Dark Heir (Dark Rise, #2)

by C.S. Pacat

Now she saw that James had a peculiar vulnerability to Will, a connection to him, which they had exploited each time they had fought him.

That felt too close to the secret part of him that had felt pleased to see James do as he ordered. That felt pleased that James was here, in a place he didn’t want to be, only for Will’s sake. It made Will want to keep him safe, give him warmth and approval, tell him he’d done well.

“Will, what are you doing with him?” She spoke in a low voice, glancing back at James sprawled out by the fire. “He can help us,” said Will. “He has helped us. He opened that gate.” “I know why he’s here. I meant why are you fluffing his pillow?” “I’m,” said Will, “not fluffing his—” “He’s the Betrayer. You don’t need to give him a hot drink and a blanket.” It was Will’s turn to flush. James lay like a sleeping Ganymede, his enervated beauty belying the cruelty and destruction he had rained down on the Stewards. Will hadn’t fluffed James’s pillow, but he had brought him a drink and a blanket. And hung his jacket to dry on the mantel. And his shirt. Violet said, as if she couldn’t help it, “You were like this with Katherine too.”

James looked like a consumptive heroine from a painting, the kind that dies beautifully.

Will felt himself flush, the slow, hot spread he felt every time James used his power, mixing confusingly with the throbbing in his head.

Will felt James’s hand come to rest on the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair, a possessive gesture unmistakable in its meaning. “This one stays with me.”

James flushed. “You know what I was. You can guess what I dream.” Heat scalded Will’s skin, the image of Anharion still half in his mind, the sweet look in his blue eyes as he gazed down at Sarcean, who had reached up to run fingers through his long, golden hair— “No, I didn’t mean—” James’s flush deepened. “I don’t remember my dreams. But sometimes when I wake up, I can’t move. Trapped in sleep, but awake, and it’s as if . . . there’s a great power bending over me. And it’s whispering—” Find you. “—I will always—” Find you. Try to run.

“I am not playing his servant.” Cyprian tugged again at his waistcoat. “Nice legs,” James remarked, making everything worse.

He was looking at James like a dealer in antiquities inspecting a specimen of great interest. He’s not a curio, Will wanted to snap. He curled his fingers around the wood of the table edge so as not to react. Blend in, he’d told Cyprian. He hadn’t realized how hard that would be.

“He’s loyal to us,” said Will. “Is he?” Cyprian’s voice was hard. “Don’t forget that he was reborn to serve the Dark King.” “I never forget that,” said Will.

“You killed all those men,” said Cyprian, in a hollow, shocked voice. “You’re welcome,” said James.

Cyprian frowned, and then said, as if the idea truly distressed him, “I’m not good at deception.” “I know,” said Will. “It’s your best quality. Find the village and find Ettore. Leave the deception to me.”

He told himself that he’d spent days on the road alone with James traveling back to the Hall. He could manage a few days alone with him now.

The death of a Lion bestows the powers of a Lion.”

He’d seen James choke Howell, and he knew every violent specific of how Howell had felt, the collapsing windpipe, the blurring vision. It was the gentleness of this caress that was causing him spiraling panic.

“It’s the same for me. You’re powerful . . . more powerful than anything I’ve felt. I can’t look away.” James said, “I could close my eyes and know you.”

“You don’t need to sneak around untying ropes,” James murmured as he passed Will, that smile still on his face. “You have me now.”

“Someone is going to do it eventually.” “You don’t know that,” said Will. “I do. I feel it. My past. My future—” He took Will’s hand and put it on the Collar. “Someone’s going to do it.” Searing, to touch the metal with his bare hand, to feel its heat and its need. “If someone’s going to do it,” said James, “I want it to be you.”

“Do it,” said James. James’s shirt was open, his golden hair mussed around his face, his eyes glazed and yielding. James looked like he was already surrendered, wanting to give himself over, willing the latch to close. “Put it on me.”

“Are you going to let someone else put it on me? Let someone else—” “No,” said Will, the vehemence of it taking both James and himself by surprise. And then: “There must be a way to destroy it. When this is over. We’ll find a way.” He let the words sink in, James’s blue eyes wide. “If you still want me to order you around after that, I can.” James let out an astonished breath that was part laughter, as if he couldn’t believe Will had said that. “God, you’re not like anyone else,” said James. “Neither are you,” said Will. It came out low and soft. “Put the Collar away. Follow me because you want to.” “I am. I do. Shit.”

