Dream of Darkness and Dominion Read online

  She glared in aggravation but reined in her anger. This was no time to make an enemy if she could make a friend.

  “I am Corentine Ashaden, a daughter of Weshen - a nation which lives yet - and I have one question for you.” She was proud that her voice did not shake. He would know soon enough whose blood stained her clothing.

  The young General regarded her with a sense of cool languor that Coren could tell was completely false. He was wound tighter than Resh ever had been. She could see it in the minuscule lines of his lips and the glint in his bright hazel eyes. Metal swords clinked behind her as soldiers drew near, and Coren began to wonder why she’d thought this was a good idea.

  Even with shifter magic and wings, she couldn’t take on an army by herself.

  “Will you be delivering that question any time soon?” Watersend’s voice was clipped. His hand had drifted to rest on his sword hilt.

  Four nearby men had stopped their exercises and drawn close enough to overhear, two flanking her on each side. They snickered at their General’s words.

  Coren ignored them, palming the black diamond and presenting it at eye level.

  “Were you loyal to Graeme, or would you prefer a position under me?”

  Too late, she realized the innuendo, but she kept her shoulders firm and held the young General’s gaze without wavering.

  His stubbled cheeks flushed as he scanned her slim form, finally coming to rest again on the stone in her hand. “How did you get His Majesty’s ring?” His voice was barely a whisper, and there was a glint of something unidentifiable in his eyes. But he made no move to take the ring or strike her down, and Coren felt a sliver of hope begin to arrow through her chest.

  If he hadn’t yet, perhaps he wouldn’t at all.

  “Zorander Graeme was my grandfather. I will explain the entire story to a court of the right people, but the short version is that Graeme is dead. Mara has fled with her horrid brother, and I am now the rightful heir to the throne of Riata.”

  A curse of amazement slipped from the General’s lips just as his men darted behind Coren and grasped her arms, binding them behind her with thick ropes. She didn’t resist, knowing she could shred the rope with a thought.

  None of them touched the ring, though, and she folded her fingers tightly over the chunk of darkness that inexorably linked her future to this hated place.

  “Is this your answer, then?” she asked the General, allowing the men to believe they held her captive. The thick silver ring was heavy around her thumb. Her magic thrummed in her veins, aching to be set free.

  “I prefer to hear the entire story first,” he answered, eyes narrowed.

  “Very well. It begins with these,” she said, and a grin broke across her face as she snapped her Vespa wings into being, shifting away the ropes and knocking the four soldiers to the ground with a beat of feathers and bone.

  They scrambled backward, one making a gesture of prayer across his heart.

  Even General Watersend staggered back a step, and Coren’s heart beat faster with the belief that maybe, just maybe, she could do this.

  JYESH PAUSED HIS HALTING steps, glancing around him as he noticed a change in the warming air. The Conqueror’s Channel was still to their right, flowing crisp and dark in the early morning. Even after an hour’s walk, the woods before them hid all but the topmost spires of StarsHelm Palace, and the trees and the air were quiet.

  Then he realized what he was feeling. It was his twin’s presence - the swirling magic of her shifting and the powerful predatory thoughts of the Vespa.

  Of course, she wasn’t anywhere nearby. He felt her in his chest, where she’d lived as a child, in a special place he’d held empty for many long years. Once or twice since she’d found him in Rurok, he’d even believed that maybe she’d kept a spot for him too, despite thinking him dead.

  He looked sharply at the brothers behind him. They’d been whispering behind his back again and didn’t deserve the relief of knowing she was okay. But then again, it was something he could do that they couldn’t.

  “I can feel her again. Coren.” He delighted in the sensation of a second heartbeat, echoing his. Or perhaps his was the echo, he realized. This thought pleased him much less. He would not be second to Coren.

  He hadn’t survived the horrible betrayal of banishment and a childhood in Rurok just to become an echo like Aram to Mara.

  “What do you mean, feel her?” Sy asked him, slitted eyes trained like weapons on Jyesh’s face. The mighty Grizzlin shifter. Jyesh snorted in disgust. When he found his own shifter power, he would shred this arrogant First Son.

  He took a slow, calming breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. “Twin magic. When my sister and I were children, we could often share each other’s emotions. Once in a while, we even heard each other’s thoughts. That was before I was banished by your grandfather, of course.” Jyesh smiled to himself when Sy had the decency to flush.

  Resh pursed his lips, looking like he had a question but refusing to ask it.

  Jyesh smirked at him. He liked having something these two wanted. It reminded him of his time ruling the Brujok.

  If only he had beaten Mara himself. Then he could be in Rurok, full Lord of all the Witches. Not trudging through the woods like a peasant. Mara had trained him all these years to rule, and just when he’d gotten out from under her thumb, he found himself in second place again.

  Or third, if she were forced to marry. He didn’t know Riatan laws well, but no country liked an unwed queen. She would pick someone like Resh to rule with her, and Jyesh would be given some icy hamlet in the northern islands.

  A surge of resentment toward Coren and all her privileges filled his mind, followed by all the ways she could be removed from the throne.

  But then his heart double-thumped again. He could feel Coren’s fear, but also her triumph, and it leaked into his heart, awakening and soothing long-dead lines of connection.

