The Darkest Night

by Emma V. Leech

"Please do," she said with a her sweetest expression, and then watched as Alsten stepped forward and removed Corin's robe.

  Chanting began around the room, raising the hairs on the back of her neck, as more priests stepped forward, moving towards Corin as he held out his arms. They approached with bowls and tiny brushes. He stared straight ahead as each one in turn painted strange symbols over his arms, across his shoulders, back, and chest, and upon his forehead. Claudette watched, fascinated as the symbols glowed with magic, sinking into his skin where they could still be seen, twisting with light as the patterns danced over him.

  Once they had finished, Corin stepped forward and walked down the steps into the massive bath, closing his eyes with a sigh as he sank back into the water. He looked up then and gestured for Claudette to come and sit beside the bath. She stared down at the water and frowned. It had a strange petrol sheen and seemed to swirl around him. He saw the question in her eyes and nodded.

  "Magic," he whispered, his voice low. "Don't touch it."

  She nodded, shuffling a little away from the edge. Looking back at him, she opened her mouth to ask a question and then noticed him raise an eyebrow. He coughed and looked away from whatever had surprised him, a smile tugging at his lips.

  "What?" she asked.

  He stared down at the water and cleared his throat. "I think you missed one, ma belle," he murmured, sounding amused.

  She frowned, wondering what he was on about, and glanced up in the direction he'd been looking in to see one of the men had been giving Corin a flirtatious smile. The young man caught her expression and flushed, looking away with speed.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake!" she muttered, rolling her eyes. "You're not safe to be left alone."

  He smiled at her, a warm, loving look in his eyes as he pursed his lips. "Then I suggest you never do," he said, leaning over to kiss her, and then disappearing beneath the water.

  ***

  Shivering with cold and shock, Ameena hugged her arms around herself as they entered the palace at Aos Si. The devastation around them was something she still couldn’t get her head around. She knew three days had passed since the battle, and yet men still worked burying the dead. The sight and the stench of death burned behind her eyes and clung to the back of her throat and she felt more shaken than she would have believed by what she had seen. She finally understood why Bram had not wanted her to come. This was not a game. This wasn’t some far off war viewed from the safety of a TV screen. Nor was this some pretty fantasy land where unicorns roamed free and rainbows patterned the skies. This was real and dangerous and bloody, and an aura of power hung over the country like the charged feeling before a massive storm - like everyone and everything was holding its breath.

  Inés walked in front with Jean-Pierre as Ameena trailed behind; she felt lost and overwhelmed, as though everything was unreal … or perhaps too real. She wasn’t sure which. A door opened beside them as they walked the corridor and a familiar figure appeared in the company of a guard.

  “Bram!” Jean-Pierre grinned and held out his hand, and Bram stepped forward, his smile warm as he greeted them, shaking Jean-Pierre’s hand. Ameena looked up at him and was overcome with such a strange feeling that it took her a moment to identify it. Relief, certainly, at finding him here but ... safety. All at once, she felt like she could breathe again, which was stupid, as he certainly wasn’t interested in her. Nonetheless, she had to hold herself back to stop from running to him and throwing her arms around his neck. She’d been so worried about him, and had missed him far more than was good for her. With regret, Ameena acknowledged that she was a lost cause and she didn’t know how she’d say goodbye to him when the time came, which it surely would. Not without making a fool of herself, at least.

  He turned to look at her, then, and those warm brown eyes crinkled with worry. “Ameena, are you well?” he asked, moving closer to her, and she scolded herself for hearing anything past a friendly concern in his voice, despite the way it shivered over her skin. Clutching her arms around herself, she took a deep breath, before she could give into the urge to hug him, to tell him she’d missed him. Instead she just nodded, silent as his eyes lingered on hers. Ameena was vaguely aware of someone coming forward, arranging to show them to their rooms, but found she couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her eyes from his. At last, she managed it, staring at the floor, unable to say what she wanted, that she wanted to stay here, with him. She could feel his eyes still on her, watching her with curiosity, and found that she couldn’t meet them.

