Page 49 of A Courage of the Chosen

“Your Highness.” The nameless guard pulls me from the book I’m reading after a particularly intense training session this morning.

He bows as I give him my attention. “What is it?”

“We have been summoned by His Majesty,” he says and leaves my rooms.

I swallow the groan that wants to slip free. If he’s assembled everyone, it means there’s some kind of spectacle he wants to make. And given that I don’t know what it is, it can’t mean anything good.

By the time I stroll the roughly-hewn halls toward the main cavern, the soldiers have gathered. He won’t appreciate me being the last one to arrive, and no doubt I’ll hear about it later.

My feet pause as I round the final bend and take in the scene before me.

A massive fire sits in the center, armies of darkness assembled around it as shadows ripple at their feet. The air hums with anticipation. The Brollachan hissing and snarling along the edges of the room only hesitate because of the beast encased in roiling shadows pacing back and forth on the raised stone dais, hunched on all fours, and still the size of a large horse.

I make my way through the bodies, and bow dutifully at my father’s feet before joining him above everyone else.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence,” he snaps.

I look ahead, one arm behind my back, the other resting on top of the sword at my hip.

Assembled before us on their knees, trembling and smothered by the chains that drown out everything that makes us Seelie, are around one hundred people. Their wide, fearful eyes bounce around the large hall lit only by the bonfire that burns endlessly. Some of them are clad in the silver armor of the royal army, some are bloodied, where they must have been taken from their homes in the most recent raids.

My attention is caught by the wagon off to the side, covered with a light fabric and bulging with whatever is inside.

Father stops his pacing, and the room falls silent save for the flickering of the flames. The Craobh Beatha tingles against my skin beneath my shirt. A silent warning for what’s to come.

“Let us welcome our newest recruits,” Father booms.

The roar of man and beast is deafening in the underground space, but they settle quickly.

“Today marks an important step in our path to victory,” he begins.

The tension in my shoulders strings tighter. What is he talking about?

“Not only have we disrupted some of the realm’s most important farming villages, we’ve also acquired some of the enemy’s latest weapons.” He gestures to the wagon and the tarp is pulled away. The wooden cart beneath is packed tightly with food and healing supplies. But the items most in abundance are weapons, all of them laced with flame creeper.

Elsie used an explosive device with the flower at its heart, that detonated when it interacted with her mist as we fought.

“Now we can make our own, and show them how pathetic they are in the face of true power. That whatever they do, we can do better.”

The room erupts again, and the floor quakes as thousands of Dorche stamp their feet. I stand stock still and clock which way the wagon is led, one of my men at its helm where he whips the Brollachan to pull it from the cavern.

“I want to know exactly where that cart goes, do you understand?” Only the subtle dip of his head tells me he heard the command I spoke into his mind.

In recent days I’ve come to learn that those touched by my darkness are connected to me. When I’m wearing the Craobh, I can seek everyone out that I’ve turned, with the assistance of the pendant, along a singular bond that runs from me to them. It’s only one way, and is cut off when I remove it, but it’s an advantage I intend to use.

Focusing back on my father as he rants on about how only the darkness can prevail, how we will all be better and stronger for it, one question shouts louder than the rest.

Why didn’t Father tell me about this? Word reached us that the villages had fallen without much fight, but I’d been with him when the scout returned. I doubt he’d have told me otherwise. His growing distance is forcing me to move much quicker than I desire.

“Back to our guests,” he says, and one of the villagers audibly sobs, but is quickly silenced by a band of shadow around her mouth.

Father’s monstrous talons clack against stone as he takes the few steps down. “Today, you will be born anew, and join my army. Today, you will sip from the chalice of the freedom that comes with absolute surrender to a new order.”

His magic accumulates around him, peeling away to expose his face to those before the fire. Some close their eyes against what greets them, others go pale, and some begin trembling even harder than before.

“You will join us, and bear witness to the dawning of a new age for Seelie kind.”

When a claw-tipped hand reaches out, shadows of the deepest night spill in a waterfall, gentle and threatening as they cascade to his feet, crawling toward the chained Seelie with a sentience only his magic possesses.