and stepped closer, the rage in his voice only too audible now. “They wanted to save Laen from you, so they brought him to me. Believe me, I have more reasons than most to distrust the gods, but I thank them for that. If, as you say, I have truly changed him from becoming a man like you, then I am prouder of that fact than of anything else I have ever accomplished. He is a great man, an honourable one. You should be proud of him, too, and that you are not only shows your own stupidity and ignorance. I love him and I would do anything in the world to regain his friendship, and you can make of that whatever you damned well want!”
With that, Corin turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the doors behind him as he left.
Chapter 24
Corin strode away from the throne room with fury burning in his blood, his magic blazing around him as he tried hard to get some control over it before he saw Claudette. He should not have let the king rattle him so, but gods, how he hated him. He hurried down the corridors of the great palace with no other thought than to get to Claudette. He needed to be with her. Now.
When he opened the door to their room, he found her standing by the fire waiting for him. She took one look at his face and rushed to him, sliding her arms around him and holding him tight, and finally he felt like he could breathe again.
Cerberus and the wolves got to their feet and went to him, too, but silently. None of the usual rush and excitement. They seemed to understand that their master could not cope with such noise and fuss. Instead, they crowded around him, making soft whining noises and pushing at him with their noses until he greeted them and told them to lay by the fire.
“They missed you so,” Claudette said, smiling at him. “They were so worried, I didn’t have the heart to make them stay outside.” She reached up and kissed him, a gentle brush of her lips as one hand stroked his cheek. “Are you alright?”
He nodded, wondering how far from the truth that really was, wishing he could find the energy to smile and reassure her, but somehow he couldn’t manage it.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked, her eyes so full of compassion that he had to look away.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Come, then,” she said, tugging at his hand. “Come to bed.”
They undressed in silence, though he felt the weight of her eyes on him the whole time, her anxiety for him only too obvious. He climbed into the bed and reached one hand behind him, searching for her in the darkness. She moved against him, curling herself around his back, one hand resting on his chest. His hand rested on top of hers, their fingers lacing together, and he sighed as she placed a kiss on his shoulder.
“Go to sleep, mon loup,” she whispered against his skin.
Corin squeezed her hand and closed his eyes, but knew he wouldn’t sleep. Braed’s words echoed in his head, the only thing louder than the voices that were becoming hysterical now. “I just wondered how you will feel? What will it be like, seeing my son standing by his father, his king, supporting me as he should always have done, rather than kneeling at your feet?” The idea made his heart turn. Would he really have to endure that? Would he have to climb up to the Field of Kings, risking his life, risking everything, to stand and let the land judge him - and see Laen standing at his father’s side as he moved to take his place?
Would Laen be hoping to see him fail, to see him burn?
He felt his chest tighten until it was hard to breathe. No. He wouldn’t believe it. Not that. He knew that Laen could not forgive him for what he had done. He understood that. But he could not - would not believe he truly wanted him dead. It was too much to bear. Yet then he remembered the look in Laen’s eyes as he’d spoken those words, and all of his doubts returned to him.
He wished, as he had wished countless times since the first day they had met, that King Braed could have just left them alone. He cared nothing for his son, so why should their friendship be something he felt the need to tear apart at the seams? His influence had been a lingering presence, a dark cloud on their horizon, for their entire lives. He would ignore Laen for months at a time, and then suddenly pounce on him, wanting to know every detail of what he was doing. During those days, he would spend time with him, teaching him his version of what it meant to be a man, to be Dark Fae.
Corin had come to dread those times. Laen would return hollow-eyed and miserable, and nothing Corin could say or do was right. Laen would find fault with everything he did until the two of them came to blows, and then, little by little, things would return to normal. But somehow, Braed always managed to make Corin feel bad about himself through the suspicion in Laen’s eyes. Laen would make comments, speaking snide words that Corin knew came from his father and yet still made him feel inferior in some way. He would end up feeling that he was somehow weak or less than he should be. Corin bore with it, forgave it, as he knew the king would speak to Laen about him, pouring his lies and poison into his son’s ears. Always trying to make him see that Corin was a bad influence, that he was somehow tainting Laen and leading him astray. That Laen returned at all was enough of a miracle for Corin to keep trying, keep forgiving, until Laen saw him for who he really was again. But it was hard.
He realised now that he hadn’t always forgiven Laen, not completely. His anger and suspicion had taken its toll on Corin, and there was a part of him that had ceased to trust him as fully as he once had. It was why he had hesitated, why he hadn’t confessed the whole truth once he knew it to be undeniable. He’d kept the truth from Laen, because at heart he wasn’t quite sure he could be trusted, and though he regretted it now, it wasn’t any less true.
***
Inés didn’t look up at the knock at her bedroom door, just calling for whoever it was to come in.
