Elder Born

1 Lost Feeling the other slip into slumber, Amelia sobbed, pressing her hand to her mouth to muffle the noise. She didn't want to risk waking her other self; these moments free of torment were rare enough. Even though she was aware that she only continued to exist in that small corner of her mind, her surroundings seemed so real to her. Here she’d constructed a bare cell-like room with two small barred windows. The rough stone floors bit into her bare feet. Her now filthy and ripped linen shift afforded no protection at all against the damp air. Amelia pushed her matted hair from her face, looking up at the windows. She shivered. Sometimes, when she grew brave enough, she would peer out the windows and see the world that her body—that the other—was walking through. Amelia liked to think the other was insane, that it wasn’t her committing all those horrible acts. That she hadn’t killed her king. Those moments were rare. Even here there were other moments where she revelled in the power she possessed. The power her master had woken in her. In those moments she could see so clearly that she’d been a possession, a thing. She’d been the perfect lady, spent her life perfecting being the kind of possession that would appeal to people with power. It was what she'd been trained for, what all those of her birth and rank were trained for. Oh, women like Jess existed—controlling who they were, forging their own path and destiny in life. They were exceedingly rare in her social circles. Yet even Jessalan, for all intents and purposes, was a kept woman. Everyone knew that the crown prince, William, favoured her. While he was looking her way, no one else would dare. That of course explained her favoured position within the court, why she had been allowed to get away with the behaviour she had. None but the king could gainsay the crown prince’s will. Amelia stilled, her eyes widening in horror. She didn’t believe that about Jess. She hadn’t really hated Jess, even if many of the other ladies in court had. Jess had been kind to her. The other hated Jessalan. Amelia felt a tear tracking down her cheek and beat the side of her head with her fists. Whispering to herself in an internal litany. Remember who you are. The Lady Amelia Strafford had always had her eyes firmly on Prince Alexander, the Fourth, as most young and some not-so-young ladies of the court had. She had known from her father that the crown prince was not for her, nor likely any of the peerage of the realm. She took her father’s council seriously since, as Lord Strafford, he was a close friend to the king and the highest in rank of all the other lords. Or she thought she’d accepted his advice. Until now. Amelia whimpered, pressing her fist against her lips to stifle the noise, even though she knew she really wasn’t doing any such thing. Her body slept soundly, under the control of another. She felt uncontrollable tremors start, sweeping through her body as her fear, loss and despair rose up to overwhelm her once more. As reason fled, she screamed, flinging her torment out into the world. The scream choked in her throat as Amelia froze. There it was again. The noise was faint but distinct: a sucking noise as if air was being expelled or displaced, a clatter of chains, the deep metallic clunk of a key turning in a lock echoing around this cell of her own imagination. A steady rhythmic thump, exceedingly loud in the confines in her own mind—a sound she was all too familiar with. Booted feet in a measured tread walking towards her. Amelia cowered, scrambling backwards, a part of her mind aware that the rock wall that had been at her back receded as she crab-walked away from the approaching intruder. The cell with the windows she’d imagined receded, fading from her sight to be replaced with encroaching darkness. A scream ripped from her mouth as she felt a force wrap around her, halting her retreat. The world darkened, power cracking down from the sky, bolt after bolt raining down in counterpoint to the deep rumbling that rolled above. William could feel the reverberations through his bones, his breath catching in fear. Colour faded away as if a thin grey lace curtain hung between him and the world around him. He stiffened as the screams started, faces of lords he recognised calling out in fear and pain as they died. They died to protect him. William looked, across the heads of the milling terrified lords to see the king, his father, on the dais, under attack. William grappled with his sword, trying to push his way forward only to feel hands grab him desperately. He looked down, struggling and cursing the lords that prevented him from going to his father’s aid. Father! William screamed the word as he saw the splash of red spray from his father’s throat, a stark contrast to the grey world around him. Everything shifted, and the hands grappling with him, pulling him back, all of them turned grey too, except for the red— the red of blood spreading from the throats and hearts of the owners of the hands, as they died around him, a shield of flesh. Others’ cries rang in his head as their hands pulled him back. No, you must live, Your Highness! You are our king now! His father’s body hit the ground and the dark figure of his assassin turned, and William screamed at the pain lancing through him. As the darkness rushed towards him he saw it cut down all that stood in its way. The bodies crumpled as the darkness passed them by, all disintegrating as they fell. As the screaming rose in tempo, the grey swirled, a deep rhythmic thrum sounded and there was the sudden rustle of feathers as the giant eagles rose from the grey ash all around him. William watched as the people and palace around him flaked away to ash, swirling in the wind. The screams mingled and became the mournful cries of the giant birds of prey as they flew in every direction, the beat of their wings taking them away from the centre of the madness. Their cries rang out, spreading the word across the realm— the king was dead.