Page 50 of A Courage of the Chosen

He means to turn them. Touch them with the power running through his veins, a power he can barely control.

“Allow me, Father.”

“You will remain where you are, boy.” He rarely speaks to me like that in front of others, to maintain the facade that all is well between us.

“The Craobh?” I question. Surely he would want that control over them, or the control he thinks he has.

“Remain. Where. You. Are.” He spits the command through ferocious fangs, and the stench of urine permeates the air from those awaiting their end.

That’s when I spot her, the lone child partially hidden by her mother. Small and fragile, but old enough to be entirely aware of what’s going on. Frightened brown eyes are locked on the magic that pours from the beast next to me.

Even my hardened stomach roils.

She can’t be more than seven or eight years old.

We’ve never turned a child, a line neither of us dared to cross. Father viewed them as stock for our future armies once they reached maturity, so we left them unharmed unless they got in the way of a Brollachan.

It seems he’s done waiting for them to grow.

My time is almost up. He cannot be allowed to continue this way, there is no future on the road he plans for us to take. Without being forced into civility by the mask he wore at court, he’s determined to destroy this world, and is losing himself to the creature within.

It’s a wake-up call for my own path, and what I need to do to prevent it.

The dark cannot exist without the light.

The panicked cries start from the front. The last pleas for help before the very core of them is turned into something new.

It’s the girl’s eyes that I hold, tear-stained face looking back at me as she clings to her mother’s skirt on the edge of demise. I don’t know what will become of her once she’s touched by his power.

The others try to fight their bindings. But that little girl doesn’t move, frozen with fear. She sobs harder, and her mother tries to shield the child from what’s about to happen.

The shadows touch the mother next, spearing through her chest. She screams as the new magic spreads along her bones, fusing with every inch of her body. Her shriek cuts louder than the rest, because it’s not just for her own life.

Father turns everyone around the little girl. Transforming them one by one, until their irises are ringed by black and they patiently wait for their orders. He doesn’t need to make it as painful as he does. It’s possible to do this without making the iciness of his power burn, but he feeds on their agony.

Stillness falls over them all. The deed is done.

The mother forgets about her daughter completely and joins the others in neat lines, arms outstretched, ready to have their shackles removed.

“Mummy!” The child stumbles, desperately holding onto the only safety she knows as her mother moves away.

The shackles are removed by a nearby guard, each set of metal clanging to the floor, and Father recalls his shadows.

They all turn on the girl, where she’s still chained and crying.

My grip tightens around the pommel of my sword.

“Run, little girl.” The voice that comes from Father does not belong of this world. “Run to the false queen, and deliver a message for me.”

Her bottom lip trembles as she curls into a ball to make herself as small as possible.

A different guard drags her up by her hair, unshackles her wrists, and throws her at the king’s feet. She lands on her hands and knees, whimpering as her skin splits open. Father lifts her chin with the tip of a claw, shadows lashing at her dirty face as he leans forward to whisper something only meant for her.

“Do you understand?” he asks when he draws away.

The girl nods as more tears fall onto her cheeks.

Father steps back wholly, and her small frame scrambles up as she begins backing away.