Chapter Four
It was dark before the tall redwood trees came into view. Rion entered through a small break in the trunks. A tunnel of sorts through the massive beasts that protected the city. Saoirse had shown it to him years ago. Rion was sure others knew about it, but she kept it hidden with a row of thick vines. With his sister’s magic, the vines moved out of her way on command. Without her—
Rion pulled another leaf from his hair before flipping his hood up. Soft lights illuminated the main street where the vendors were gathered. During the solstice, the entire city glowed and there were more merchants than he could count. But this festival had been contained to the main road that led up to the palace. He’d be careful not to venture too close.
Rion ambled through the dark streets, watching the rooftops and alcoves as he went. His feet were silent against the cobblestones and Rion ran his hands along the freshly blooming flowers and foliage.
Sudden images of blood and mangled bodies flashed to the forefront of his mind. Rion gritted his teeth. He’d never forgotten the night of his father’s death. It was a scene that regularly haunted his nightmares. Before that moment, he’d never witnessed death. Nor had he known a body could produce so much blood.
A female’s laughter rang through the air, burying one memory for another. He wondered what his mother would make of his life now. Would she try to appease the gods and kill him as well, or would she have hidden him away like Saoirse? Perhaps she wouldn’t have done either. She’d been their High Lady, still was as far as most were concerned. Perhaps his life would have unfolded differently were she still around.
Saoirse had never stopped searching. He’d accompanied her on a few missions, but the trail always ended in crippling disappointment.
Voices grew louder and Rion stepped into the soft light of the street. He was thankful for the brisk air; it made keeping his hood up comfortable and kept any onlookers from turning his way. He knew to be careful. He wouldn’t put Caol at risk of treason, nor would Rion lead anyone back to the male’s home.
With a pounding heart, Rion entered the crowd.
Streamers and hand-crafted ornaments hung from the rooftops and wrapped along the railings and ropes above. Magic sparked through the air and Rion saw more than one citizen manipulate the flowers into full bloom. The very air teamed with energy.
Rion slowed his breathing and let himself get lost in the clamoring sounds. The laughing children. The exclamations of surprise. The chimes shifting with the breeze.
Vendors smiled at him, holding out their wares for him to view. He even purchased a cinnamon sweet and found himself blushing furiously when the female preparing it brushed his hand with her own.
Rion quickly retreated and found a quiet corner where he could eat and watch the festivities. Several held hands. Others laughed with what Rion could only assume was their family.
No one looked twice at the male lingering on the outskirts. It almost made Rion want to remove his cloak and join them. Perhaps he could ask the female running the pastry stand if she’d like to take a stroll. Rion imagined the conversation. The way she’d throw her head back and laugh. But even if the citizens didn’t recognize him, the officials would. Maybe. They hadn’t seen him since his father’s death.
The pastry turned to ash in his mouth and Rion chucked the last of it into the trash.
Who was he kidding? Even here, amongst hundreds of Fae, he was still alone.
Memories swam through him as he wandered the open street.
A petite female tended to a tree and Rion recalled a time when his mother had coaxed a tiny sapling into full bloom. A youngling pulled on his mother’s pants and the female picked him up and balanced him on her shoulders. His mother used to do that, too.
Then Rion watched a couple pass by, the female clinging to the male’s arm. The pair smiled at one another. She blushed and Rion turned away. His stomach soured and he fought a burning sensation in his throat as he turned from the festival altogether.
Maybe he shouldn’t have come after all. He was just tormenting himself, pretending to have a life that was never meant to be. Removing his hood and joining them would only paint a target on his back.
Rion raced from the busy street. He kept well away from the palace, but instead of marching straight back to Caol’s, Rion took a detour toward his old school.
The trees thinned before parting to reveal open fields where he’d learned to play ball, made new friends, and discovered what it meant to be a High Lord’s son. He wasn’t always a favorite among his peers.
He recalled his first lesson in combatives and smirked when Liam’s young face came to mind. They hadn’t been friends at first. Not until Rion punched another child in the stomach for making fun of Liam’s mother.
They’d been inseparable afterward.
Crickets chirped as he moved along the perimeter. An owl hooted in the distance then laughter floated toward him as if carried on a phantom wind.