James said, “It makes me feel better to know that you feel it too.” “It really shouldn’t,” said Will.

Someone I believe could save this place.” And then, so quietly Will almost didn’t hear, “Someone I believe could save me.”

“Around that time, a man of means was staying here with his wife. He was a terror to the staff, put his hands on the maids. Put his hands on me. Well, a lamp got knocked over in his rooms, set his clothes and his belongings on fire. He left the next day. The boy never said anything, but I knew it was him. He done it for me. A smart lad. And loyal.” The housekeeper said, “She looked at him like she’d kill him, if she’d only had the courage.”

Sarcean said, “Both of you.” The two of them standing side by side had a wrenching similarity, the chasm deepening. Anharion was beautiful, the sort of untouchable beauty that was painful to look at. Yet Sarcean had never been able to look away. He couldn’t look away now, hurting himself.

“I will find you,” Anharion said. “I will always find you. Try to run.”

“I like him,” said Devon, stepping in closer to the Lion, the familiarity implying—that they were— “You wouldn’t,” said Visander. “Not with a Lion.”

“Why do you laugh?” “Rule alongside him?” said Visander. “The Dark King does not like competitors. I promise you. When he returns, he will kill your whole family.”

“The Lion.” He sounded sullenly jealous, and he couldn’t help it. “Do you let him ride you?” “You are my only rider, Visander.” Devon had something hard and awful in his voice. “I can’t transform.”

“You’re the one I trust with it,” said Will. “The one I know will do what’s right.”

There was something impossible about his beauty. He suited the sunset, as if he was part of the light that was slipping from the world. Will thought, The land would be cold and dark if you were gone. Seeing him now, Will felt lost forever to the knowledge that James was all he had wanted in his past life, and could never possess in this one. James leaned back and regarded him with the same warmth with which Anharion had first regarded Sarcean.

“I didn’t—with Simon. That wasn’t a lie.” James said it with his back to Will. Will flushed as he grasped James’s meaning. “I know that.” “He wanted it, as a sign of status. But he was too scared to touch me. They all were. I belong to one person. And they’re terrified of my owner.” The full meaning of what James was saying spread through him.

“Take what was his. Prove you’re not afraid. And that nor am I. We have the night,” said James. “One night, before the end of the world.”

“I—” James didn’t answer, just said, “I want to be yours, not his.” They were moving toward one another again, that cliff edge drawing closer. “I want that too.” “Kiss me,” said James.

He stepped forward, and it was Will’s turn to use his hands, cup James’s face and slide fingers into his hair. It was more tempting than the Collar, Anharion’s lips against his, but never like this, sweetly willing. And that thought held him back, even as the kiss seemed to throb between them. He brought their foreheads together instead, holding James tight in his arms. “Will—” said James, helplessly. “After,” said Will. “I promise.”

She said, “Is this what it is to be a shieldmate?” “You’re more to me than a shieldmate,” said Cyprian.

“I don’t understand.” Sinclair looked like a man about to shake his watch to find out why it wasn’t keeping time. “The Collar controls the Betrayer.” James heard another awful, breathless laugh escape him. He bent down and picked up Ettore’s sword. He could feel the truth of the answer, in his teeth, in his blood, in his bones. “It does,” said James. He could feel the craving he had to serve, to give himself over. But the stories were lies. Or else they were the grubby dreams of those who wished to enslave him. It didn’t matter who put the Collar around his neck. The Collar had only ever had one master. A jealous master, who would never allow his possession to belong to another. Why had he thought it would be any different? Always and forever, he was bound to one person. “But the Dark King is its master,” said James. “And I serve Him, not you.” And with a single slash of his sword, he severed John Sloane’s head from its body.

“So you can take a shadow,” said Will, “you can pledge yourself to darkness, but I can’t be trusted with my own power, even when I want to use it to do what’s right?”

On his knees in the rubble, Will said in a strange, terrible voice, “Both of you.”

James said to Will, “Darling, I’m not here to kill you.” James only had to gesture once, and Visander went flying backward, hitting a pillar and then the floor, his body slumped and slack. Cyprian took a step forward, and James merely glanced at him, and sent Cyprian careening across the floor. Will was staring at James in shock. James looked down at Will and held out his hand. “Well?” “He’s the Dark King,” said Violet. “And I’m his lieutenant,” said James, “here to fight by his side.”