This is a possible ending scene for the Darkness (the book). Be aware two more books are trying to follow.
The stones burned. The world blurred, running at the edges. The blood filling the sigils incised in the keystone glowed bright. The body within, lifeless now, once a friend and beloved, faded and was simply gone.
I felt an inward tug, and knew there wasn’t much time left. Mark squeezed my hand.
Cien turned around, dropping the knife he’d wielded, came to us. Tears ran down his face, clear streaks through the blood spatter.
He touched me with bloody hands and I did not flinch.
“Mark. Khalara—-“ He broke off, swallowing hard.
“Cien Dheur. I love you.” I had to say it, before I lost him.
“Oh, my dear.” He smiled, sadly. “If we had all the time in the world, I could believe you forgive me, that you love me. But I thank you for the lie.”
His lips brushed my forehead. Then the world was gone, or I was gone from the world.
CW/TW: near-fatal injury, magical healing. I love this scene, but it’s placement and cause are still somewhat of a mystery to me.
“Let me help.”
She shook her head, green eyes fierce.
“Khalara—-I care about him, too.”
Again, the silent denial. She blinked back tears, refusing to show weakness. Then she returned her attention, her focus, to the dying man.
He was dying, and that shouldn’t have been possible. He was a Council member. We were a whole Council, our mind-net complete. Even if he couldn’t access it.
She returned her focus to Mark, muttering words of power. Trying to heal, trying to stop the bleeding. It should have worked. Why wasn’t it?
There wasn’t time. I put my hands near the wound, extending tendrils of power through it. Focused on mending the torn flesh, joining broken pieces together.
Mark groaned, shifted.
“Don’t move,” Khalara said. “Hush.”
Her mind touched mine. I felt her frustration, her fear, making my own heart race. I sent her reassurance. His breathing grew less labored, as my efforts worked.
And then it was done. Mark lay bloodless-white on the floor, Khalara, almost as pale, holding him. A jagged scar cut across his stomach, but he was whole, healed.
CW/TW: a situation of dubious consent, lady POV. Aftermath of past torture, discussion of same (pretty much rubs the gamut). Magical healing and consequences.
Cien kissed the back of my neck, his hands light on my shoulders. I tried to stop the shudders coursing through me, and failed. He moved his hands down my arms, and my knees buckled. He held me tight, easing me into a sitting position.
He started to undo the braid coiled at my neck, slowed by his broken hand.
“I’ve promised not to hurt you.”
“I know.”
“Do you believe it?”
“I don’t know if I can.”
He rubbed my shoulders for a few minutes, then sat in front of me. He lifted my chin, and kissed me. Quick, light kisses, his hand caressing my face before drifting down to my throat. His mouth followed the path of his fingers, which moved lower, fumbling at my bodice laces. I drew back, shuddering, and he moved away slightly. His sleeve fell back, revealing white scars slashed across pale skin.
I took his wrist in my hand. “Show me.”
“No. Oh, no.” He tugged at his sleeve with his other hand.
“Yes. Let me see.” He flinched as I moved my hand up his arm, revealing more scars. “What you’re requiring of me… you can show me this.”
“Y-yes, but….” He closed his eyes. “Yes.”
He shrugged out of his shirt. Scars cut across both arms, front and back, width and length. Short and long, shallow and deep, layered over each other. Not just the arms, but his torso as well, across his chest and back. Whip welts, burn marks. The almost invisible scalpel cuts, the delicate tracery of precise violence. When I touched them with my fingertips, he shuddered.
“I don’t understand. You can heal these. Surely, even then.”
“Yes.” He caught my hand by the wrist. “Don’t.”
“All right.” I rubbed my wrist when he let it go, rested my hands in my lap.
He closed his eyes, leaned back against the wall. “I healed it all at first. Whenever they stopped. During the dark times. It amused them. It made them creative. Cutting deeper, longer. Bleeding me white. Broken ribs, punctured lungs. A burning poker once…. “
A deep breath. “They brought me close to death many times, and I got weaker every time. Couldn’t repair everything, or anything at times. Once or twice I think the Guildmaster intervened to keep me alive. I learned they liked to see the scars and wounds, the results of their handiwork. If I left it alone, somehow it went a little easier.”
“Your hand came after.” He started when I took it. I knew he used it; I’d rarely examined it. Some fingers bent wrong, others not at all. The palm twisted against itself. “You wouldn’t allow me to heal it.”
“Keldan would break it again.”
“Why leave it-yourself-like this?”
“Sometimes I need the pain. I’m used to the scars.”
I shifted away, and he put his arms around me, drew me close. Gently, but I shuddered again, unable to control my reaction.
“Don’t go. Please.”
“I wasn’t—I wouldn’t— “
“I know. You won’t break our agreement.” He said, “I’m asking you to stay.”
“If you want.”
“What I want... I can’t have, can I? This is the closest I can get.” He let go of me.
CW/TW: lady.. whump?, flashback, blackmail. Have I mentioned these characters have a complicated relationship? Have some gentle violence.
“A kiss,” he murmured, too close. “Just a kiss, Khalara.”
I turned my head away. He touched my face, traced the curve of my jaw, and I couldn’t repress the shudder. He drew back, and I breathed again.
His tone changed, became clearer, harder. “An hour. I will trade you an hour of mercy for one kiss.”
The shelves pressed into my back. With one hand, I touched the row of spines, some flat, some round.
“Two hours.” Now he spoke softly again, persuasively. “It’s not asking so much, is it? A single kiss, and I’ll give the boy two hours free of pain.”