Rion tilted his head to listen. He’d expected the area to be deserted, especially with the festival in full swing, but seven Fae raced one another through the tall grass, all chasing a ball.
One landed a hard kick, sending the ball flying, and the others exclaimed in excitement. Rion drew closer without meaning to. Four males. Three females. He watched as one fell on his backside and the others laughed before pulling the male back to his feet.
Rion’s lips parted. This—these young Fae—he was staring at everything he’d ever wanted. It was as though the gods were taunting him, dangling his dreams just out of reach.
He glanced toward the trees on the other side of the playing field then back to the laughing faces.
Too close. He’d drifted far too close.
He should leave. It would be better to turn and disappear before they ever saw him, but the tallest male in their group glanced his way and Rion’s entire body went rigid.
He was taller now. Older. He’d transformed from a slightly chubby youngling into a lean soon-to-be warrior. His feet weren’t too big for his body anymore and his ears weren’t overly pointed like they’d been in childhood.
The male squinted, tossing the ball from one hand to another as he surveyed the newcomer. The other six closed in, curious.
Rion swallowed hard.
Liam.
His childhood friend. The one he’d been able to tell all his secrets to, whatever secrets they’d had at seven years old.
He’d been there when Rion’s mother had disappeared. Liam had comforted him, pulled him out of his room on more than one occasion. And here he was, standing right in front of him.
Did he risk talking to him? Would Liam listen when no one else had? Would he understand?
Rion’s hands trembled slightly as he pulled his hood back. The ball stopped moving. The two males stared at one another.
Rion waited for the smile to spread across Liam’s face, a familiar sight he’d longed for. He waited for Liam to rush forward and throw his arms around his shoulders and clasp him on the back. To ask where he’d been all this time and what had happened.
But Liam went unnaturally still. His eyes widened in recognition and when Rion dared a step forward, Liam stepped back.
A jolt of pain flared through Rion’s chest. The scent of magic sparked through the air, from both Liam and those behind him. One of the females clutched the arm of another. The acrid stench of fear drifted across the field.
Fine, it’s fine , Rion told himself. They just didn’t know yet.
Rion slowly lifted his palms up. “I’m not here to hurt anyone.” His voice wavered. His throat had gone dry. He could only imagine the stories they’d been told. Tales about a monster child who had murdered the High Lord and an entire unit of warriors in a matter of seconds. A ruthless killer.
It had been a mistake to isolate. He saw that now. No one had seen him in six years. Not since that bloody night. He was a stranger to everyone and now that he was almost an adult, they’d perceive him as even more of a threat.
Magic crawled at their feet. One of the females glanced around Rion as if trying to gauge whether she could make a run for it.
“What do you want?” Liam demanded, his voice stern. Rion didn’t miss the way the male had positioned himself in front of his friends. He was willing to protect them. Die for them.
“I just came to see the festival, then I heard you playing and—” And what? Did he think they’d just forget the stories and invite him over?
Liam’s jaw worked, but it was a female behind him that said, “You should leave.” Rion was pretty sure she’d meant it to sound like a threat.
Pain radiated through his chest when Liam didn’t answer. Rion’s magic stirred against his will and the seven scrambled back three paces, their fear exploding. Liam crouched, ready for a fight. Rion could hear his friend’s rapid heartbeat. The way his breathing had turned ragged.
He tried to get the magic under control. He begged it to obey him just this once, but the grains pulsed with his heartbeat. He tried and failed to take a steading breath. “I just wanted to talk.” They could still try, right? Liam might give him a chance to—“I have nothing to say to you.” The bite behind the words hit harder than a punch to the gut.
“Please,” Rion pleaded. “Just let me explain.”
The same female spoke up again. “Explain? You killed the High Lord!” Her voice shrieked and she visibly shook.
Liam didn’t react to her outburst. “Did you know when we were kids?” he asked. “Did you hide it?”
“No. I didn’t know until—” He trailed off, knowing confirming the events of that wretched night wouldn’t do him any favors. “I didn’t know.”
Liam’s lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but a new scent drifted across the field. Rion whipped his head around to find three males stalking toward them, their eyes fixated on Rion’s unobscured face.
Shit . Had they caught his scent? Recognized him? They had to be from the palace then. Fear snaked down Rion’s spine as he eyed their drawn weapons. Did Alec know he was here?
