The Kingdom of Night (Book 3)

Love

Next: Christopher. I will say he does get a good amount of attention in the first volume. However, it's a little one-sided, which is why I decided on this (somewhat abbreviated) account of his relationship with Emma. It also extends a bit beyond the last chapter, but falls somewhere between that part and the epilogue, to give you a relative time window. But enough talk, now to the real stuff.

Above: A very young (and very attractive) Matthew Macfadyen as Mr Darcy in 2005's Pride and Prejudice–but he'll always be our Christopher here.

       

December 1887

Christopher

I owed Arthur Kingsley my life. Never once would I have dreamed that we would ever maintain a partnership, or a friendship. And yet somehow, in the months following Benedict Huntley's raids, we grew closer than either of us ever thought we would. Father kept my injury a closely guarded secret, telling me I could even wear my hair differently to hide the dent in my skull. That was the least of my problems, however, especially when I would get frequent splitting headaches.

In the intervening months there followed an intense treatment plan, one that involved regular checkups from Dr Percy and a strict order not to overwork myself. It was all quite a lot. Most of the time, I felt fine. Arthur, however, was more dedicated to it than I was, monitoring me more closely than I did myself. Being a prefect and all, he could make his excuses and dog me at every opportunity.

As a result, Lord Radford, William Kingsley, was round to the Order fairly often. He was constantly pestering our secretary, Mr Jergens, about when my father was in or not, and when he would be able to see him. Jergens would always turn him away politely, although I knew it was because Father had had enough of the Kingsleys with Arthur around. They were, in a word, persistent.

Yet on this particular day, Kingsley was able to pass Jergens without a fuss, and as I took over that duty and led him to Father's office, I could see something was very wrong. His skin was wan, his eyes were a flat, glassy grey, and his hair was streaked with much more silver than I remembered. I showed him in and then closed the door behind them, but I lingered in the hall, able to hear their voices through the keyhole if I bent down far enough.

'Harry, you know you must do something about these attacks. This last one on Juliana Haywood has devastated Cecilia.'

'I know, William,' Father said wearily. 'I can hardly believe it myself. First Peter, now Juliana? Their daughter an orphan? How could we have let this happen?'

'You must address the issue, directly. We will have many more orphans like Peter's daughter if we do not take action. Our sons have seen Huntley's brutality firsthand.' I could imagine Kingsley, leaning up against Father's desk while Father stood staring out the window.

'I am the head of the Order, William.' Father's voice was tired instead of irritated. 'Are you here to help me think of solutions, or are you here to tell me how to do my job?'

'That is not why I come to you, and you know it.' Kingsley, annoyed and saddened, seemed stretched nearly to breaking.. 'My son, filled with so much anger and hatred, he hardly has room for anything else. My beautiful wife, traumatised and weak, and almost always sick. Only a shadow of herself. That man has destroyed our families, Harry.'

Father sighed, and there was silence. I wondered if he knew I was listening at the door, because when he spoke, it was much louder and clearer than before.

'If he forces my hand, he forces my hand. I will not let those who have suffered do so in vain. I promise you that.'

Kingsley said nothing, but he would hold Father to that promise. He would hold him to it until their dying day. Yet none of us could have known at the time how soon that day would come.