Page 41 of An Empress of Earth & Darkness

Step up?

“What do you mean?” she questioned.

When he didn’t respond and only looked at the city once more, dread coiled in her stomach.

She rose from where she perched. “Torin—”

“You don’t need to worry about it,” he repeated, and his thick throat bobbed once.

“I don’t need to worry about it?” she repeated, her voice a little higher than expected. “Of course I need to worry about it, especially if it kept you from sleeping all night. The thoughts running through your mind were unattended, and that’s never good, especially when you are dangerously quick to react.”

He sat forward in his chair, his muscles moving in a way that distracted Emara enough to watch him in silence as he moved with that effortless agility she always admired and strode towards a small cabinet by his wardrobe. He ran one hand through his hair, sweeping it back before he uncorked one of the glass bottles that sat on display, full of rust-coloured liquid. He poured it into the finest crystal glass he had, amounting to a finger or two, and began his stroll back across the room to sit in his dark blue chair again.

He relaxed, letting his bare shoulders reach the outer cuffs of the chair. “Emara, I told you last night that I am going to do what I need to for us to be together without anything standing in the way. I have run over multiple scenarios and thousands of options and I can only think of one way that I am going to be able to achieve that.”

He placed the glass to his lips and swallowed the whole lot.

Why did fear engulf her soul?

“And that is?”

When he didn’t speak again, his gaze turning icy as he watched a small vein of rum drag down his empty glass, Emara wondered what could be swallowing up his sanity.

An awful, terrible realisation clicked in her heart.

She gasped and one hand reached out to steady her against the sill. “Torin, no. Tell me you are not—”

“There is no other way.” His tongue rolled over his lips, and his head hit against the back of the chair. His dark lashes swept down as he looked at the ground instead of her.

She took a step towards him. “Please, please, tell me you are not thinking of killing your father?”

When silence answered her question, Torin got up and reached for the bottle again, pouring himself another glass of rum before dawn. Horror filled her bones and she had to lock in her knees to keep herself standing.

“Torin, you can’t be serious!”

He looked at her through icy darkness as he sat again and said, “I would do much worse to make sure that you are safe.”

She went to him then, perching on the arm of his chair. Her hand reached him and coasted softly over his cheek. “We can go to the prime, you said yourself that I can be convincing.”

“Emara—”

“We can speak to the chief commander, and we can surely encourage Murk to see our side.”

“Emara—”

“We could show King Oberon what we mean to each other. If we speak from the heart and with passion, like I have done before, we can persuade the prime to overrule your father. The king has never—”

“Emara, stop,” he said, now leaning forward to hold her. “You need to stop. I can see no other way.”

She sank into him. “There must be another way.”

“There is not. For us to have any sort of happiness or future, I must challenge the commander of the Blacksteel Hunting Clan for his commandership.” He grabbed a hold of her face, his large hands engulfing her cheeks. “I have got to challenge him, and win, so that I can become commander of the clan. Only then will he not be in a position to have such interference in my life, and only then I will be free of him. I could make decisions that better my clan, strengthen them. And I could make decisions that keep you from danger or a miserable existence. With him still in any role of power, that will never happen.” He looked at her, his face as grave as stone. “Today, I will express my intentions with you at the summit, and if my father does not agree to the terms to change the treaty, then I will formally challenge him to a duel of commandership. There is no other way, angel.”

Emara’s hands shook and her stomach convulsed, but she swallowed back the tears of her panic for Torin. She knew what that meant. She had been around hunters long enough to pick up their traditions and customs, and one custom meant that challenging the commander of a clan was a battle that would leave only one of them standing.

Viktir or Torin.

Thou shalt not challenge thy commander of any clan, unless warranted for overthrow. If challenged, the two clan members must fight to the death until the victor is announced, thus succeeding the new or current commander.

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