Rion backed away. He shouldn’t have come. He shouldn’t be trying to talk to his former friend, let alone be discovered by the palace guard. How many times had Caol scolded him for not paying attention?
His heart hammered in his chest. Three. He could handle three, right? Images of Caol putting him on his ass resurfaced and doubt pooled in his gut. Rion only had a small knife in his boot. He hadn’t thought to bring weapons into Nàdair. An oversight he was thoroughly regretting.
Always be prepared, Saoirse had once told him. Well, he certainly wasn’t prepared for this.
The tension fell from Liam’s shoulders and another sharp sting of pain cut through Rion’s chest. Liam wouldn’t help him. None of the seven would. In fact, they looked ready to join the warriors in bringing him down. If they did that—Rion’s breath came faster as panic rushed through him. His magic rose higher without his prompting and spun around his body as if readying to shield him from the oncoming attack.
Should he run? He might be faster, but one glance at the trees told Rion he’d be headed right toward a trap. The warriors would use the trees and overgrowth to their advantage. He wasn’t sure he could handle running, deflecting their magic, and ensuring his own didn’t kill the seven. He didn’t care about the three; if they chose to attack, they had it coming to them.
The warriors closed in with vines crawling across their bodies.
No choice. He had to go. It was either that or face all ten of them at once. Rion stepped toward the tree line, but right before he took off, the male warriors lunged straight for the seven.
It took him too long to process their actions, the reason, the surprise, and chaos. In seconds, one of the females’ severed heads hit the ground with a sickening thud.
Two in their group screamed. Another vomited. Liam and two others tore their magic from the earth and stepped closer to their comrades.
The males didn’t stop. A blade whined as it was unsheathed and Rion watched in horror as it cut through the young male who’d just vomited. With tears in his eyes, the male extended his arm, trying to shield himself only for his severed limb to go sailing through the air. A swift flick of the wrist and a blade was in the young male’s throat.
The male sank to his knees, eyes wide and pleading.
Two Fae who were hardly more than younglings dead in an instant.
They started for Liam next and Rion moved, his magic with him. Reason and doubt left him. If he didn’t have a blade, then he’d just have to take one.
Rion charged one of the male assailants, fury spurring him forward. Rion shot his magic out, hoping to catch one in the chest and be done with him, but a thick tree trunk erupted from the ground. Bark exploded on impact and Rion ducked around the small branches reaching out, all aiming for vital points along his body.
Rion’s magic slammed into the tree again, shattering it, and he closed in on the male fast. His fingers grazed the hilt of a blade along the male’s belt, but the male spun away too quickly for Rion to grab it.
Sharp pain shot through his upper arm and he cursed under his breath. The male angled his weapon and struck out again, but Rion dove away, his eyes trying and failing to track the male’s quick movements.
A vine wrapped around Rion’s left wrist, wrenching him down so hard his head collided with the earth. Stars blinded him and he barely had enough time to roll away from the male’s angled blade.
Rion let his magic rip from the ground, severing the tightly coiled vine from around his wrist before shoving everything toward the warrior in blind fury. The male tried to duck, but Rion summoned the earth from beneath the male’s feet. The warrior tottered and before he could regain his balance, Rion crushed his body.
He heard the bones grind, felt the male’s chest cave in.
Less than a second passed before the next male was upon him, snarling and seething with anger.
Rion tried to jump away, but the male threw a blade aimed right at Rion’s thigh. Sand deflected it, but the shift in attention cost him.
A knife plunged straight into the top of Rion’s shoulder and the force of the impact sent Rion back to his knees. The male’s hand shot out for his throat, but Rion grabbed his wrist only to feel the sting of the male’s fangs in his skin.
The male head-butted him, then did it again and again. Anger flared through Rion’s body, pulsing with his magic. He bucked the male off, then rolled to his knees. Rion snapped his arms up, dragging his magic with him, and wrapped a tendril of particles around the male’s throat before crushing his windpipe.
The male’s body fell limp, and Rion let his arms fall, sucking down breath after breath. Specks raced across his vision, but another cry had Rion spinning to find one of the females kneeling in the dirt, her gaze vacant as she stared at two bodies. Liam was screaming her name, begging her to move.
