Dark Heir (Dark Rise, #2)

by C.S. Pacat

“And did you? Feel something for anyone?” “How could I, when he was there? No one was him,”

I couldn’t see past him. Until I met you.”

“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.”

“We can’t,” said Will. He was breathing unevenly. “Why not?” said James. “Because I’m—” “No. That isn’t why. I— After,” said Will. “When this is all done. Come to me after.” He saw James realize that it wasn’t rejection: it was an offer, a desperate hope for the future—a future in which they might be just themselves, if that was even possible. James’s lips curled, his lashes lowering. “Is that an order?”

“I—” James didn’t answer, just said, “I want to be yours, not his.”

It was more tempting than the Collar, Anharion’s lips against his, but never like this, sweetly willing.

“Will—” said James, helplessly. “After,” said Will. “I promise.”

But he could never have James while Sarcean lay between them.

Will didn’t even really know if James wanted him, or if he was just drawn to the echo of Sarcean.

James felt like Sarcean’s most personal message, sent across time, a knowing enticement, as if to say, You see? We are the same.

There was a part of him that wanted to reply to Sarcean, They’re mine, and I did not need to force them. No, you just tricked them, the amused reply seemed to come back to him. He ignored it.

No one suspected him, but then again, no one ever had.

“Will is the Dark King.”

“Will’s in there,” she said. “We have to get to him!” Cyprian said, “You can’t fight a whole army!” Violet said, “I will if I have to!”

“Cyprian—” she said. “Kill me,” said Cyprian. “As soon as I come out. I don’t want to be like my brother.” “Cyprian—” “Promise me.” “I won’t promise that.” “You must. I won’t live under threat of the shadow. Let me do this, and then set me free of it.”

“You’re more to me than a shieldmate,” said Cyprian.

“If she won’t kill you,” said Visander, “I will, Steward.” Cyprian nodded. And he went.

After that I’m—” Useless. Vulnerable. He didn’t say it. Didn’t want to think it. He jerked when Ettore put a hand on his shoulder. The gesture was unnerving; he had to tell himself he was not being attacked or apprehended. It was the first time a Steward had touched him without anger since he was eleven. “We’ll protect you,” Ettore said.

God, it hurt. He had forgotten how much it hurt, to have the gate tear everything out of him, take it all and demand more. The pain felt right. Doing good should hurt, shouldn’t it? After all, it was both penance and amends, one that he didn’t deserve.

A new wave of power that he sent into the gate. He had been the best in the Hall. He could hold. He would hold.

James was so cold, his teeth were chattering uncontrollably. He told himself it was because of the gate, not his reaction to being chastised by Sinclair.

“My dear Jamie, why would I kill you when I know you have it with you?” said Sinclair.

“No,” said James. No no no no no no. Blind panic. He was crawling away desperately. He couldn’t run. He had no way to hide. But he could make it to the edge and get over. The Leap of Faith. The long drop into the dark. Perhaps six seconds of freedom before he hit, which would be the end. Better that than the Collar around his neck. He didn’t make it.

He made a desperate sound of negation. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want, whatever you want, I won’t question you, I’ll do whatever you say, just please don’t—” The Collar clicked closed. Try to run.

I will always find you.

“You’ve made things very troublesome for me, Jamie. But you’re going to be a good boy now and do as you’re told. Get on your knees.” He heard the command, and he almost moved, for he was mastered now. But he felt no compulsion. That realization broke over him. He felt no compulsion. He felt nothing at all. James started to laugh, an uncontrolled, breathless laugh. He couldn’t stop; didn’t, until his eyes were wet. Then he looked up at Sinclair. And said a single word. “No.”

It should be working. And it was. It was working. Just not in the way Sinclair thought.

“The Collar controls the Betrayer.”

“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.

It wasn’t ornately made. It wasn’t a scepter. It was a brand.

“It’s been a long time,” said Sarcean, “since we dallied in the sun, Visander.” For the Queen’s last defender was the same Sun Guard who had freed him from the oubliette. Sandy, Sarcean had nicknamed him then, amusing himself. A trifling, easy to fool.

I see why she chose you, Sarcean might have said. Visander would pursue him like no one else, because he had once believed in him.

The Light will always stand against you.” “The Light?” said Sarcean. “Today I have put out the sun.” “Light is not something you can extinguish,” she said. “Even in the darkest night, there is a star.” Will gasped and came back to himself. Cyprian stood in front of him, holding a sword.

“You killed Simon,” said Tom. “Among other people,” said Will.

Later, she’d remember that Will had been the only one talking about stopping the army, while the rest of them were caught up in old feuds.

“Starting without me?” said a familiar, drawling voice.

It wasn’t until James stood side by side with Visander that Violet realized how similar they looked, both in coloring and in otherworldliness, beautiful and terrible, angelic and unearthly.

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.”

James ignored all of them, slashing open the restraints binding Will’s hands. “Can you move? We need to go.” Blue eyes full of concern.

“Tell me that you know,” said Will, “what I am, what I—” “I know,” said James. “Tell me you don’t care,” said Will. “I don’t care,” said James. Will went hot, a shiver right to the core of him. He met James’s eyes with the jolt of a connection locking in place. “Tell me again.” He needed to hear it. “I don’t care.” Another shiver, this one deeper.

James believed—in him, in Will. “What would you have me do?” said James. Will said, “Get us out of here.”

A circle completing itself: the seeking tendril of James’s magic connected to the vast reservoir of his own.

“I thought you’d hate me.” The words were all breath. Will could feel the warmth of James’s body against him. His fingers gripped at James’s waist. “Tell me you don’t hate me.” “I don’t hate you.”

“I should have told you.” The words were tumbling out. “I should have—I was afraid; I thought if I told you that you’d kill me, or try to. I thought that you’d—tell me again.” “I don’t hate you.”

He felt bursting with loyalty of his own that he had always wanted to give to someone. He wanted to give James power, the world, everything.

“You came to me.” James said, “You asked me to.”

Sarcean had lost everyone, but Will hadn’t.

It meant he could be different. He and James, they could both be different.

“Tell me you know—me,” he said, gazing into blue eyes full of loyalty, and he wanted to hear James saying the words forever. “Tell me you know who I am, and you’re mine.” “I’m yours. I know who you are. Will—”