An Artificial Night

He must have seen that tiny part of my heart shining in my eyes, because he laughed, saying, “So the prodigal returns, as I knew she would. I had enough time to work on her. Let her come to me.”


The Riders let go of my arms and fell into line with the others, forming a wide circle around their lord. Probably wise. If I lost, they’d be right there to get the body; if I won, they’d be close enough to take me down. Pessimism really doesn’t improve most situations.

I glared at them, spitting blood onto the ground as I walked toward Blind Michael. He was wearing the armor he’d donned for the Ride, but the mirrored sheen was gone, buried under dust and smears of dried blood. His supernatural composure was gone as well, replaced by an expression of angry irritation.

He only held my attention for a moment. Then it was drawn to the chair next to him, where Acacia sat, yellow eyes wide and empty. Her hair was woven into the chair’s wicker back, locking her in place.

“What have you done to her?” I demanded.

Blind Michael frowned, brows knitting over ice-white eyes. “Don’t speak to me that way.” His words held the weight of commandments. I felt another cut open on the inside of my left arm, adding its silent trickle of blood to the rest. “Never speak to me that way.”

It was hard to move with him staring down at me like that, but I managed to raise one hand to my mouth, licking fresh blood from my fingers. The pressure of his words and gaze subsided, fading to an annoying buzz at the back of my mind. My power has always come mostly from the blood. Not even he could touch me while I had it.

“I’ll speak to you however I like,” I said. “Now get down here and fight me.”

“Why?” He narrowed his eyes. My vision fragmented, coming from every direction at once as he forced me to look through the eyes of the Hunt. “You’re mine. Why should I fight what belongs to me?”

“I’m not yours!” I shouted. There was a brief, stabbing pain as my sight returned to normal. I couldn’t trust it to stay that way; he was too close to me.

“You Rode. You’re mine.”

“I stopped before the end.”

“It doesn’t matter; you belong to me. Everything here belongs to me.” He turned and ran his hand down Acacia’s cheek, almost tenderly. There was love there once, before he twisted it out of shape. “How should I scar her this time? Last time she betrayed me, it was her face. What should it be now? She’s suffering for you. You have some say in her pain.”

“Let her go, Michael.”

He turned back toward me, smiling. “Why should I?”

“Because if you do it on your own, I won’t have to force you.”

He actually laughed. “Oh, little changeling, Amandine’s bastard daughter. What makes you think you can make me do anything? Perhaps if you’d taken my kindly offer and become my lovely bride, you might have held some sway, but you turned that offer aside. My sister’s protections aren’t on you now. She can’t save you.”

“Then I’ll save myself.” I glared at him, spitting out another mouthful of blood. “I didn’t come here for her.”

“No, you came for yourself. Stupid little hero.” He reached between the cushions of his throne and pulled out my knife, pressing it against Acacia’s unscarred cheek. His smile didn’t waver. “It’s a wonder any of my father’s children—or grandchildren—have survived.”

“Give me back my knife and let her go.”

“Why should I?” He didn’t bother to turn. “Kneel.”

I was on my knees before I realized what he’d said. Hitting the ground opened more cuts on my legs and knees. Swell. We were bantering while I bled to death. “Bite me,” I snarled, forcing myself to stand. It wasn’t easy; my legs kept trying to buckle underneath me.

“Pretty words, but you’re not strong enough. Go die somewhere else.”