Where the Darkness Settles

She couldn't find it anywhere, even though it ought to be here somewhere. She had already turned everything upside down. Damn it! She stopped by the wall, in front of the French window, and looked around again. Eerie order, sky-high luxury, and something that evoked the atmosphere of a ship’s cabin. These three principles dominated this room. It had been untouched since the Master left. She broke this untouched state when she turned over the pitch-black decorative pillows on the canopied bed, lifted the lid of the antique piano, meticulously searched the bookcase, and rummaged through the drawers of the dresser. To no avail. Desperation crashed over her in an unannounced wave, like an ice storm. She looked out the window: before her lay the endless ocean, its waves bathing in moonlight; to the left, the city sprawled lazily, carelessly. Breathe, she told herself, take a deep breath in, exhale slowly. She will look again; if she has to, she will go down to the basement as well, and maybe there then…

Suddenly, a shadow stirred in the room.

She jumped, startled, a little shaken by the faintly shocking fear. Someone was behind her. She turned around, and the night outlined the figure of a tall, dark shape. His posture was lithe but firm, and Laurel had always thought there was something feline about him. Like a leopard stalking its prey, silently, so as not to scare it away. Asher.

“I didn’t expect you to still be awake.”

Well, yes. It's the stillest hour of the day, the kind of warm, summer silence when even the stars are asleep. Lately, though, she had been sleeping less and less. And when she did manage to sleep, her nightmares wouldn’t let her rest—she woke up sweaty, drenched, more exhausted than she had been before going to bed.

Asher was waiting, probably for her to explain why she had been rummaging through the Master’s suite. Not that she needed to explain. But before she could answer, she made the mistake of looking up, and her gaze met Asher’s black eyes—endless as the void, yet darker, heavier, more commanding than the night itself. They carried promises. Promises that could never be kept. She tore her gaze away, fearing those eyes might coerce her into something foolish. She looked down instead, at her pale, trembling hands. She tried not to think about what it had felt like to hold his hand. Once, he had trusted her enough to let her hold it. Once, when she had to learn how to walk again.

"I couldn't sleep, so I came here, and..."

"You can come here whenever you want. This is your place now."

Yes, it truly was. And Asher had probably heard the noises of her rummaging and come up to see what was going on. That was all—nothing to overthink. Her head throbbed, nausea clawed at her, and all she wanted was to be left alone.

“Good. You may leave now.”

But the man didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off her.

“Top drawer.”

“Pardon?”

“The thing you’re looking for. He kept it in the top drawer at his desk.”

A half-smile curved her lips. If Asher thought she hadn’t already checked every recess in this room—especially the desk and its surroundings—he was sorely mistaken. Of course, assuming he knew exactly what she was really searching for.

She walked over, slowly, and opened the drawer, which hadn’t even been locked. It was filled with ordinary office items: envelopes and letter openers, dried-up ink bottles, broken pens, and crumpled maps. She was just about to lean in and announce her triumph to him, since the drawer held nothing of particular interest, when something caught her eye—something she hadn’t noticed before. One of the ink bottles didn’t hold ink at all, but powdered violet petals.

This was it. This was really it.

“How did you know?” Those eyes again, but this time she held his gaze. So he knew. And if he knew… she realised she hadn’t imagined how completely shattered she looked.

“The Master had… similar pains, you could say.” That threw her off balance.

“He… saw things too?”

"That I don't know, he just smoked that stuff." Silence. That was the end of the conversation between them. They just listened to the moonlight and the stillness of the wind, until finally, it was he who broke it.

“If you want to sleep here…”

“I was just about to leave.” She didn’t want to stay here with him, or with anyone. Not even alone.

A nod was all he gave in response. No argument, no protest. He even cleared the way for her to step aside and let her leave. She owed Asher gratitude for the past, but nothing more. The man probably thought the same. Clutching the vial, she walked with lithe, steady steps out the door, down the broad staircase, out of the palace, and into the moonlit night.

-o-

Asher watched Laurel leave the palace from the Master’s room. He let her go. He felt sorry for her; no one should ever have to be shaped by what she had suffered. He knew what it was like to endure pain—pain that didn’t fade just because you learned how to walk again, or put your body back in order. There are wounds that never let you go. You simply learn how to carry them.

When he arrived, Laurel was already here. Along with the other knights, Asher had been summoned here by the Master. However, after a year of service, they were all given the right to choose: either leave or stay. Asher wanted to leave. He had no desire to take part in this whole circus, and he certainly didn’t want another contract—not that the fine words mattered much; they were all mercenaries here. He didn’t want to end up the way he had with the last king he served. He’d had more than enough tears and death to last him a lifetime. Back then, he had been on his way to an audience with the Master to announce his departure when he heard her. She was speaking with the Master, and although he couldn’t make out exactly what they were talking about, he could tell it was confidential. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself not to listen.

And her voice… when he heard Laurel’s voice for the first time, he thought he was imagining it. It was familiar. Not in any precise way—more like a melody he had heard once before, somewhere, perhaps long ago, perhaps in another life. A life he barely remembered anymore. But something whispered that this fragment, at least, might be worth holding on to.

He stayed because of Laurel, and because he believed in the change she might bring. The Master had been strong, intelligent, mercilessly consistent—but he had never been able to let go of his demons. His own darkness consumed him and turned his people against him, including the girl. Though they had never spoken of it, Asher knew Laurel blamed herself for his death. And now she had stepped into the same shoes, inheriting all that darkness her predecessor had only managed to keep in check through immense effort.

Asher believed in Laurel. She was stronger than she thought. Now she was officially under his protection, and he had always taken his oath seriously. He would protect her, no matter the cost. As her figure disappeared into the palace gardens, then merged with the city’s shadows as a reckless black speck, Asher already knew where she was headed. Toward the disreputable quarter, where vials were filled again, and where every choice came at a price. He didn’t follow her. Not now.

There would come a time when Laurel would no longer need powdered petals. And then it would become clear how much everything she had survived so far was worth.

Asher turned back and quietly closed the door behind him.