She was currently standing in her underwear, checking that her magical supplies had not suffered on the ride here. Earlier on, she had sent one of the serving maids off to get her a proper drink, and had not seen hide nor hair of her since. She had suspected the girl was quivering in the corridor somewhere, too afraid to come into the terrifying witch’s lair, but perhaps the girl was braver than she had given her credit for. She looked up, thinking to congratulate her on her bravery, to be confronted with Jean-Pierre, whose eyes were out on stalks.
“Take a picture, it will last longer,” she muttered, snorting with amusement as she saw his cheeks flame. He stuttered an apology and turned around to let her get dressed. She rolled her eyes at his back and slipped on a T-shirt
, which didn’t cover a great deal, but then, he wasn’t staying.
They both jumped as a violent crack of thunder exploded overhead, making the windows rattle and the great house shudder to its foundations. Sleet battered against the windows as the wind howled around the building like a tormented soul. It was a haunting, eerie sound that even Inés would have admitted was rather unsettling. The weather had taken a turn for the worse about an hour ago, and sleet and snow were being lashed through the air as a gale bent the trees double and tore up anything not nailed down.
Inés let out a breath and returned her attention to Jean-Pierre. “Did you want something, then?” she asked, quirking one eyebrow. “Or did you just come to enjoy the scenery?”
He cleared his throat and dared to turn around and look at her. “I ... I just wanted to check you were alright,” he said with a shrug, such sincerity in his eyes that she knew he actually meant it.
Inés stared at him, incredulous, and then shook her head. “You were worried,” she said, wanting to be sure she’d not misunderstood. “About me?”
He nodded and she snorted with amusement. By the gods, he was just priceless. Having said that, there was a part of her that had to admit to being touched by his concern. It wasn’t often that anyone worried for her - for good reason.
Inés looked him over, not hiding the fact that she was checking him out and knowing full well he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. His hair was messy, but in a cute, just-got-out-of-bed way, and he was wearing a T-shirt with some band’s name emblazoned on it. Over the top was a checked shirt, unbuttoned, and he had bracelets up his wrists. Her gaze swept over broad shoulders and a slim but strong physique, and those pretty turquoise eyes, so like his sister’s, that were watching her with an anxious, hopeful look, which made some long-forgotten emotion push at her chest.
He looked adorable, like a sleepy puppy.
Her eyes lingered on his for just a moment as she contemplated the vicinity of the bed and what he’d be like in it before she brought herself to her senses. Behave, she told herself in no uncertain terms. You’re old enough to be his great, great, great ... well, whatever.
He was a child in comparison.
Inés sighed, knowing she would have to be cruel to be kind and finding the idea didn’t sit well with her, though she didn’t know why. Being a bitch was second nature, after all. She walked towards him, her movements slow, fixing him in place with her sharp green eyes.
“Do you like me, Jean-Pierre?” she asked, her voice low and intimate. “Is that why you came?”
“I ... I ... ” he stammered for a moment before taking his courage in both hands. “Yes,” he said, with more confidence than she might have expected. “Yes, I do.” He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he had lost his nerve, so she was surprised when he carried on. “Do …” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Do you like ... me?”
She gave him a wicked grin. “Oui, mon petit,” she whispered, moving closer. “But I prefer little boys like you best on toast, for breakfast.”
He blushed again and then scowled, crossing his arms. “I’m not a child, Inés,” he said, frustration glinting in those eyes that were full of desire for something he could not possibly comprehend. “I know you think I am, but I’m not.” He uncrossed his arms and he sighed. His scowl fell away to be replaced by something much gentler. To her surprise, he took a step closer. “You don’t frighten me,” he said, his voice soft and full of invitation.
It was utterly ridiculous, but Inés experienced a pang of longing that struck deep in her heart. It had been such a very, very long time since anyone had cared for her, loved her. For just a moment, she wavered before snapping back to her senses again as she remembered why that was. He had been human, and he’d died.
She would not suffer that again.
“Not frightened of me?” she said, raising one eyebrow, her voice challenging as she took another step towards him. “You are a silly child,” she hissed, hating herself for the hurt in his eyes. “Tell me, mon brave,” she whispered. “What are your instincts telling you right now, right at this moment?”
Jean-Pierre stared back at her and she knew she could feel the prickle of her magic rising over his skin, the ability to steal his mind, his freedom, to kill him with little more than a wave of her hand.
“Tell me the truth now,” she said, her voice seductive and intimate. “I shall know if you are lying. Listen to your instincts, boy, what do they say?” she demanded, her voice growing harder now, willing him to pay attention.
“Run,” he whispered.
