It had been months since she had last seen him.

Throw yourself down the mountain if that’s what it takes. Just do it.

The wind pulled at her hair and bit at her skin, icy and vicious as she stood on her perch atop the Vulcan’s mountain. She looked the part, but though she seemed at home this would never be her mountain. There was only one place in this world that Sterre could truly call her own, and that place was miles away without a single hoof print to remember her by.

I HATE YOU!

She would always be the ice queen. Nothing else had ever given her such purpose. Nowhere else had ever made her feel like she belonged – especially not this mountain. She scowled, squinting her eyes against the wind though she barely looked ahead of her, her gaze turned inwards instead.

Throw yourself down the mountain if that’s what it takes. Just do it.

The words had played on repeat in her mind every day since their parting.

I HATE YOU!

It had not so much been a conversation as an all-out verbal assault from the very start. None of Sterre’s pregnancy announcements had gone particularly smoothly by the standards of the average mother, but this one had been particularly bad. This whole situation had been particularly bad.

It was the wrong time, the wrong place, and the wrong parents.

Merete and Rook had been tolerated – perhaps even loved, in the most basic sense of the word – because they status symbols. They were an extension of a proud lineage, the legacy of a great and powerful couple born at the most prosperous time of their lives.

But this child inside her now stood for nothing but pain and regret. They were no longer young and powerful, they were no longer in love, if they ever really had been – hell, they didn’t even like each other anymore. What could this child hope to say about its parents? What could it hope to receive from them? Certainly not love or compassion – that had never been her strong suit. It would never be proud of the old, bitter dam that had brought it into the world, nor the insecure cripple that had sired it should it ever even get the chance to meet the bastard.

It was a mistake, and one that never should have happened. She should have pretended not to see him and Inka that day. She should never have come back at all.

With a sigh, Sterre cast her gaze downwards, peering at the steep and rocky drop below. Perhaps she should have taken his advice. One misstep was all it would take to end her miserable life. At least it would all be over quickly that way – no more torture or humiliation. But to take that route would be to let him win, and if there was one thing she would not do it was let Het Vuur win.

Her mother had often joked that her stubbornness would be the death of her, and perhaps she was right.

As if it could hear her internal debate, pain suddenly ripped through Sterre’s body. She grimaced, the air catching in her throat as she inhaled. A loose rock tumbled down the drop before her as she shifted her weight, the sound of it bouncing against the rocky ground the only sign of life at the top of the mountain.

She was alone.

With a sigh that suggested the task was no more than an unpleasant chore, she turned away from the drop and clambered a short way down the mountain where she would be less exposed. A small cluster of boulders protruded from the ground by a few sparse trees, and it was there by the rocks she lowered herself awkwardly to the ground as the contractions washed over her.

The pain made her writhe against the uneven, stony ground, but Sterre almost relished the agony that inflamed her body. For just a moment her mind was empty of everything else, free of thoughts of him and all the rest of her sorry life. The pain was horrific and all-consuming, but it was freeing.

But, as with everything, the pain eventually passed. The contractions faded away, leaving Sterre exhausted and slick with sweat and afterbirth, sides heaving as she caught her breath. She took a moment to process the world again, and then with a groan began to struggle to her feet.

At the movement, however, her body protested with a sharp jolt of pain. Her vision blurred, and she slumped against the rocks to steady herself as she drew in a slow breath and waited for the dizziness to subside.

It wasn’t supposed to hurt this much.

She pushed the thought away, and steeled herself as she slowly turned around to view the product of her labour. She lowered her nose to the new-born, the stench of blood assaulting her senses. The grass beneath her was sodden, the stones that littered it stained red as the liquid slowly crawled outwards from its source.

There wasn’t supposed to be this much blood.

Her vision blurred again and she stumbled to her knees, suddenly weak. With a shuddering breath she lowered the rest of her weight gingerly to the ground. She winced, but forced her attention back to the foal in front of her. A colt, the last heir to an empty throne.

The birth sac still covered his nose, and for a moment Sterre hesitated. It would be so easy, to just leave him there to suffocate, or even to cave his tiny head in and end his poor life with one swift, clean blow. Perhaps it would be for the best – for the both of them.

And yet she reached for him, albeit half-heartedly, breaking the sac away from his face before pulling away to consider him again as he began to stir. The youngster seemed to resent his mother’s retreat as he slowly came into consciousness, and with a soft squeak he managed to pull himself upright onto his belly and turn his head towards her dark figure, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the daylight.

As she met his gaze, Sterre froze for just a moment.

Het Vuur stared back at her. Not the man who had scorned her those few months ago, but the Het Vuur she had known on Tinuvel – the same hot, amber eyes that she had once loved, and which had always stirred a fire of passion inside her. And between those tawny eyes sat the same white star that decorated her own reflection – the star that was her namesake.

They had both left their marks on this child, as unintentionally as they had conceived him. He was the perfect combination of what they had both been once, and for that reason it hurt to look at him. Sterre turned away. Let him serve as a reminder for everyone else, she thought, but not for her.

She closed her eyes, leaning her head against the boulder at her back. She just needed to rest a while, gather her strength, then she would leave. One of the other mares would find him before the day was out, and they would know who he belonged to without so much as a second glance. They would take him to his father, no doubt, and then he would know the truth – know that he could not deny this child, and know that though Sterre had been forced to bear him for all these months, she had absolved her responsibility just as he had.

She heard the colt squeak beside her, no doubt worming his way towards her as he began to think about his first meal. Without even opening her eyes she pinned her ears back and snorted sharply in his direction, which seemed to silence his fussing.

Yes, she would leave. She just needed to rest a while, then she would go – she would go somewhere far away, where she could be happy while Het Vuur remained here, pitiful and miserable. Then, she would have won. She sighed, her lips twitching into something almost like a smile, and let the darkness swallow her.

She would have finally won.

this thing of darkness
I ACKNOWLEDGE MINE