  He was surprised that after all these years apart, and all they’d been through, her presence in his mind felt precisely the same as it had when they were eight.

  But they were twins, and Weshen twin magic was legendary. Resentment bled into curiosity, and a new plan formed. Maybe, instead of finding a rich Riatan to share the throne with her, or bending the laws for Resh, Jyesh himself could take the position.

  Brother and sister ruling as one, instead of king and queen.

  He liked this idea, and it made him feel generous, as though he were already a benevolent ruler, offering crumbs to his people.

  “She’s inside the palace grounds, and she isn’t in any grave danger.” Jyesh grinned at the assurance he felt sharing this. He wasn’t worried at all about his twin’s safety. She had power to spare, and he would feel it if she were in trouble.

  Coren was playing her role well, gaining a place of strategy inside the enemy’s fortress. Jyesh thought it likely that she was preparing the game board for him, and he lapsed into silence thinking of all the possible moves.

  He would be willing to share Riata with Coren if needed, but absolutely no one else.

  COREN HAD WITHDRAWN her wings again as soon as she left the training grounds, following General Watersend into a side door of the palace. Her wings were even more effective when they were unexpected.

  She did her best to memorize the path, sending her senses wide to search for traps or spelled danger. In a way, it reminded her of the summers she’d spent running the hunts - keenly aware of every noise or movement that could be a threat. But Watersend and his men were quiet. He’d made no move to take the ring from her, and the ropes had not been replaced in any way.

  She knew if the General proved false, she had several weapons at her immediate disposal. Poisoned Vespa claws, a whip laced with Umbren blood magic, and some potent shifting. Coren tried not to be smug, but without Mara, she couldn’t imagine StarsHelm was prepared for someone like her.

  And though Watersend had said nothing that might incriminate him as treasonous
to Zorander and Mara, her gut told her he could be trusted. Instinct hadn’t always served her well, but something in his gaze when he’d seen her wings had spoken of reverence and hope.

  For now, they were both playing the game close.

  They wound through several passages that were really more like tunnels, Coren following the General without comment. Four of his men trailed them, their steps echoing against the stone walls.

  A tightly spiraling brownstone staircase finally brought them into the sunlit openness of the main floors, and Coren relaxed a bit more as she began to see servants and other people hurrying about their daily business. Watersend had brought her to a central hall, its grandeur obviously built to impress. She would get to speak to someone, at the very least.

  A towering, nearly invisible wall of crystalline glass was all that separated them from the vibrant tangles of the maze beyond. The floor beneath her dirty boots had changed to polished, cream-hued stone covered in paths of thick, blood-red velvet edged in black.

  Lush paintings larger than her wingspan hung on the walls, depicting the different lands and peoples held in the noose of Riata’s borders.

  Coren glared at the falsified depictions of peace as she stalked behind Watersend, barely noticing that he had stopped until she nearly bumped into his back.

  “We will wait in here,” he said, nodding to a pair of guards by the polished black doors. He told his men, “Find the essential court members and the other Generals. Their presence is required immediately.” The soldiers dispersed as the guards shoved open the impossibly tall doors, revealing a space larger than Coren had ever seen under roof.

  She swallowed hard. Of all places, Watersend had brought her to the throne room to wait.

  She bit nervously at a smile, tapping the curve of a claw against her thigh. The man either held a strange hope in her, or he wanted her dead on the spot for impudence.

  The grand space was empty, of course, but beyond the open doors, she heard the palace begin to come to life with the shock of her arrival and news.

  Coren watched Watersend’s straight back as he led her forward into the heart of the room. She wondered at how easily he seemed to trust her, leaving his back open to attack from a stranger with obvious magic, and bringing her deep within the palace walls.

  She had truly expected an escort to a dungeon for questioning, or at the very least, a room full of Brujok who could counter any magical attack she would wield. These were the things she had hoped to spare Resh and Sy from. But it seemed her fears were unfounded.

  As they moved deeper into the room, Coren noticed the floor itself was slanted up, gradually, leading to a polished silver dais and a pair of carved, oversized black thrones. Beneath her feet were solid squares of black and cream marble, set in a diagonal pattern pointing directly toward the dais and its two empty seats. She shuddered, imagining being brought before Mara or Zorander when they had sat upon those thrones.

  The room was eerie - silent and vast.

  Watersend simply paused before the thrones, his body settling into a natural, formal stance, with his legs shoulder-width apart and his hands clasped behind him. His eyes faced forward as he stared at the entry expectantly.

  Coren turned in a full circle, scanning the room’s expanse and sifting through its sources for possible magical traps or threats. She burned with questions for the young General, but first, she wanted to know her options for escape.

  The windows were high, but more than wide enough, streaming the sunlight into the gleaming space. It would hurt, but she could easily fly to the ornately-carved ceiling and burst through the leaded glass if needed. She didn’t sense anything odd about the room or its sources, though, despite Kashar once telling her everything was spelled.

  “You’ll find little danger here, with the King and Queen gone.”

  Coren swiveled back to Watersend, studying him. “Why is that?”