  “Come on.” His voice was soft as he took her arm and drew her down the corridor, following the others until she was shown her room. He nodded his thanks to the young woman who attended them and asked that she bring them some tea and something to eat.

  Ameena watched as the woman closed the door, leaving them alone together. “I’m not really hungry,” she admitted. Her stomach was still in knots and the stench of death still lingered in her nostrils, clinging to the back of her throat. She wrapped her arms around herself harder and shivered, suddenly cold.

  “You’ve had a shock,” he said, his voice so gentle and caring that she felt tears prick at her eyes with the desire to believe it was more than just him being kind. “You should eat something. It will make you feel better.” Ameena looked up at him, wondering if she could see a glimmer of anything more than friendship in his eyes if she really looked. Too late, she realised her own eyes were too bright, and she looked away before any tears could spill over. “Ameena?” he asked as she walked to the window and stared out. From the castle’s elevated position, she could see something of the scale of the devastation, spreading out before her as far as she could see. It was awe-inspiring, and utterly terrifying.

  “You were right,” she said, clearing her throat so that the words didn’t sound so emotional. “I … I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

  She felt the warmth of strong hands on her shoulders as he turned her around. For a moment, he stared at her, one large hand moving to touch her cheek in a caress that stole her breath and made her stomach tighten with desire. Ameena fought the urge to turn into it, to press her lips to his palm, but she couldn’t look away from him. He turned away, then, and guided her over to an armchair, making her sit her down. Crouching in front of her, he looked into her eyes as she did her best to keep her composure.

  “I was shocked, too,” he admitted, his face grave. “I’ve have seen death, many times. Been responsible for it, too,” he added, frowning as something that might have been guilt flickered in his eyes. “But ... I have never seen anything like that.” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair and looking awkward. “I was sick.” He looked up after the admission, his expression wary, perhaps expecting to see derision in her eyes. Instead, she just took hold of his hand and squeezed it, ridiculously pleased that he should confide such a thing to her. “Ameena,” he said, his voice low and serious now. “I cannot leave just yet, but as soon as I can, if you want me to, I’ll take you home.”

  Ameena looked at the strong hand she held, at the fingers crammed with gold rings, one with a large ruby that glinted as she ran her thumb over it. She raised her eyes, past the heavy lace sleeve and the deep red, velvet coat. She saw the large gold hoop in his ear and the dark hair that fell in waves to his shoulders and met his gaze, seeing the concern in his eyes, and shook her head.

  “I don’t want to go home.” She wondered if he could hear the words she didn’t say, the ones that were growing louder in her heart whenever she was with him. I want to stay, with you.

  ***

  Outside the walls of the castle, people had begun to gather. There were some who had taken their families and possessions and fled, afraid of what was to come. Yet others, others came in their thousands. They came from miles around, from Solastire, from Mechstrana, and from Alfheim. They came to see if the man who had brought their land and their families to the brink of destruction would burn. They came to see if the whispered stories that were sweeping
across the Fae Lands like a forest fire were true - it was the Bright King who would save them from the darkness.

  The three flags flew over the Field of Kings. The black standard of the Dark Fae with crossed silver swords flickered under a sullen white sky, and further across the field, the Light Fae’s, pale blue with a gold crown wrapped around with ivy. Alfheim’s flag, dark forest green with the tree of life at its core, blazing in red and gold, caught Corin’s eye as he walked. He looked away, trying to steady his breathing as he moved forward. He had the sudden, desperate desire to see his father, to look into his eyes and tell him how sorry he was for all the trouble he had caused over the years, how sorry he had not done more to make him happy, to make him proud. But it was too late now.

  Three large white tents edged the field, the last place of sanctuary for the three men who would stand against each other to claim the power of the throne. Corin moved towards the dark green flag, staring at the golden oak tree, the red roots curling around to meet the branches in an everlasting circle. He kept his eyes focused, not looking at the crowd as he moved, ignoring the cheers, the prayers, the good wishes, and the jeers and taunts from those who’d come to watch him burn.

