The Darkest Night Page 9

  Bram was quiet, too. The idea of being treated by a witch was not a comfortable one, but then again, he had to get out of here, and soon. He didn’t exactly have a lot of options.

  “Do you think she can be trusted?” he asked.

  Jean-Pierre shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea, I know the granddaughter of the one who died, Jéhenne Corbeaux and …” A slow grin curved over his mouth and Bram knew well where he was coming from. “She’s lovely.”

  Bram raised his eyebrows and Jean-Pierre grinned in return, denying nothing. “Well, she is. Actually, the niece is pretty hot, too, though...” He paused again and rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. “There is something about her, both of them, really. I guess I never really thought about it before, but, hell yeah. If you can be an elf then I can totally believe that Inés is a witch.”

  “Inés Corbeaux?” Bram sat bolt upright, and then wished he hadn’t as pain shot down his arm. He cursed as Jean-Pierre leaned forward and took the coffee mug from his hand before he dropped it.

  “You know her?” he asked, the surprise evident in his voice.

  “No,” Bram replied through gritted teeth, his tone dark. “But Corin does. I’ve heard him speak of her, and your friend Jéhenne. They are Dame Blanche, powerful witches. In fact, I’d lay money on the fact the grandmother didn’t die and the niece is in fact the same woman.” He watched Jean-Pierre’s mouth drop open and laughed. “It is one of their talents, the ability to regenerate. They can live as long as the Fae, though mostly they don’t. They tend to lead dangerous lives.”

  “Jéhenne?” Jean-Pierre said in a hushed tone. “Jéhenne is ... is a witch?”

  Bram nodded, wondering what the hell to do. “Oh, yes, and from what Corin said, a damned powerful one, too, and Inés is not to be trusted.” He sighed, scowling. “I think there is little choice, however. She is a great healer by all accounts, and we cannot afford to waste time.” Bram swallowed down the fear that spiked in his blood at being anywhere near a witch, let alone being in her debt. “Can you get in touch with her?”

  Jean-Pierre nodded, though he looked shocked to his bones. Bram didn’t blame him. It must have been something of a blow to discover the girl he’d obviously had a serious crush on was a powerful witch. “She lives not far from here,” he said, his words low and rather anxious now. “If I cut through the woods, I can probably do it in twenty minutes.”

  “Do what?”

  The two men looked up as Ameena came in, stretching and yawning. She looked rumpled from sleeping in her clothes, and her short black-and-blue hair was sticking up in all directions. She looked an utter mess, which was what Bram told himself with a severe tone, despite the fact that his first thought had been that she looked quite adorable and ... like she needed looking after. After his experience of her so far, he realised that idea was so far off the mark as to be laughable, and had to bite his tongue to stop himself from doing so out loud. Instead, he ignored her and spoke to Jean-Pierre.

  “Do you know how to fire a gun?” he asked.

  Jean-Pierre snorted. “Sure, but not an antique like yours. I brought my father’s hunting rifle.”

  “Good.” Bram nodded his approval. “Take it with you and be on your guard.”

  “What? Take it with him where? Where are you going?” Ameena demanded, a shrill tone to her voice that implied she was more than a little concerned.

  Jean-Pierre got to his feet and gave her a nonchalant expression. “To go and find a witch,” he said, deadpan, and walked past Ameena into the kitchen, leaving her looking wildly from him to Bram. Bram sighed and closed his eyes, hearing her stomp back into the kitchen, muttering about men and their idiotic senses of humour.

  ***

  Just before dawn, Laen made his way through the camp to check on Corin. Despite his usual ability to sleep like a log, no matter the circumstances, he’d woken in the early hours and struggled to get back to sleep for worrying. He hoped a good night’s sleep would have done Corin some good. The gods only knew what they would do if he lost it now. It was one thing taking on Solastire with Corin’s powers at their backs. Without him ... they’d likely be slaughtered.

  He approached his friend’s tent to find two nervous-looking guards and Laen sighed inwardly. “Where is he?” he demanded.