It hit Rion then just how young they were. How much more training he’d received due to Caol’s and Saoirse’s insistence. Because it would be a necessary component to ensure his survival.
But not theirs. Rion stared at the bodies, their blood mixing with the dirt. Here, in the city of Nàdair, citizens were supposed to live in peace. The redwoods created an impenetrable defense. The Fae weren’t supposed to need to fight for their lives.
And yet here they were. And Rion had the power and training to defend them. He was the only one who could.
Liam deflected a direct blow, but he was too slow to react to the knife heading straight for his gut. With a surge of adrenaline, Rion’s magic propelled him forward.
Not Liam. He couldn’t lose him, even if the young male wanted nothing more to do with him.
Liam howled in pain when the blade pierced his flesh, but it was dwarfed by the roar that escaped Rion. Sand shot out and locked the male’s arm in place, stopping all movement before he could do irreparable damage. Rion crushed the limb with ease, then sent the male flying.
He didn’t hesitate this time. He was on the male in less than a second, ready to deliver the finishing blow—the warrior pivoted on the ball of his foot and slashed at Rion’s stomach with a hidden blade.
It sliced through the fabric of his shirt and Rion cursed at the red line that traveled up his torso. He ignored the pain. Ignored the desire for self-preservation. The male had left himself wide open. He knew it too, judging from the wide look of panic on his face. Rion gripped the hilt of his knife then plunged the blade straight into the assailant’s throat. He twisted then shoved the male back.
He didn’t rise again.
Blood pounded in Rion’s ears as he struggled to catch his breath. It had only been a few minutes, yet it had felt like a lifetime. The events played out, seeming to move in slow motion. The dead Fae. The warriors. Their movements.
A wet cough had Rion spinning.
It wasn’t Liam, thank the gods. Another male lay on the ground with a blade protruding from his chest. Rion grimaced. It was too close to the heart and that heart was slowing. Fluttering.
Thick tears rolled down Liam’s face. Liam reached for the protruding weapon.
“Don’t pull it out,” Rion warned. Liam’s sharp gaze snapped up and he snarled. Rion softened his voice. “He’ll bleed out if you do.”
Liam’s face paled and his worried gaze returned to the knife. Liam rested a gentle hand on the young male’s chest.
“Go get help,” Rion instructed one of the others. “He needs—”
“You did this.” Liam’s voice. Trembling, yet cold and murderous. The heartbeat slowed.
“You need—”
“You did this,” Liam roared then lunged to his feet. Two others grabbed him, wrapping their arms around their friend to hold him back. “If you’d never shown up,” Liam’s voice cracked. “If you’d just stayed away—” A sob, then Liam collapsed to his knees. The two didn’t release his arms.
Rion’s heart pounded. Ached.
“Get out of here,” Liam seethed. Rion opened his mouth to speak, to defend himself, but his friend looked up and Rion saw undiluted rage reflected in his tear-filled eyes. “And don’t ever come back.”
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. Rion stepped back, feeling as if he were the one with a knife in his chest. He surveyed the broken field, the bodies, the dying male, the cuts and bruises on those still alive.
He stepped again.
He’d done this. If he’d never come, they might all still be alive. If he’d just listened to Caol—pain overwhelmed him all at once. His shoulder burned, his torso with it. The cut across his arm pulsed, but those wounds were superficial. They’d heal over time.
His bleeding heart was another matter.
Rion met Liam’s gaze one final time and bowed his head. “I’m sorry.” It was barely more than a whisper, then Rion ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Tears of anger and grief and frustration slid down his face. Rion swiped them away, fighting to keep his vision clear.
He failed.
He couldn’t return to Caol’s, not with the risk that someone might pursue him. But he needed medical supplies.
Rion diverted down a winding path where he knew a hollow sycamore tree waited with an emergency pack stuffed inside its hollow trunk. Saoirse had done that for him. She’d littered the entire mountainside in supplies should they ever find themselves on the run.
He was running now, he just wasn’t sure where to.
Dozens of questions flew through Rion’s mind as he separated himself from Caol’s land. Hell, Caol might not even want him back after this. Rion had disobeyed him and Fae had died.
What had he done in another life to warrant this kind of punishment? What kind of horrible male had he been? And why did innocents have to be dragged into the middle of it all?