Heart of Ash (The Dark Arcane Series: Book 1)

Chapter Thirteen

The ash floating in the air seemed to slow, and slow, until it just, froze.

"I—" Kade started.

"—No. You don't get to say anything."

Darius felt like his throat was beginning to close up. Everything was happening at once. His mother... gods, he wanted his mother more than anything in this world.

"I trusted you—above everyone else—and you used me, used me for your own political schemes. Well, I don't give a shit about the Shadows or the gods damned Ka l'asterei; you can all burn in hell for all I care."

Darius turned away with blurry, failing eyes. He just—needed to get away.

And so the prince ran away on unsteady, aching legs. He ran away from the burnt remnants of the orphanage, away from his lying friends, and away from the ashes of his mother.

Kade made to follow him, but Nala placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Don't, let him go. He might want to be alone."

But Darius didn't want to be alone. Being alone meant darkness. No more in darkness and shade. But he had no where to turn to; the castle was decidedly more dangerous than the streets, and Kade and Nala...

He turned left at the next corner. Within a few minutes he arrived at a familiar house with neat flower pots arranged outside. He knocked on the door, more softly than he would have liked.

For a few heart wrenching moments, Darius thought no one would answer, a fresh set of tears threatening his vision. But the painted door swung open to reveal Isla standing there with her hair tied tightly behind her head, a worried expression on her face.

The normality of it all crashed down on Darius all at once. It wasn't normal. And it never would be again. She was gone, and it was his fault.

He collapsed into Isla's comforting arms, who hushed soothingly as he sobbed, "She's gone, Isla. My mother is dead."

ψ

They stood in the doorway for several moments before Isla guided him inside, to the front room. She made them both a cup of warm broth, and sat next to him on the soft chairs. "Do you want to talk about it, love?"

Darius's face crumpled at the thought. He shook his head.

Even if he wanted to, he wasn't sure his throat would even hold up.

Isla wrapped a hand around his shoulders warmly, her voice soft, "That's okay, you don't have to. But what I will talk about, is how proud of you she is."

The thing that always struck Darius about Isla, was her perceptiveness. She always knew what to say, what to do. The present tense in her words was intentional.

Darius leant closer into the only motherly figure left in his life, as she continued, "No matter how much she loathed the Elites that would follow her, she would bare them for you. Only you. She could never tell you this in front of them, for fear of your father hearing, but she adored your art."

When Darius looked up, Isla smiled, "I know you never showed them to her, but your mother was extraordinarily clever; she found a way. She wanted you to find your own way as well, to continue art if you like, or anything else that takes your fancy. And not to bend to your father's will."