  One of the guards swallowed and took a deep breath. “We did try to go with him, only ...”

  “Save it!” Laen snapped, irritated that they hadn’t had the wit to follow him at a distance. “I will deal with you two later. Which direction did he take and how long ago?”

  The guard who’d first spoken paled a little and pointed the way. “’Bout an hour and half ago, by my reckoning.”

  Laen began to walk away and then paused to look at them in disgust. He waved his hand at them. “Please,” he said with mock civility. “Do return to guarding your empty tent.” He strode away, muttering curses about their stupidity, and set off over the fields.

  From up ahead, he heard his name being called and saw Anaïs standing on the brow of the hill waving at him to come at once. He broke into a run as fear prickled down his spine, but it wasn’t long before the cause of her surprise became apparent.

  They had all remarked, ever since they had entered the Light Fae’s lands, that the countryside around them looked as though winter had taken up permanent residence. Although the land was subjected to the emotions of the ruler, it did change with the seasons, but they had all been aware that this was no winter season. It was as though every blade of grass, every tree, every living thing, was cloaked in gloom. Sorrow and sickness clung to the branches, shadowing the hills and stalking the valleys. Even Laen had noticed how it began to seep into his own bones the longer they were here. There was a sense of fatality, of hopelessness, the feeling that all was lost, and then ... and then there was this.

  “Gods.”

  Anaïs looked up at Laen as he drew level with her and nodded in agreement. “However did he do it?” she whispered, amazement and wonder in the words

  Laen shook his head. “I don’t know,” he muttered, wondering what the cost of it had been to Corin. “But I wish to hell he’d stop wasting his energy.”

  They walked into the meadow as the grasses and flowers swished softly against them, butterflies and bees flitted from bloom to bloom, drunk on nectar. The fresh scent of growth and plenty perfumed the air, and Laen felt his spirits lift the further they walked. Yet he could not shake the fear that the cost had been too great.

  “Laen, look.” Anaïs gestured down the hill where lush green fields nestled against woodland, her own voice sharp with concern now. “It goes on all the way down the valley. There’s miles of it.”

  Laen followed Anaïs gaze, but it wasn’t the greenery that took his attention.

  “There!” he shouted as terror clutched at his heart, and ran down the hill with Anaïs struggling to keep up with him. He came to halt in front of a massive tree. Laden with fruit, the branches hung low, brushing the ground and enfolding Corin’s body under the curtain of its embrace.

  “Is he alright?” he asked, his voice taut, too afraid to look for himself

  Anaïs caught up to him, breathing hard, and bent down to look closer. She looked up at Laen, smiling. “He’s only sleeping.”

  Laen let out a breath and cursed, turning his back on her and putting his head in his hands until his heart returned to its usual rhythm

  “You’ve been friends a long time,” she observed, giving Laen a curious look.

  Laen let out a huff of laughter, wondering how many times this man was going to do this to him before his nerves were completely shot. “Since we were very small,” he said, sounding gruff and glaring at the man in question. He sighed and shook his head, smiling despite his annoyance at having been terrified again. “He rescued me.”

  Anaïs looked up, her eyes full of curiosity.

  “I had run away from home,” he continued, seeing she was keen to know more. “I had been away for days, with no food. I�
�d never been so hungry,” he shrugged, remembering a particularly bleak moment in a childhood that had plenty to choose from. “I was caught stealing from one of the cottages on his estate,” he said, gesturing at the sleeping figure and remembering his gratitude and his incomprehension, that the elven prince his father despised so could be so kind. “Corin heard the row. The fellow who caught me was threatening to beat me black and blue, but somehow Corin persuaded him to let me go.” He grunted with amusement. “He had a silver tongue even then. He couldn’t have been more than six.” Laen laughed, glancing up at Anaïs with a smile. Strange, so many years had passed since then and yet it seemed like yesterday. “Corin told me to come home with him and I did, he hid me in the stables and brought me food. I was there for more than a fortnight before anyone discovered me.” He looked down at the sleeping figure again and felt his lips twitch with amusement. “And I have been following his lead ever since.”