  He maintained a stoic expression, as though he had never spoken.

  Coren held his light hazel eyes, matching his calm gaze with her own. He couldn’t be much older than she and her friends, yet he held such a high position in this wretched kingdom. What had he done to get here, and why? Perhaps he had brought her here to prove the throne empty, then seize it from her himself.

  “You seem to trust me so quickly,” she began bluntly. “My friends and I have killed your king and forced your queen into retreat and hiding.”

  His cheeks reddened, but he held her eyes. “I have prayed to the FatherSun for this day. I will trust He sends you in peace until you demonstrate differently. But if you threaten Riata, I will do all in my power to cut you down where you stand.”

  She read between his words. He’d prayed to his god for a new ruler - an admission of treason. With that realization, she began to trust General Watersend just a bit more. “How much worse could I be than Zorander Graeme? Or Queen Mara?” she asked.

  “I doubt you could be any worse unless you were sent by Umbren’s Shadow itself.”

  She shivered at the mention of Shadow, clenching her teeth against the sensation. “Will Riata be troubled by the death of its King?”

  Watersend held her eyes for a long moment. He was certainly untroubled. “There are some whose allegiance to Mara will not falter. But if you are truly blood of Graeme, many will follow you for that. You should be more worried about those who wish the fall of the Graeme family and the rise of a new bloodline in Riata.”

  “And are you one of those? Have you hopes of becoming ruler of StarsHelm?” Her further bluntness didn’t startle him, or if it did, he maintained a soldier’s calm.

  “None here had hopes of that.”

  Coren noted his careful use of the past tense. If he’d had no hope of change, why had he stayed here? Perhaps Riatans were just as trapped as Weshen. “Then why have you worked to stay so close to the cruel rulers of a tyrant country?” She wondered if he would deny the cruelty, or embrace it as necessary.

  He shuffled his feet, widening his stance as though to say he still had no intentions of going anywhere. He might claim to be without dreams of the throne, but Coren wasn’t as innocent as she’d been on Weshen Isle. Her rise to this patchwork country’s highest seat would peak interest in many men who wished to drag their chair next to hers.

  An unwed ruler of StarsHelm would be a treasure few would be able to resist hunting.

  “I work to stay close to our rulers, cruel as they may be, because this country is made of real people, not this glittering court you’ll soon meet. A beating, bleeding heart that desperately needs someone willing to do what it takes to protect it. We may not all hail from the same lands, but once you learn to survive in StarsHelm, you become someone a little different. Our people need someone to stand strong in the shadows, facing the darkness so they do not bear its full weight.”

  Coren flushed at the raw, poetic power of his words, and at the happiness that rushed into her chest at finding his beliefs matched hers so well. Stalling to regain her composure, she slid her gaze over his form, allowing the echoes of his words to fade into silence. His light brown hair was a bit too long over the ears, curling at his neck. It reminded her of Sy, and how he had always been just short of caring for his appearance.

  Sy had better things to do with his time than struggle for beauty, and evidently, General Dain Watersend did, too.

  There was a jagged scar hidden just beneath the fringe on his forehead, and Coren wondered where he’d earned it.

  “What darkness have you borne under Mara and Zorander?” The whispered question slipped from her mind and onto the marble between them without her permission, and she bit her lip harshly, though she was too late to arrest its effect.

  His eyes narrowed, and his brows drew together in a fierce glare. But with a smooth ferocity, he yanked his collar wide, popping a few buttons to expose white, puckered skin and a set of deep trails over his heart, like what fingernails might do if they were sharp as swords.

  Had Mara given him those? O
r one of her Brujok? They looked like something a jealous lover might extend in punishment.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, heat coming into her cheeks as she tasted regret for her harsh judgment. “It was out of line to ask you to expose such a thing.”

  Watersend broke his formal pose and stepped closer to her, and she could feel the intensity of his glare like a hand gripping her throat. “You’ll find a thousand stories like mine if you start to ask questions. Riata is a country of survivors.”

  “So is Weshen,” she said, unmoving.

  Watersend’s eyes glinted. “If you’ve come to rule Riata, I’d prefer to earn your trust. I pray to the FatherSun that you’re the answer to all we’ve suffered. And if you are, I’ll protect and aid you with my every breath. But I do not simply assume your intentions are good because you’re not Graeme. You have Graeme blood. There’s darkness in your creature magic, and shadows wreath the ring you clutch in your pocket. Be certain, Corentine Ashaden, that I’ll protect my people with or without your help, just as I did under your grandfather.” His fingers released their hold on his jacket, and he turned, stalking from the throne room before she could respond.

  She was still reeling from his fierce honesty and jittery at being left alone when the Lords and Ladies, Generals and Commanders of Starshelm began to stream into the throne room. Fine fabric rustled, heavy boots and clicking heels echoed on marble, and conspiratorial whispers crept around her, teasing out her nervousness for the task that awaited.

  Coren studied the people watching her, feeling suddenly very dirty, much too young, and completely uncertain of her place. She knew she shouldn’t stay on eye level with these men and women crowding into the room, trailing servants, doubt, and a fair amount of anger. But neither was she ready to go anywhere near the carved thrones behind her.