  The route from the palace to the tent, and the interior of the tent itself, was paved with thick stone. They would not be able to touch the land until they stepped onto the field. Once inside the privacy of his own tent, Corin paced within, tension crawling along his shoulders and locking his chest down so tight he could hardly breath. He had left Claudette just moments before, and with her had gone the last shreds of his composure. While she was near, he could be brave for her sake, he could smile and reassure her that he was confident, that there was nothing to fear … but now she was gone and he was all alone. Alone and waiting for the toll of the bell that would call them out.

  He had given instruction to the guard that he was not to be disturbed for any reason, and was now regretting it. Any distraction would serve at this moment. Anything other than the thought of stepping outside and seeing Laen take his place beside his father as the king took his stand against him.

  The thought made him feel sick.

  Corin sat down with a thud and put his head between his knees, trying hard to breathe in and out as panic began to build in his chest, but his lungs wouldn’t cooperate. Terror at what was to come, at the possibility of his nightmares finally coming to life made his skin prickle with sweat, his stomach roiling as his guts twisted tight. The furious sounds of shouting and screaming from outside was almost a welcome distraction and his head snapped up, wondering what the hell was going on. The violent clash of metal against metal had him leaping to his feet and wrenching the tent open.

  “What the devil is going on?” he demanded, unable to see anything past the sea of green uniforms surging forward in front of him, moving to protect their future king.

  “Corin!” yelled a familiar and seriously enraged voice from somewhere on the other side of the solid wall of green bodies. “Get these damned fools to let me go this instant or I’ll take their bloody heads, I swear!” Corin felt his heart stutter at the sound of Laen’s voice, and hesitated for a moment, wondering why exactly Laen was here. Had he come to make his father’s job easier, perhaps? The idea coiled in his stomach, cold and sickening. “Corin!” Laen yelled again, sounding like a man on the edge. “Damn you! Get them off me!”

  “Stand aside,” Corin said before realising his voice was shaking and couldn’t possibly be heard over the din of the fighting. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Stand aside and let him pass!”

  Eavan pushed his way through towards Corin, his massive Stallari looking at him with concern. “He’s armed!” he said, and Corin could see the conflict in his eyes. Laen was Dark Fae like him, his prince, but he had sworn an oath to defend Corin with his life.

  Corin sucked in a breath. He would not believe Laen had come to kill him, and if he was wrong … he’d rather not see it coming. “Of course he’s bloody armed,” he muttered, shaking his head at the big man. “You’re trying to kill him. Let him pass!”

  The sea parted and revealed Laen. He let his sword fall to his side as he looked up through the opening, lurching a little in exhaustion as Corin exclaimed. He was covered from head to foot in blood, his uniform soaked and torn and his face battered.

  “Laen!” Corin said, rushing towards him. “Gods! What happened to you? Are you hurt?” Corin went to reach out, to check him over with his magic, and then stopped as he remembered that things were no longer the same between them.

  Laen wiped his face on his sleeve, turning his head to spit blood on the ground, and then gave a weary shrug. “It’s not my blood,” he said, and then winced, sucking in a sharp breath. “Well, most of it anyway.” He paused, looking at Corin, his dark eyes wary, and then looked down at his boots. “I had a …” He cleared his throat, looking up and meeting Corin’s eyes again. “A slight difference of opinion with my father.”

  Corin opened his mouth and found he had a lump in his throat, so he closed it again. Laen just stood there like the hopeless lump he was in such situations and scratched his head, looking Corin over. “Nice outfit,” he murmured, gesturing to how Corin was dressed.

  Corin gaped at him in astonishment and then down at himself. He was dressed as the other two contenders would be, in a plain white cotton tunic and trousers, his hair loose and his feet bare. They were allowed to take nothing onto the field but themselves.

  Laen took a step forward and dozens of swords rose, all of them pointed in his direction as Corin’s men stepped forward. He dropped his own weapon to the floor and held his hands up, showing calloused palms, covered in blood. “Er,” he said, clearing his throat and looking increasingly awkward. “Do you think … I mean … could I speak to you, for a moment … in private?” He watched Corin in silence, his dark eyes intent and full of anxiety before adding, “Please, Corin.”