  Anaïs smiled at him and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “You love him.”

  Laen turned to her, frowning. “Of course,” he said, for once finding it easy to admit to. There were probably not two more different men in the Fae Lands, but their shared history was thicker than blood. “He’s my brother.”

  He looked around then, hearing Corin’s voice and frowning as he saw he was trembling, his arms clasped tightly around his chest. “Corin?” He knelt down beside him and gave him a shake. “Wake up, you fool,” he said, shaking him a bit harder. “It’s just a bad dream.” He pushed the thought away that this was no dream, and never had been. It was too dreadful to contemplate.

  Corin shivered harder, his usually golden skin now pale and stark, bruised shadows visible under eyes that were screwed shut with fear.

  “Wake him up, Laen,” Anaïs urged, sounding anxious as it was clear it was no ordinary nightmare. “He’s having a terrible dream.”

  “I know,” Laen said, his chest tight as he knew the dream only too well. “It’s the same one he always has.” He pushed the hair from Corin’s face with a calloused hand and slapped his cheek hard enough that it should get a reaction. “Wake up, man!”

  ***

  Corin was trapped in the nightmare.

  He was dead. Dead and alone and so terribly cold. His body lay way beneath the earth, alone in the dark. The land had extracted its revenge for ignoring her call and was now intent on draining every last vestige of magic from his bones, returning it to its source.

  Roots buried under his skin, threading through his veins, writhing between joints and sucking the marrow from his bones. Insects and worms tickled his flesh with soft movements that made him shudder, filling his mouth, his lungs, so that he couldn’t scream, could not cry for help. The weight of the earth forced him down, further into darkness, crushing his bones to dust as fear ate away at him along with the insects, clawing at his tender flesh.

  No, no, no, he didn’t want to die like this, alone and forgotten, but the earth was bearing down on him. He choked and gagged, scrabbling frantically against the weight of soil, clawing away at the earth until his head broke the surface only to discover the whole world was on fire. Pulling himself free of the smothering ground, he looked for a way out, but there was none. The flames crept closer, consuming him with the landscape, burning his skin until it blistered, until he was blazing along with everything else, until the marrow in his bones began to sizzle and boil …

  Suddenly the ground began to shake.

  “Corin!”

  He awoke with a start, the terror of the dream still with him as he scrabbled to his knees. Memories of war and a dead land jostled with the lush green all around him and he felt adrift, lost …

  “Corin!”

  He jolted again as a large figure shook him hard, and Laen came into focus.

  “Laen?” He let out a breath of relief as he realised it was Laen holding his wrists, trying to defend himself as Corin had panicked and struggled to get free. He let go of the tension that was making his heart thunder and gave his friend a tentative smile. “Gods, Laen. I have never been so pleased to see you.” Laen released him, looking almost as relieved as he felt himself before glancing back at Anaïs and giving her a reassuring nod. Corin’s heart sank. Damnation. It was bad enough Laen seeing him like that.

  Anaïs shot him a sympathetic smile, which did not make him feel better, before walking away, back to the camp. Corin put his head in his hands.

  “The same dream?” Laen’s voice was as gruff as usual but Corin could hear the concern beneath the words.

  “I was dead,” he said, not meeting Laen’s eyes. He needed to speak about it, needed Laen to understand he wasn’t just being foolish and fanciful. “I was dead and buried in the ground, so dark and alone. I fought to get free, but …”

  “The fire was waiting for you?”

  He nodded. Laen knew the way it went just as well as he did. He’d been having the same dream over and over since he was a child, after all. Except each time it became more terrifying, and so very real. He looked up at Laen, knowing there was fear in his eyes. “I don’t want to die,” he whispered.

  Laen frowned, his dark eyes troubled, and Corin willed him to say something, anything. In the end, he knelt down beside him, grasping the back of Corin’s neck with one hand. He leaned forwards until their foreheads touched. “Do you remember the oath we took?” he demanded, his voice sure and certain.

