Freed from Gravity (Bound and Freed #2)

Chapter 37

Thirty-Seven

ALLETTE

I can sense Senan’s nervousness from where he trudges behind the carriage, the trek slower through the city due to the number of Tuath on the skinny streets. Thankfully, the drive to Lord Windell’s tower isn’t far. I’ve only been here once, back when my aunt believed Philip and I would make a fine match.

Feels like a lifetime ago.

The base of the tower looks the same as all the others in this area, cream sandstone mottled together with thick plaster, a single door with no windows, and green moss creeping along the base. I never used to wonder why there were no windows below the clouds. Now that I’ve lived down here, the distinction strikes me as odd. Even if there isn’t much to see, the people working inside still deserve some sort of view instead of being cooped up in a stone cage.

Senan glances at me from the stoop, his trepidation written on his face as he raises his fist to pound on the door.

The barrier opens, and a woman with a black mask over her face appears in the entrance. “May I help you?” she asks in a weak voice, her head turning to where Iver and I wait next to the carriage.

Senan straightens to his impressive height. “Is Lord Windell here?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Prince Senan Vale.”

She shoves her mask onto her forehead, her eyes narrowed as she studies my prince. “You expect me to believe a prince of the realm is knocking all the way down here? Be gone with you before I call the guards.”

Senan raises an arrogant black brow. “And have them haul you away for refusing me entry? Go on, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The woman looks him up and down once more, her lips pursing. “If you are the prince, then why aren’t you up there?” She jerks her chin toward the clouds.

“Because up there, people will see me, and I would rather speak to Philip in private.”

The use of Windell’s given name seems to give the woman pause. “I’ll tell the master, but if you’re lyin’ and he has me whipped, I’ll hunt you down and whip you.” The door snicks shut in Senan’s face.

He turns to us and drags a hand through his hair. “What do we do if he doesn’t come?”

Iver glowers at the barrier, his hands balled into fists. “We beat down the door and force our way inside.”

In light of all that’s happened, I wouldn’t put it past the man, and I certainly wouldn’t be the one to stop him.

“Iver?” a weak voice calls from the carriage.

We all rush over to find Harold awake, clutching his chest. The man beside him looks as if he’s asleep, while the one farthest from the door sucks in a sharp breath and winces.

Tell me we didn’t drive these men all the way up here only to have them die in this alley.

Iver reaches through the window, taking his father’s weathered hand. “Save your energy. Help is coming.”

A dark shadow appears high above, speckled wings displacing the clouds as Lord Windell lands next to where Senan waits with his hood still pulled. Windell doesn’t spare the rest of us so much as a glance, his brow pinched until Senan eases down his hood.

Windell’s boots catch on the cobbles as he stumbles back. “By the gods, it is you. Why are you covered in blood? Did Carew take you hostage as well?”

My prince shakes his head, his lips pressed into a grim line. “There was a cave-in at the mines and some friends were badly wounded. I brought them here, hoping you could help me heal them.” Senan starts for the carriage just as Iver swings open the door.

“Why were you at the mines?” Windell’s voice trails away as he gapes into the carriage. “They’re Tuath.” He grabs the front of his shirt, dragging the material over his nose like a makeshift mask.

“They need help, Philip,” Senan insists.

“Then let them go to the Tuath clinic on the edge of town. My wife is with child, and if any of them have the wasting?—”

“We don’t have the fucking wasting,” Iver grits out.

Windell’s eyes narrow on Braith’s brother before he twists back to Senan, as if Iver isn’t worth addressing. Why did I think for a second that this vile man had changed? That he would have grown a heart?

“I should’ve known you’d bring trouble to my doorstep,” Windell clips. “Whatever this is, I want no part of it.” His wings flare as he takes a step back.

Senan stalks forward, his hands flexing at his sides. “We don’t have fucking time for this. If you don’t help, they’ll die.”

“If you ask me, there are too many Tuath to begin wi?—”

Senan’s fist slams into Philip’s nose with a terrible crunch . My former admirer falls back, his hands flying to cradle his face. Whimpering pitifully, he removes one, staring at his palm as if he’s never seen blood before. His face drains of color, and he crumples to the ground.

Senan doesn’t look the least bit repentant as he turns to me. “We need to get everyone inside.”

This time, he doesn’t knock on the door but twists the knob and steps straight inside. “Tallin, help Iver carry Harold up to the main floor. Allette, help anyone else who can walk.”

Two servants emerge from the kitchen, their gasps muffled from beneath their masks.

The one at the back lifts his mask, revealing his pale face. “Iver?”