My throat closed, and I couldn’t answer. A different voice echoes in my mind, cooperate this time and I’ll give the kid a break, cold laughter and the smell of spilled, spoiled wine.
“Oh, damn.” He leaned forward, taking the kiss, tender, gentle, quick. A brush of lips on lips, a brush of the mind—-desire-anger-guilt. “There. Two hours. I promise.”
Then he is gone. The door opened and closed. Silence. I sunk to the floor.
CW/TW: none I can think of. Seems to follow from here. Do you see why I have a hard time organizing this isn’t a coherent linear way?
Cien carried Mark to the bed, settling him with great care and gentleness.
“He will sleep a while yet. But the danger’s past.”
I nodded. “Thank you, and—I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, dismissing the apology. “It’s not important.”
“I wronged you, Cien. I thought, I assumed—-”
“Nothing I haven’t encouraged you to think and assume.” He glanced back a the sleeping man, smiled. “But I do care about him. For him.”
“You... why?”
“It’s hard to spend time in someone’s mind, and not care.”
“He’s mindblind.”
“Yes. And for months, for the sake of our alliance, I’ve been trying to change that.” His smile faded. “Not with much success. But—-we’ve talked—-and I’ve caught flashes, fragments.”
I felt his mind brush mine, light as fingertips, offering to share. Accepting, I opened to the tumble of images, sensations, memories. Nothing complete, nothing clear. But more than I’d known, before.
“Do you see why you couldn’t heal him, my lady?”
“He has no name.”
“It is not his fault.” Now he sounded fierce and protective. “It is how his people made him.”
CW/TW: noncon, lady whump, aftermath of torture m, institutionalized torture
The cold seeped into my bones as we lay on the cold stone. I held Khalara closer, wishing for a fire, a brazier, to take off the chill. A futile wish, the only kind I had here. She slept fitfully, worn out by the day’s ordeals. Over for now, in the restful dark.
Then the door opened, and light flared. I looked up, and met Merrick’s green glance.
“Don’t get up, “ he said. So I didn’t move. He crossed the small space of the cell, pulled the single hard chair next to us. “How is she?”
I didn’t deign to answer that. My back stiffened when he put his hands on her, tracing the swelling bruise on her face with one light finger. A shiver ran through her entire body.
“She’s allowed rest.”
“If I permit it.”
I swallowed my anger. He was right. The primary decided the course, regardless of the guidelines. He stroked down her face, her throat, until he came to the curve of her breasts. He cupped them, rubbing her nipples beneath the thin material of her shift.
“I thought you were done for the night.”
“Did you dose her tea? Usually she’s awake by now.”
“She’s exhausted, Merrick.”
“Yes, I suppose she is.”
He took out his scalpel, and my breath hissed out through my teeth.
“Relax, Stephen. I’m not going to hurt her.”
Instead, he cut the shift open down the front, and along the sides and shoulders, so the rags slipped off easily, leaving her naked again. I felt bile rise in my throat, swallowed it down. Again.
I shifted, loosened my grip. Merrick put a hand on my arm. “You’ll stay and hold her for me.”
I hated that, hated how she looked at me when I held her while Merrick, or others, violated her. Hated feeling her body against mine when they forced themselves on her, into her, feeling helpless to stop it. I wanted to burn them all to the ground. Instead I nodded.
Merrick stroked her abused skin gently with his fingertips, while he bent to take her nipple into his mouth. He tongued it to hardness, sucking on it. I felt her breathing change, her body quiver, when he moved to the other breast, and heard him chuckle, pleased. He explored all of her with his fingers and mouth, almost tenderly.
Her breath hitched, and she whimpered almost inaudibly. Awake now, aware, afraid. I’d told her to sleep, that it was over for the night… and it wasn’t, because Merrick wanted to play some more. She gasped when he slid his finger into her sex, then cried as he drove a second into her, harder.
He pumped them in and out of her with brutal force, all gentleness wiped away. “Oh, she’s wet now, Stephen. Feel.”
He brought my hand down to her sex, guided my fingers into her bruised center. Wet and hot, oh so ready. Oh, I wanted her. But not like this. I withdrew, putting my hands back on her arms. I felt her shudder as Merrick played with her body, soon replacing her fingers with his cock, moving in her slowly at first, then harder, faster until he cried out his pleasure and she simply cried, harsh gasping sobs.
“Lesair. Next time we’ll do it differently. You’ll be awake the entire time. And when it’s over, you’ll tell me you liked it.”
CW/TW: fever, begging, lady whump. Have a sick fic.
“I’m here, I’m here,” I said.
“Pleaee, Cien, I need Cien,” she begged.
“I’m here, Khalara. Right here.” Did she even hear me? She didn’t see me, eyes fever glazed. I brushed back a strand of sweat soaked hair, feeling helpless. She flinched from the touch, and I cursed, quietly. Not quietly enough; she flinched again.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “Please?”
I couldn’t stand it. I had to leave the room.
I drank my tea. It was supposed to be calming.
Mark took a chair across from me. “She’s asking for you.”
“She doesn’t know I’m there.” I drained my cup, rinsed it and left it in the sink.
“Fevers do that, sometimes.”
“I know.”
“I’ll go sit with her for a while, if you aren’t going back. I don’t like to leave her alone.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
He smiled. “Yes, I’m pretty sure.”
I felt something inside me relax. “I’ll go sit with her. Just, give me a few more minutes.”