  “Of course I remember,” Corin replied, smiling despite the horror of knowing it wasn’t a dream. “You think I would forget such a thing?”

  “Then you know that I won’t let that happen,” Laen replied, the words rough and awkward but utterly sincere. “I will always protect you, as you have me. You will die in your bed with Claudette at your side and a huge family around you a thousand years from now, and not before, or you will have me to answer to.”

  Corin let out a huff of laughter, knowing Laen meant every word. “I want that to be true,” he said, knowing that a terrible price awaited him for what he was being forced to do.

  “It is true!” Laen’s grasp on his neck tightened and Corin looked up to see a furious expression on his friend’s face. “You will not die, do you hear me? I won’t let you.”

  Corin forced a smile to his face and nodded, wondering just how far Laen’s loyalty would stretch. Would he really say such things when he discovered the truth? Corin prayed their friendship was strong enough to endure. He looked up as Laen patted his back. It was a rather forceful and awkward, but well-meant, gesture and the closest Laen could ever get to a hug. It usually amused Corin, but today it made him feel nothing but sorrow. He was risking his life and everything he cared for, for something he didn’t even want.

  “You never did get the hang of that did you?” Corin said, giving Laen a warm look as the man grunted. “Gods, Laen, was that a blush?” he said, not wanting to miss the opportunity to tease his friend, while he still could, at least. “It is such a long time since I saw that. It almost makes this damned mess worthwhile.”

  “Feeling better, are you?” Laen grumbled, scowling at him as he got to his feet, though the anxiety in his dark eyes was clear enough.

  Corin chuckled, hoping to allay his fears. It was humiliating to have Laen babying him and looking at him like he was losing his mind. Even more so, as Corin feared his worry was well-founded. “Oh, you know tormenting you is always my chief source of amusement.” He grinned at Laen, praying it looked genuine and not as forced as it felt. “It is a long time since I made you blush, though. I thought I had cured you of that many years ago.”

  “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you,” Laen muttered, though there was no heat behind the words as he offered Corin his hand. Corin took it, hauling himself to his feet, but didn’t release it, holding it firmly in his.

  “I know what I owe you, Laen,” he said, praying that Laen remembered his words when the time came. “Don’t ever forget that. Whatever happens ... I will find a way to repay you. Upon my honour.”

  Laen
frowned at him, not yet understanding the significance of what he was saying. “You owe me nothing.”

  Corin held his gaze for a moment before looking away as guilt ate at his heart. “I will. Before this is over, I will owe you everything.”

  Chapter 8

  Jean-Pierre strode through the woods, his rifle slung over one shoulder. His senses prickled as every snapped twig made his nerves leap, and he told himself not to be such a bloody fool. It was just that the discovery of another realm, another race, of the existence of witches and elves and murderous faeries … well, it made him wonder just what else was out there. Maybe the monster that had lived under his bed when he was a boy hadn’t been a figment of his imagination after all. How could he know?

  He broke from the woodland onto the muddy track that led to the Corbeaux cottage and took a deep breath. He had been to the house on many occasions, but never before knowing what he did now. The cottage sat low in its secluded position, smoke curling from the chimney and the painted blue shutters looking faded and tatty in the grey light of an overcast day. Nothing scary here, he told himself, feeling ridiculously unconvinced. Hesitating outside the front door, he dithered for a moment or two, telling himself he was imagining the prickling feeling running over his skin and telling himself to man the hell up. Taking a deep breath and trying hard not to feel like Hansel, he knocked.

  There was the noise of movement from inside the cottage, and a moment later the door was opened. She was a petite, curvaceous woman in her mid-twenties, with thick, wavy black hair that gleamed like petrol, falling way past her shoulders. Piercing green eyes that never failed to make Jean-Pierre catch his breath settled on his.

  He swallowed as a slow smile curved over the woman’s face and she looked him over with an expression that made colour leap to his cheeks.