The Cursed Blood, стр. 44
At first when the Darkness lifted it left me drained and cold with a headache that makes the worst migraine feel like a summer breeze. Ever had a little too much sleep and wake up not a bit rested and with a headache from hell and not quite sure where you are?
Yeah, that’s pretty much the best way a mundane Human can picture it. It wasn’t a fun thing to wake from on the best of days, and that certainly wasn’t the best of days to say the least.
Happily, though (depending on how you look at it) it gets easier each time you Fall to the Dark (which is what it’s called when a Darkling’s gift is activated). As gradually more control is developed with each use and usually, after a while, the bout of sickness after unleashing the anti-magic inherit to a Darkling’s nature is totally abated. Up to a point.
Gradually, my reason and sight returned, and I stared up into Gramps’ face where he knelt on the cabin’s polished hardwood floor holding onto me looking thunderously angry.
Looking about confusedly and seeing several enraged Elvish hunters with steam wafting off them, their deadly bows drawn back, now blackened but still deadly arrows trained on you definitely didn’t make it any better. Memorable perhaps, but definitely not better. Honestly, I really hadn’t a clue what was going on and it still irks me that Gramps had kept his and White Owl’s suspicions quiet for so long.
The King was struggling to his feet, armor that had once been beautiful now blackened and almost melted in places as he shook his head. His hand was pressed against his forehead as if trying to clear away something muddling and buzzing from his mind as he regarded me with a mix of fear and wonder—waving his hunters to stand down as he straightened.
The elves hesitated but slowly lowered their weapons. Though I noted they kept their arrows nocked and the waxed strings drawn taught in readiness to execute me in cold blood should things get hairy again, their king’s wishes in this notwithstanding.
“I’d thought its rebirth into the bloodlines merely a myth, nothing more than a legend of the Darks told to scare little Fey children around the Hallows’ Eve bonfires. All my father’s writings, the literature on the subject we’ve compiled, all of it eluded to the true blooded curse being lost after the first generation of Darklings was all but extinguished.” King Efferieal Rain all but hissed. “I’m not sure how I feel to stand here before you so harshly corrected.”
“You don’t have all the writings,” Gramps snapped back acidly as he helped me to the sofa. “We Darklings made sure of that, Your Excellency. And I DID try to warn you, did I not?”
“That you did. It was a costly mistake on my part to so rudely dismiss your warning, old friend. An unfortunate decision I now have cause to regret, deeply…” The Elvish Wizard King sighed as he studied the blackened rings on his fingers with trepidation, the once bright, colorful jewels cracked and colorless as if the luster and magic had been drained from them.
His eyes slipped from my confused expression as I sank into the sofa, then to Gramps and scowled. “He doesn’t know, does he?” he demanded in a cold, disbelieving tone as he stared down at me, arms folded crossly over his chest. “How could you not have told him? Have you any idea how irresponsible and dangerous that was to do?”
“We weren’t sure,” Gramps snapped back as he tugged at his flannel and glared back at the Wizard unapologetically. “We had to be positive of it before any steps could be taken.”
Obviously, they were talking about whatever it was that made me unique that no one would talk with me about. Though by the Elvish High King’s reaction, it didn’t sound like it was anything good.
“The boy must be trained; he simply cannot just live among Fey as he is—little more than a bomb waiting to have its fuse lit.” The King offered me a sad smile and shook his head. “All that stays my hand and persuades me to allow the boy to live, especially now, is me knowing the quality of his soul.”
“What in the blazing nine hells do you mean,” Gramps growled back, his battered face reddening dangerously as he helped me to my feet.
“The boy’s wish regarding the Vraad accused of killing his parents were unusual to say the least for one of your…well, kind. As was his concern for his family. Most peculiar for a Darkling, more still for one like him.” He nodded to me, something like approval in his face as he appraised me studiously.
Some of his hunters shifted uneasily at this, watching from beneath their hoods, suspicion and unease glittering in their cold hard eyes that are as unforgiving and savagely gentle as the untamed wilds in which they thrived.
The King’s unsettling gaze then slipped back to Gramps and gave him a scathingly incredulous look that softened into a slightly mocking smile. “It gives me hope that he won’t grow into the black hearted blunt instrument you’ve all become of late…No offence, of course, to present company.” The wizard’s words had quite the effect on Gramps who had gone very still and splotchy and seemed uncomfortably close to throttling the Elf, bow toting guards be damned.
“What do you think I’ve been doing, teaching him how to scramble eggs and trim hedges?” Gramps snapped. “You’ve no right to come parading in here after all these years and telling me how to raise my grandson and making threats. You all but abandoned this world, disappeared right when we needed you the most you did, and many good Fey and Darkling died because of it.