She stepped closer still and nodded. “Run.” As she spoke, she raised her hands and blue flames erupted at her fingertips. Jean-Pierre’s mouth fell open, his eyes widening with alarm, and he turned and fled, slamming the door behind him.
Inés dropped her hands and looked at the empty space where he had stood moments before. It had to be done, she told herself. It was for his own good, but ... but loneliness prowled her bones like a vulture, waiting to pick her clean. She felt hollow, like an empty vase, like she might shatter if she fell.
“Imbécile,” she muttered to herself. There was no good in feeling sorry for herself. It would change nothing. Humans were too fragile, too needy. She wanted someone who would stand up to her, challenge her. Someone hard to kill. A man who could not die and leave her all alone. She wanted power, not some little boy who would likely wet himself the first time she lost her temper.
Inés shook her head and pulled on a pair of trousers, though it would likely scandalise the household to see a woman wearing such things. Forcing Jean-Pierre and any foolish regrets from her mind, she concentrated on the journey ahead. She would not let some silly boy with pretty eyes bring her down, merde! And if that idiot maid was too afraid to come to her, she would just have to go and find a bloody drink for herself. The gods knew she needed one
***
Corin slipped out of bed, his eyes seeing in the darkness as well as any cat. He moved towards the wardrobe and took out his scabbard and sword. It slid free of the sheath with the faintest whisper, and he sat in front of the fire with it, admiring the flames as they flickered against its glittering surface, reflecting their warmth against the cool, deadly edge of the wicked blade. Magic twisted over the engraving, powerful symbols of protection and the desire for blood, for victory.
“What are you doing?”
Corin looked up to find Claudette staring down at him with concern. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Claudette shook her head and pulled a dressing gown around her, sitting down beside him. “I wasn’t asleep.” She looked at the blade, her eyes full of anxiety, and Corin smiled.
“It was a present,” he said, his voice heavy with the memory of it. “From Laen, many, many years ago.” He ran one finger over the surface, feeling the Dark Fae magic leap beneath his fingers. So different from his own, but still powerful. “It belonged to his grandfather.”
He saw Claudette raise her eyebrows in surprise. “Did his father know?” she asked.
Corin nodded, turning the blade back and forth, watching the magic dance as it moved. “He beat him half to death for it.”
Claudette gasped, her face full of horror. “How can he keep going back to such a man?”
He shrugged, it was something he’d never quite understood himself. “I don’t know. Only Laen has always longed for his approval. Even if he won’t admit it, he always hoped his father would be proud of him.”
Claudette moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder, and he set the blade down, one arm pulling her closer. “Why did he give it to you?” she asked. “Such a thing must have been precious to him.” She looked up as he didn’t answer, and Corin let out a breath.
“It was the only way in which he could make amends, ma belle. You know, I think, that Laen cannot say the words, ‘I’m sorry’? For the Dark Fae, there are no regrets, no remorse. If the words are uttered, there are severe punishments,
and his father took great pains to teach Laen that particular lesson. So he finds it impossible to apologise for any wrongdoing.” He gestured to the sword before them. “Usually, I let it go, but … but that time.” Corin took a deep breath. “Well, anyway. He gave me the most precious thing he owned.”
“And so you forgave him?” she asked, a note to her voice that suggested she was unsure. Corin’s jaw tightened and he frowned.
“I thought I had.”
Claudette sat up, her eyes intent now. “What happened?”
He shook his head, wishing he’d never said anything. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, I do,” she persisted, a determined glint in her eyes that suggested she would not be deflected. “I think perhaps you should tell me. Perhaps it would help?”
Corin snorted and shook his head. “You don’t understand. It’s …” He stopped, wondering why he didn’t want to say it aloud. “It began as something very foolish and innocent and really rather embarrassing, but …” He stopped, huffing with frustration and giving her a sideways look of chagrin. “You’ll laugh,” he predicted.
She frowned at him, shaking her head. “I could never laugh at something that hurt you so deeply,” she replied, sounding so indignant that he smiled.
“No, not at the outcome, I know that, but as for what began it all …”
Claudette rolled her eyes at him. “Why don’t you just tell me and get it over with?” He watched as she moved forward, throwing more wood on the fire as sparks danced and crackled up the chimney. She turned around again, one eyebrow raised. “Well then?”
He frowned at her and then sighed. “Fine,” he muttered, knowing that she would laugh, whatever she thought. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He got up from the floor and sat in the chair, gesturing for her to come and sit with him. With a smile, she settled herself in his lap, her eyes on his, like a child waiting for a bedtime story.
“To understand this, you have to understand that Laen was untouchable,” he said, remembering that fact only too well. “He’d never been touched, hugged, kissed since his mother died. Which is all well and good for a Dark Fae warrior, but becomes a little awkward when you become interested in girls.”
The Darkest Night Page 28