“Heya, Twig.” Iver eases his father down the carriage steps. “Can you help us? There was a cave-in at the mines.”

Twig nods and rushes out to where the other men climb gingerly down the carriage steps.

“What about him?” I point to Lord Windell still sprawled on the ground. If we leave him there, he’s liable to fly straight to the king.

Senan’s nose wrinkles as he glances down at the fallen man, then he turns to the servants. “Is there somewhere we can keep him where he won’t cause trouble?”

The woman who first answered bustles over to a door. “What about the broom closet?”

Senan’s grin widens. “Perfect.”

With the help of Windell’s servants, we manage to bring all the wounded up the ten flights of stairs to the main parlor. Golden sunlight washes from the balcony over the fine furniture I once sat on drinking tea.

Reaching behind his neck, Senan drags his shirt up and over his head, letting it fall onto a velvet settee on his way to the balcony. The whimpers and murmurs grow quiet as everyone in the room stares at the remains of his wings. Questions hang in the air, but there is no time for answers.

Senan cannot do this by himself. I’ll need to refuel my magic as well.

I ease the man still leaning on me onto the cushions and start unbuttoning my dress as I make my way from the shadows into the light. The wool falls away, leaving me in nothing but my shift. I raise my face toward the sun’s healing rays, letting its warm kiss seep into my weary bones.

When I open my eyes, I notice the Tuath standing at the edge of that arc of light, staring down at the floor as if it would set fire to their toes.

Have they truly never dared to venture onto a balcony?

Iver takes the first step, his father braced at his side. I help him lay Harold on the rust-colored tiles. Senan kneels next to him with his back to the sun and places his hands on Harold’s shoulders. My prince’s fingers start to glow, and the bruising beneath Harold’s almost translucent gray skin begins to fade.

I’m so bloody proud of him. He didn’t question whether or not he could do it; he took charge and made it happen.

One of the miners limps toward the balcony. I hold out my hand, and when the callouses covering his palm scrape against my fingers, I urge my magic toward him, healing the wound across his face until it’s no more than a faded pink line.

One at a time they come, sinking onto the marble, removing their shirts and letting the sunlight bathe their bodies.

“It’s so bloody warm,” one says with a shudder, lifting his face, his eyes closed.

“Feels like the fire,” another remarks.

Iver stares down at his own grimy hands, his brow furrowed. “The wounds on my hands,” he whispers. “They’re gone.”

Sure enough, the cuts have been replaced by tiny silver scars.

We haven’t healed him yet.

Stars …

Does that mean he somehow healed himself?

Removing their masks, the servants shuffle toward the light, their eyes wide as they study Iver’s hands.

Senan stands from where he kneels next to Harold, his jaw tight.

“They have magic,” I whisper. There is no other explanation. These people who have been kept out of the sunlight have the power to heal themselves. Stars above, Braith’s sister Regina was right.

“Have any of you ever been in the sun before?” Senan asks, a command in his deep voice that I haven’t heard in far too long.

The Tuath trade worried glances before shaking their heads.

The servant who knew Iver steps forward, stopping right on the edge of the light. “None of us want to risk the pit.”

What if the kingdom doesn’t keep the Tuath below the clouds because they’re wingless…but because they don’t want them to discover they have magic?

Do they only possess healing magic, or can they wield the elements as well?

Of all the lies we’ve been told, this one rocks the very foundation of our realm. If all the Tuath knew the truth, there would be riots in the streets. Hundreds— thousands —of people could lose their lives in the upheaval.

No one in the kingdom would be safe. The king has guards and wards, but what about the rest of the Scathian nobility? Who would help protect them if the Tuath decided to rebel?

We’re on the crest of a wave, hurtling toward the shore.

And the wave is about to break.

Senan and I cannot abscond to Stratiss now. The Tuath need someone who will stand up for them, who will fight for them instead of doling out punishments for something that should be their right.

Scathians do not own the sun; no one does.

We cannot allow the king to continue hoarding the realm’s most valuable resource.

We cannot stand by and do nothing.

I turn to the man I love, recognizing the same realization in his quicksilver eyes. “We cannot leave now.”

Grimacing, Senan nods. “I know.”

Iver steps forward, peering over the balcony’s edge to the tops of the clouds. “What do we do about the lad you struck?”

I forgot about Windell. Dammit . That man has been a thorn in my side ever since the day he brought me that disgusting rabbit foot. “When he comes to, he’ll go straight to the castle.”

Senan scrubs a hand across his stubbled jaw. “Then we bring him with us until we can figure this out.”

Who would’ve thought when we found out the princess had been taken by Carew, that only a few days later, we’d be taking a hostage of our own?