The Never King: Chapter 19

There is a writhing energy in my body that I cannot contain.

Everything is at stake and the Darling wants to play fucking games.

I catch up to Vane out in front of the house. “I’m going to murder something. Care to join me?”

“Obviously.”

We head toward town by foot. Vane can fly, I cannot.

It’s been so fucking long, I can’t even remember what it felt like to take to the air.

Like the sun on my skin.

I am as cold as ice and tethered to the earth and I fucking hate all of it.

I’m so fucking angry all of the time.

“Where are we going?” Vane asks.

“Let’s go kill some pirates.”

“Twist my arm.”

We follow the road from the house as it winds through the forest, then crosses Mysterious River, then finally spills into Darlington Port.

Darlington is my city, founded on my blood and magic.

It sits on the southeast edge of the island on the coast.

“Where to?” Vane asks.

“Pirates are always hanging around the Black Dove.”

We pass the harbors where ships come in and out from the other islands. There are a few bars along the docks, but pirates like the inland bar, closer to the borderline of my territory so they can duck out quickly if they have to.

This part of town is low on streetlamps so the darkness is longer, the shadows thicker. Mist hangs in the air, the cooler ocean air hitting the heat of the inner city.

Vane lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. “Fucking Darlings now, are we?”

I knew this was coming. I snap my fingers at him and he hands me the cigarette. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“No. Of course not. Just break all the rules then, I guess, huh?”

I look over at him. I can only see his black eye and the jagged scar that stretches across it. He never told me how he got the wound and I never asked, but the fact that his shadow has hold of that eye tells me all I need to know.

I take another hit and hand the cigarette back.

“I don’t know, Vane. If I’m to die soon, why not give in to it all? Huh?”

“You’re not going to die.”

A group of drunks passes us on the cobblestones and jeers at us until they catch sight of Vane first.

“Apologies, Dark One.” They bow, backtracking. “Apologies to our king,” they add when they spot me next.

Dark One. Such a ridiculous name. I don’t know who started it but it’s impossible to undo.

I’ve found that on every island in the chain, the one that’s claimed the Death Shadow is always called the Dark One.

And on almost all of the islands, it’s the one with the Life Shadow that has the title of king.

But all these years later, it feels foreign, that word. Like a language I can no longer speak.

I never quite fit the embodiment of it, anyway. I am more death than life.

Perhaps that’s why I lost it in the first place, because it was never really mine.

And if it’s no longer mine, then what the fuck am I doing?

What happens to the island if I can’t reclaim my shadow?

I suppose the fae could sustain it if given the chance. Even more so if Tilly took her brothers back into the fold.

The fae palace is weak without its princes, but she’s too stubborn to admit that.

As the road curves toward the fae territory, Black Dove comes into view. The windows are glowing and revelry spills out into the night.

Vane and I stand in the darkness to scan the bar’s interior.

“Two of Hook’s men in the back,” Vane says and inhales the rest of the cigarette before crushing the ember beneath his boot on the cobblestone.

“Two will do.”

I am untethered from caution and decency. Only the violence remains.

Vane pulls open the front door and I walk inside.

It takes the bar less than two seconds to notice who’s darkened the doorstep and the place goes decidedly silent.

Peanut shells crack beneath my boots as I make my way through the tables to the back corner where Hook’s pirates are deep into two glasses of ale.

“Wandered off from home, did you?” I say.

The big burly one takes in a breath, his shoulders straining against the threadbare material of his shirt. “Just out for a drink is all. We mean no harm.”

“Harm is subjective, isn’t it, Pan?” Vane paces to the other side of their table. “What you think is harmless, we think is a blatant show of disrespect.”

The shorter guy sputters and says, “The ale is better here. But don’t tell Hook.”

“We won’t need to,” Vane says.

The burly guy tightens his grip on his glass. “Why’s that?”

“Because your severed head will do,” I say.

The fighting begins with a pop and a crack.

The burly one goes for Vane. Maybe he thinks he has a better chance of taking the Dark One.

Vane punches the guy in the throat, cracking his windpipe and the guy chokes for air.

The shorter one trembles in his chair. I grab him by the collar of his shirt and lift him off the ground. His feet pedal uselessly at the air.

“Sorry, Pan! I’m sorry! It really was just the beer!”

Vane kicks the big guy and more bones crack and as blood taints the air, the Dark One comes out, black eyes glinting in the flickering light of the tavern lanterns.

“Too many rules have already been broken tonight,” I tell the guy dangling from my grip. “You just have the bad luck of being on the wrong end of my growing impatience.”

Then I slam him to the table and a bone pops out of his arm.