  Corin let out a breath and nodded, stepping backwards and gesturing for his men to let Laen pass, and together, they stepped inside the tent.

  Chapter 28

  Corin ducked back into the tent with his heart pounding. He heard Laen enter behind him but found he couldn't turn and meet his eyes. He was too afraid he'd misunderstood the regret in Laen’s eyes and that the burgeoning hope that they could be reconciled would wither and die. That would be too much to bear today, of all days.

  Tension filled the space between them, the two of them standing in silence, too awkward to know what to say when so much had been said already. Corin still felt raw with the scalding heat of Laen’s rage, and no matter that he wanted to make things right, he couldn’t just move on and forget it. He had done that too many times, allowing Laen to believe he was forgiven when in fact he had simply buried his feelings so deep that they couldn’t hurt him anymore, or at least, he’d thought he had.

  Corin wracked his brain for something to say to break the tension, to allow things to move forward, but his usual eloquence had fled. Diplomacy was a skill he’d always excelled in, but he was out of his depth, floundering in uncharted waters with no land in sight. He could feel Laen's eyes on him, but as he looked up, he found, for perhaps the first time in his life, that he hadn’t the slightest idea what the man was thinking. He could usually read Laen like a book, but the events of the past few days had thrown things into such disorder that he felt lost. Just as he had always been Laen's sounding board, the voice that helped him unravel his emotions without going out and killing someone, so Laen had become his strength. Solid and reliable, someone who would always be there and never let him down … except when he did.

  "I didn't mean it."

  The words were raw, Laen’s voice rough as it filtered into Corin's brain, but it took a moment for him to really hear what Laen had said, for his meaning to be understood. Corin let out a breath that he felt he’d been holding for days and sank down into the chair beside him. He put his head in his hands as the relief washed over him. He hadn't wanted to believe it was tr
ue, he had told himself that it was just Laen trying to hurt him because he was out of control. Laen could not really want him to die. No matter how many times he had told himself he didn't believe it, the words had echoed in his mind all the same. They had been said with such venom, such rage, that he’d been unable to dismiss them.

  "Corin?” He heard Laen moving, his graceless shift from foot to foot as he waited for Corin to say something, but Corin couldn’t speak yet. His throat was too tight and he was torn between breaking the fool’s nose and thanking the gods. “You … you can't have believed I meant it, surely?" Laen demanded as Corin’s emotions spiralled out of control. He sounded so bloody indignant that Corin almost laughed, but he didn’t dare. He could find nothing sensible to say, though, nothing reasonable and conciliatory, and he didn't meet Laen’s eyes for fear he would crumble and make a fool of himself.

  "Damn it, man, talk to me!" Laen pleaded, and for the first time, Corin could hear the anguish in his voice, the desire to make amends, and it gave him courage.

  "I'm working up to it," he replied, horrified at how shaky his voice sounded.

  "For the love of the gods,” Laen exploded, stalking up and down the interior of the tent with impatience. “You know I talk utter rubbish once my temper has the better of me. You of all people should know this!"

  “You meant it when you said it, Laen,” Corin replied, still not raising his head. “I saw the look in your eyes.”

  Laen stopped his pacing and let out a breath, Corin glanced up to see him standing with his head bowed, staring at the floor. “I didn’t, I …perhaps for just a second, I believed I meant it, but I swear to you …” He shook his head, and when he spoke again, his words were full of certainty. “I could never truly mean such a thing, no matter what.”

  Corin felt something ease in his chest at the sincerity behind the words, but he still couldn’t quite believe Laen was being truthful, perhaps not even to himself. He sat back in his chair, and this time he held Laen’s gaze as the man turned to look at him. "Laen, I'm about to go out and do my utmost to kill your father and take the land that is rightfully yours. It goes beyond anything we could ever have considered would pass between us, and … and as much as it hurt me, I could understand why you would feel that way."