Page 56 of An Empress of Earth & Darkness

Marcus took a breath. “Me too.” There was a silence between them, and a bird’s song could be heard from the trees that surrounded them. “When they come out”—Marcus’s eyes were hit by the first light of the sun, and it was like Emara could see his lovely soul behind the darkness in them—“we must choose a side. We all must choose a side to stand at so that when the victor wins, he can see all who did not stand with him.”

Emara’s heart slammed up her throat as her fingers tightened around Marcus’s grey tunic. “Why are hunters always trying to discover a problem with each other? I thought they were supposed to be the peacemakers of this kingdom.”

A small chuckle left Marcus. “We do not worship the God of Sun and War to always keep the peace. That is where our role is often contradictory, Emara.”

Emara thought over his statement before asking, “So the clan will be divided entirely today?”

Marcus finally reached his stop, where the edges of the decaying brick lay, and he looked around himself before he spoke. “‘When the successor to the commandership is announced and the clan stands apart, he can see who stood with him and who stood against him.’ It is the first rule of commandership to set a precedent in their punishment. It defines his leadership. He needs to demonstrate how harsh he can be by punishment, exile, or intense labour. It’s the way of the warrior.”

“It seems all so pointless.” Emara’s head shook, and she could feel the ends of her hair brush along her lower back in her thin gown. “If Torin is victorious, he must ask anyone who stands on his father’s side to bend the knee to him and then he will punish them? How does that make sense? Surely, that will make him unpopular among the clan.”

“The clan understands the consequences of what side they choose. How we endure the punishment is our way of honouring and respecting our commander. It’s tradition. The men would never respect him if he didn’t punish the ones who choose the opposite side. And the clan needs to respect their leader. The first thing a commander must do is crack the whip. And anyone who stands on the opposite side from Torin will receive his wrath should he win.”

Emara flinched at the thought. “Then that means you must choose a side too.”

“It does.”

Emara’s brow pulled tight as she remembered the details of how Viktir Blacksteel had taken in a young Marcus who had just failed the Selection process in his father’s eyes because he hadn’t made the top one percent. He had been a relation of Viktir’s, and Emara wondered if the current commander had once had a heart. Viktir had trained him, given him a home, and Marcus had willingly pledged an oath to serve Clan Blacksteel instead of his own.

The Coldwells had always been clan rivals to the Strykers, who were by far the biggest clan in the Helmsbrook area, and they often fought over territory and hunting jurisdiction.

For a brief second, Emara wondered who Marcus would choose.

A whistle sounded, startling Emara from her thoughts, and she glanced around to see Aerrick Stryker move into a space in the ruined threshold. All heads turned to witness Viktir Blacksteel stride through the garden as the clan parted for him. His wrists were bound, his boots laced tight, and his face was unreadable and stern. A knot tightened in Emara’s stomach as she noticed that he had taken no chances on the vital killing spots. A thick leather gilet lay over his torso, the collar coming around his neck like a guard’s uniform, protecting one of the main arteries in the body.

A second later, the crowd that had gathered parted again to reveal Torin Blacksteel.

Emara couldn’t look at him, not when his eyes had wandered all over her face last night in a way that told her his soul knew hers. Not when his lips had told her own that he would rather die than stop kissing her. Not when his hands had roamed every inch of her body like he may never worship it again. She couldn’t look at his face because if she saw fear, she would burn the entire Tower to the ground with Viktir Blacksteel in it.

Kellen came just behind Torin, then Artem and Gideon, their arms linked with Naya’s. Her face was so horrifyingly pale it sent shock waves through Emara’s bones. Her lavender-ringed eyes confirmed that she, too, had not slept at all, and the puffiness of her cheeks suggested that she had cried all night.

Emara suddenly felt like she was looking at Callyn’s grave again, numb and disbelieving of what her senses told her. This felt similar, only Torin had not been slaughtered in front of her. This wouldn’t be the same. It couldn’t be.

She gripped Marcus tighter as the sickness rose from her stomach.

Her heart was still so sore about Callyn. And when she thought of her, which was every day, a sharp ache reminded her of the emptiness that her death caused. That dizzying grief that almost flattened her and took control of everything.

Marcus patted a hand over hers.

When she looked up from the floor of the gardens, the two men fighting for the Blacksteel honour stood at either side of the marked-out battle ground. It was then that Emara could see Torin, also clothed in full black leather that was harsher than the regalia he hunted in. It was thicker, more resilient to weather the weapons he might face today. The two swords strapped across his back formed a deadly X at the back of his strong neck, and just as the new sun began peeking from the earth, beams of light hit them, and they glistened.

In that moment, Torin and Viktir were a mirror of destruction, and they had never looked more alike.

The chief commander made his way to the middle of the markings and spoke to the crowd. “As the sun rises in the east, we must choose between north and south.” The chief looked at the crowd, his strong features twisted into something that Emara hadn’t witnessed before. “As chief commander of the clans, I am the only person here who has the validation to remain impartial in this challenge. Everyone else must choose to stand in the south with Viktir Blacksteel or in the north with Torin Blacksteel. And you must choose before the sunlight hits above the trees behind us.”

A few people moved quickly; it was clear they had made their decision overnight.

Emara didn’t even have to question where she would stand.

She let go of Marcus’s arm, who looked at her with a void in his eyes. He had an impossible choice today. Viktir had once saved his life and Torin was like his brother. It wasn’t going to be easy for him at all. Emara gripped his hand and whispered, “Choose what future commander you want to stand behind when the Dark Army comes for us in full force.”

He nodded once, his dark eyes pained, and she left him behind to choose his side.

As she walked across the clearing, she noted that Gideon and Kellen were already standing at Torin’s back, as was Artem. Naya Blacksteel moved too, her head down and eyes on the ground. Kellen put out his arm, wrapping it around his mother; she was so petite against his frame. The youngest Blacksteel stood like the rest, his chin in the air and his shoulders back.

Turning away, she noted Sybil and Rhea in the crowd that backed Torin. In fact, most of the earth witches that resided in the Tower stood in support of the second-in-command.

The Tower’s guests split evenly until there were only a few left standing. Breighly moved and joined Lorta and Kaydence by Emara’s side, and Emara noticed Roman Baxgroll, the only other wolf present, drifting through the crowd to stand beside his twin.

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