Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
SENAN
Carrying a man bound and gagged into the burrows garnered surprisingly little interest from the Tuath who live down here. Granted, we had the foresight to throw a sack over his head, but still. While I didn’t want to bring trouble to Josie and Harold’s doorstep, we had nowhere else to go and the revelations made back in the tower aren’t the sort you can forget.
The front door opens, and Iver saunters into the living room, looking chuffed with himself.
“What did you do with him?” I ask.
“He’s in one of the old caverns. And don’t worry, I wore the mask so that he didn’t see my face.”
Do I feel guilty? Not in the slightest. Philip Windell is an unfortunate casualty of this problem that none of us wanted to be part of. If he hadn’t been such a heartless bastard, maybe today would have played out differently for him.
Harold doesn’t move from the sofa where he stares down at his hands. The skin peeking from beneath his shirt has gone red from the sun.
I remember the one and only time I experienced sunburn. I’d been five years old and sick with fever for weeks, unable to leave my bed of my own accord. Although the physician had carried me outside to refuel my magic, my lower half remained covered in blankets to keep me from shivering myself off the balcony ledge. This was before my wings grew, so falling from that height would have been a death sentence.
Yet another reason not to live in a tower above the clouds.
Anyway, when I recovered, I spent a whole day sunning myself in nothing but a pair of briefs.
My legs were so burnt that my skin peeled off.
Needless to say, it was not a pleasant experience.
Iver drops onto the sofa next to his father.
Allette leans back on the chair across from them, her head resting against the cushion, her eyes a million miles away.
I sink onto the arm of Allette’s chair, searching the two Tuath for signs of their magic. Besides their red skin, they don’t look any different. “How do you feel, Harold?”
His head lifts, and his eyes meet mine. “Better than I have in years.”
Iver turns his hands over and back again, staring at them like he’s never seen hands before. “Regina was right all along. She’s going to be unbearable now.”
Harold chuckles.
“Who is Regina?” I ask.
“My eldest daughter. She’s always been interested in history. A few years back, she stumbled upon some old documents that claims we used to have power. Apparently, there’s a book in the king’s library that holds all the details.”
Too bad Rhainn isn’t still at the castle. I bet he’d know about the book. Hell, he probably read the thing.
Not that it matters when we know the truth: Tuath have healing magic. “The king must know about your magic.” Boris might not understand the particulars, but he must suspect the reason behind keeping these people out of the sun.
Allette sits up. “I had the same thought. But why would he care that the Tuath can heal themselves?”
She makes a good point. If anything, it would be more efficient for the Tuath to have access to healing magic, especially given some of the more dangerous occupations they have. Look at what happened at the mines today and the textile mill.
I look back at Iver through fresh eyes, wondering… “Do you feel any different?”
Iver shrugs. “Maybe? Warmer. A little…tingly?”
“Give me your hand.” Despite my wings being reduced to pitiful stumps, my well of magic stirs beneath my skin. When I call it forth, heat expands through my chest, humming in my veins. Taking his hand, I send some of my magic toward my palm the same way I once did with Kyff.
Iver’s eyes widen.
“You feel it, don’t you?”
A nod.
“Hold out your other hand.”
He extends his palm face-up toward the ceiling. I force more magic from my hand to his, waiting for a spark to appear.
Beads of sweat tumble from Iver’s hairline, down his furrowed brow. Come on . Why isn’t this working?
Perhaps he possesses the power of air.
I don’t love the idea of him touching Allette, but I cannot think of any other way for us to?—
“Senan?” Allette’s shaking voice cuts through my frustration.
When I turn toward her, she isn’t looking at me, but at the floor.
A thick brown vine curls from between the stones; tiny green buds emerge from the stem. I drop Iver’s hand, but the vine keeps growing, pushing the stones aside, twisting all the way to the ceiling.
Harold stumbles off the sofa, his jaw hanging as he gawks at the vine twining around Iver’s legs.
Allette moves closer, reaching out as if to touch one of the leaves. “Can you control it?”
Iver’s gaze narrows in concentration. The bud nearest Allette’s fingers unfurls, sprouting a lavender flower.
“Bloody hell…” Harold shakes his head.
They don’t just have healing magic. They can control elements as well. I’ve only ever heard of wind and fire elementals. Clearly, Iver isn’t either one of those.
Gods above. This is monumental.
“Harold?” I extend my hand toward him.
His dry, calloused fingers wrap around mine. “What do I do?”
I send my magic toward him, already feeling my power start to wane. If only we had more sunlight. “Do you feel the magic in my hand?” When he nods, I explain what I want him to do. The stones beneath us begin to shake. I expect another vine. Instead, water bubbles up through the cracks, gathering around Harold’s boots but never getting them wet.
Beside him, Iver’s vine spreads across the plaster in every direction.
“We need more sunlight.” But how do we get more Tuath into the sun without the king or the guards finding out?
“Surely, there must be at least a few vacant towers. Perhaps the owners are on holidays?” Allette suggests.
Gods, my mate is brilliant. “Iver? Can you ask everyone you know who works in the city if there are any free towers? Tell the servants to try to access the sun if they can.”
Iver nods, then grimaces. “What if they’re caught?”
If they’re caught, then we will have to find a way to save them. “They can’t stop all of us.”
Allette’s grip on me tightens. “You know what we need to do, right?”
May the gods save us…
I know exactly what we need to do.
We need to kill the king.