Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
SENAN
Allette sleeps soundly on her side of the bed, her soft breaths a balm to my tortured mind. All I want is to give her the life she’s dreamed of for so long. A quiet, peaceful existence, far from castles and problems, just the two of us.
So why does Boris’s vile smirk appear every time I close my eyes?
Instead of being bent over me, he pins little Kyffin to the ground, blood dripping down his fists as he saws off Kyff’s small black wings.
Wasn’t the antidote supposed to rid me of these terrible visions?
Boris wouldn’t dare harm Kyff.
What am I saying? Of course he would. If Kyffin shows even a glimpse of my rebellious spirit, Boris will break him the way he broke me.
Afraid of tossing and turning and waking my girl, I roll out of bed and grab my wrinkled clothes from the floor. They’re in desperate need of a wash, but my others were destroyed in the fight with Iver.
After hearing how the Tuath are treated, I can hardly blame the man for his rage. If I had to watch children be stolen away and forced to serve a tyrant against their will, I’d be angry too.
Hell, I’m angry and I’m not even Tuath.
I shuffle through the silent house, finding Braith’s father sitting on his worn-out chair, a short glass of amber liquid clutched in his hand.
It’s the middle of the night. What’s he doing awake?
Josie’s request from earlier plays through my mind, and my face starts to burn. I sincerely hope we didn’t disturb his sleep.
When Harold sees me, he offers the same welcoming smile he gave us the very first day we showed up out of the blue. “Trouble sleeping?”
I nod.
“Why don’t you grab a cup from the kitchen and join me?” he says with a tilt of his chin toward the sofa.
It’s not as if I have anything better to do. Plus, a drink might be the only way to get any sleep tonight.
In the kitchen, I retrieve a blue mug whose handle looks as if it’s been reattached more than once. Back in the living room, Harold hooks a bottle of liquor by its long neck and pours me a generous helping.
I sink onto the sofa before taking a sip. Gods, the stuff tastes like turpentine.
Harold’s lips tilt into a smirk. “Good, right? My buddy down in Corva made it.”
“Very good,” I choke. Some of the tension in my muscles starts to unwind. I suppose I’ll find a way to force it down.
“The eye giving you grief?” Harold asks.
“No. It hardly hurts at all.” That paste of Josie’s must’ve been laced with magic.
He sips his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. “Want to talk about what’s keeping you up then?”
“Not really.” Like I told Allette, there’s nothing to talk about.
I take another burning gulp, blinking back tears. How is the second drink worse than the first? This reminds me of the rot Aeron used to sneak from our father’s office when we were around Kyff’s age—far too young to be drinking.
Dammit . I don’t want to think about Aeron or Kyff, but my mind is insistent tonight. Maybe it would help to speak with an impartial person to help me sort through all this shite.
Let’s see… How do I talk about becoming king without talking about becoming king? “My brother wants me to…take over the family business.”
Harold watches me from over the rim of his glass. “I assume by ‘family business’ you mean the Kumulus throne.”
My jaw falls open. Fucking hell . Harold knows who I am.
“Don’t look so surprised.” Harold chuckles. “Those silver eyes gave you away the moment you set foot through the door, Simon .”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He shrugs. “You clearly had your reasons for keeping up the ruse. Who am I to question a prince of the realm?”
Right now, I don’t feel like a prince of anything but nightmares and bad decisions. What would my mother say if she could see the disappointment I’ve become?
I cannot believe Harold has known the truth this whole the time. “I’m surprised you helped us at all.” With the way my family has treated the Tuath, it’s a wonder he didn’t stab me on sight.
“It’s true that folks down here aren’t very fond of Scathians—and for good reason. I’ve had friends hauled away for protesting the conditions in the mines. For getting turned around in a tower and stepping onto a balcony to find their bearings. Hell, they arrested young Jonesy for taking the apples from the trees instead of the rotten ones on the ground. Until a few years ago, you wouldn’t have been able to set foot in the burrows.”
“What happened a few years ago?”
“Henry Caplin.”
The name doesn’t ring a bell. Then again, why would it? I only know a handful of Tuath, and most of them live in this house.
“Henry was a friend who worked alongside me in the northern mines before they shut them down. We were all laid off and desperate for any bit of work going. Unlike Josie and me, Henry and his wife Sarah were never blessed with children. When the eastern mines said they could take six men, Henry managed to secure the last spot. He knew I had more mouths to feed, and gave up his position so I could have it.”
That was incredibly kind, but I’m still not sure what this has to do with Harold opening his home to us.
“I felt guilty as hell, especially since Henry’s wife suffers from gout.”
My head snaps up. Impossible.
Harold’s lips curl into a smile before he takes a long sip from his glass. “I imagine you know the rest of the story.”
The man who worked in the northern mines with a wife suffering from gout…
Henry must be the same Tuath I helped all those years ago.
“You saved him from the pit that day,” Harold goes on. “He came back to the burrows singing your praises to anyone who would hear them. It was the first time any of us heard of someone from the castle being willing to help one of us. And a prince, no less.”
I hardly deserve his praise. “He never should’ve been punished for needing help.”
“Yet he would’ve been punished all the same. So in case you were wondering, Simon , you and your mate are safe in the burrows. We won’t let anything happen to you. Unless Iver gets another burr in his britches,” he chuckles.
My heart swells in my chest. To think all these people would put aside their disdain for Scathians for something so small. Now I wish I could’ve done more—not just for Henry but for the rest of the Tuath suffering under the clouds. “Thank you. If it weren’t for you and your family, I hate to think what might have happened to us.”
“It’s our pleasure. Not many folks can say they’ve hosted two princes.” Harold’s nail taps against the glass as he watches me. “Back to your predicament. If you take over the family business, I assume that means you’d be ousting the current king.”
I grimace. Ousting sounds a lot nicer than assassinating. Because that’s what this boils down to: Assassination. Murder .
“Doubt he’ll go quietly,” he murmurs into his glass.
“I suspect not. But he’s…he’s not a good man. Neither am I, but he’s done horrible things. I feel like this should be a simple decision. That I should be angrier over all he’s done to me and the people I love. Don’t get me wrong, I am angry, but…more than that, I’m fucking scared.”
Gods, I cannot believe I confessed that out loud.
“I don’t know much about ruling a kingdom, but I do know a thing or two about fear.” Harold sets his glass on the low table next to the bottle. “Providing for the family has always fallen on my shoulders, and with eight mouths to feed including my own, that responsibility can make you feel like you’re suffocating. When I feel like I can’t breathe, I remind myself that my fear isn’t as strong as my love. That love is what keeps me going.”
Before being cast into the human realm, I’d never been responsible for anyone besides myself, and we all know how that turned out.
I love Allette and long to give her the life I promised, but I also love Kyffin and don’t want his life to be in danger. And damn it all, I’m starting to care for these people down here, about how the king’s decisions have created so many hardships for the Tuath.
The problem is, even if we were guaranteed victory, I still don’t know if I’m strong enough to take that leap.
You’re better at causing problems than fixing them.
How can someone like me be worthy of a crown?
“I don’t know what to do,” I murmur, more to myself than Harold.
He grips both sides of the chair and pushes himself to his feet. With an empty glass in one hand, he claps my shoulder with the other, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Sometimes we convince ourselves that we don’t know what to do when really we’re just too afraid or too stubborn to do what needs done.”