The Shadows of Starlight

Chapter Nine

Sorry it took so long to update. My childhood dog—my muse, as I liked to call her—passed away recently so I've been heartbroken. Anyway, this was supposed to be the last chapter before I go back to the TBOD rewrite, but I ended up writing too much so I had to split the planned chapter into two chapters. So you can expect another chapter after this one.

Val

In the early hours before dawn, I find myself still curled in the far corner of my vast chambers, wrapped in a quilt, trying to ignore the temptation of sleep and the dull pain roaring in my back, when I hear Manar awaken from a nightmare.

I listen as he stumbles out of bed, as he shatters something against the wall, as he snaps harsh words at his startled guards. I listen, and I'm glad I have the time to brace myself. So when Manar bursts into my chambers, I'm standing as far away from the door that connects our rooms as possible; maybe the distance will dissuade him.

He's disheveled, all rumpled silk nightclothes and frenzied rage. His eyes are silvery and bloodshot, full of a sort of mad desperation, and something in my chest seems to crumple, for I know this isn't going to go well, and I thought I was free for the night, but that clearly isn't the case. It was my mistake, to feel even slightly at ease.

I try to be mild, like it'll make him rethink his nasty mood. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes," he says, in a tone that makes it clear the problem is me. And then he shifts on his feet, just slightly enough that I catch a glimpse of the dagger he clutches backwards in his fist, the blade resting flat against the underside of his wrist. My wariness heightens, my heart beginning to pound. He wouldn't. The Latora said—

It's not as if tricks are beneath her.

"You...repulse me," Manar spits, struggling to get the words out—struggling for control over himself, I realize, as the Latora digs her claws into his mind. "And yet you consume my thoughts. I cannot—you are always there. It was easier when you were in Trivette. Now I can feel your presence, and it—"

He's changed his shaky grip so that he holds the knife normally, like he could stab me if I were close enough, and I interrupt him by stating what seems to be the obvious: "You're going to kill me." Too soon, not now, please. It takes all of my effort to remain calm. The timing is both puzzling and terrible; he's caught me off guard, bereft of a plan. Does the Latora see right through my hidden motives? Or does she simply want to scare me, to remind me that she is the one in control?—not Manar, and certainly not myself.

"No!" Manar says it violently, hand spasming. "I can't. I won't." The silver glint recedes from his gaze. But in a sudden movement, he raises the dagger, like he intends to throw it at me. I flinch, turning to the side so that my body poses a smaller target, and I lift my hand to my mouth, ready to attempt to bite my ringed finger off—my Darkness would be my only hope of defending myself.

But he pivots and hurls the dagger into the wall. A twinge of disappointment snakes through me—I wanted that excuse to reclaim my Darkness. I wanted it desperately, mindlessly, selfishly.

Thankfully, Manar doesn't seem to notice my threatening instinct. He digs his hands into his hair, eyes on the glittering blade now lodged in the wooden planks. "She wants me to do it, but I won't. I am not her puppet." Very quietly, he adds: "I fear that she will drive me mad."

The weakness revealed by his words strikes me; never admit fear to an enemy is a simple tenet, written in all the books on war arts. Manar truly must not be thinking straight, so I shouldn't prey on his words, no matter how much I may wish to, as he may decide to punish me later for his own transgression.