Chapter 23
23
T hey stayed away from the palace for three days before a messenger appeared, bringing with him a white piece of paper stamped with the seal of the Fae King.
During that time, Cillian kept Aven occupied in a small cabin with a varnished red-tiled roof. The house perched on a small rising cliff overlooking a raging river, and in the distance, she marked the presence of a small city. Low-level buildings were situated on the side of the hill, and somewhere beyond them was the palace itself, too far to note.
The gray-stoned cottage became a haven during those few days, and with two bedrooms, Cillian did not impose himself on her as he might have in a smaller space.
If anything, the time away gave her more of an opportunity to come to peace with the situation.
She hadn't been lying about acting out in self-defense. The only lie had been the true cause of death, and she found herself entirely unwilling to tell even Cillian about that. Not when Roran had physically inserted himself into the fray.
She didn't know what went on between the two brothers, and only the barest minimum about their history, but it felt wrong to betray a confidence.
Cillian did his best to lighten the mood and keep the conversation away from what happened—and the fact that his father wanted her burned at the stake.
He spoke to her about the Darkroot and about his birthdays as a boy.
He told her about his least favorite tutors and the pranks he used to play on them.
Although it took the full first day and much of the second, Aven finally came out of her shell.
At night, with her windows open and the sounds of the city drifting up to her on a light breeze, she relaxed her guard. Those sounds were normal and full of life. Here, away from everyone, no one called her names or blew up when they saw her.
There was only Cillian doing his best to distract her—even if it took him away from his more pressing duties.
He only blew her off when she asked about them.
Once the letter arrived, Cillian moved into action, a whirlwind of activity after too long sedentary. Or so he told her when she burst out laughing at the way he saddled the horses.
Their guard detail was nowhere in sight, but Aven knew they were around somewhere.
“You’re anxious to get back,” Aven said with a laugh as Cillian tugged her toward the Appaloosa.
He bobbed his head. “I am. Not that I haven't enjoyed our time out here.”
She went breathless when he yanked her toward him, catching her in his arms, dwarfed by his much larger frame.
“I liked it very much.”
“It doesn’t turn you off?” She bit down on her lip and searched his face. “That I killed one of your men.”
His brows furrowed together as he said, “You’ve killed many of my men.”
It wasn’t an answer. The question had been burning a hole inside of her since their arrival. For three days, Cillian had acted as though nothing were wrong, which felt like a blessing.
Now it needled at her. She needed them to come to an understanding.
“I mean to say, you didn’t act maliciously, Aven.” His fingertips were light on their movement from her waist to her back, all along her spine, and where they finally came to rest on the swell of her hips. There was nothing unduly sexual about the movement, but she felt it between her legs regardless.
Although she tamped down on her blush, in the end, Cillian saw it.
“You killed a man in self-defense. I can’t speak to the past, only now.”
“And the use of your runes?”
“My runes? I didn’t realize I owned them.” He chuckled, and although he tried to keep his tone level, he failed. “Now let’s be on our way. It’s about time for us to get back.”
She hoped his father had come to the same conclusion after three days but doubted it.
The sky overhead remained free of clouds, the land green and fertile. Several small boats sailed down the river occasionally toward overused fishing grounds, Cillian explained the first day; most of the ships docked on the outskirts of the city.
The palace was only a day’s ride from it, but most of their trade took place there.
Aven desperately wanted to see the city for herself, to feel surrounded by the crowds doing their business, living their lives. And perhaps to see for herself what impacts the war had made there. Outside of the blighted trees in the forest, she’d seen nothing amiss in the palace itself.
“I know, it seems like the palace is isolated.” Cillian sawed the reins to get his stallion to head in the right direction. The horse flared red nostrils, its eyes wide. “The city is quite the lure. We’ll go there one day.”
“You promise?” Aven caught herself. She didn’t want to make plans for the future.
She wanted out.
Those two were mutually exclusive things.
Cillian’s smile went roguish, and despite his youthful face, it was the expression that showed a hint of childlike innocence, like the kid he used to be who put peanut butter on his tutor’s chair. “Absolutely.”
They took off without prompting, and their horses fell into an easy lope beside each other. How many waiting ears were hiding in the land, ready to broadcast their conversations and movements back to the Fae King waiting for them in the palace?
The smallest mistake and he’d make good on his threat to kill her.
She should watch her back, her front, and her sides. Watch every word out of her mouth. But being alone with Cillian for three days had softened her.
And he knew about the other fae she’d killed on the battlefield.
Once again, she wondered, what had made this one death mean more than any of the others? Why hadn’t they killed her right away? Why did King Donal want her to marry one of his sons?
“Will you show me?” Cillian asked once they slowed their pace.
Breathless and excited, Aven brought the Appaloosa to a slow trot, and finally down to a walk. “Show you what?”
“The runes you used that were so blasphemous a man had to die.”
She turned to him. He wanted to talk about this now? Out in the open. Her skin twitched and squirmed. “You’re mocking me. And you’ve waited to do it. Why?”
“Our focus has been settled on defending ourselves against your weapons for the last several decades. We don’t send our soldiers into battle covered in runes, the way you’ve described. I’m curious as to what you did that made such an impact. And I wanted to give you time to settle down.”
“The runes were nothing,” she replied. “They were for calming and peace. I had no idea it would turn into a fight for my life.”
“Yet you somehow managed to overpower him and use his own dagger.” Was Cillian laughing at her? She had no idea how to take him.
“Yes. Like I said, I defended myself. Alone.”
Who knew? This might be a favor she could use as a bribe in the future should Roran become odious with her again. A small bit of leverage. Not that anyone would believe her if she pointed a finger at the younger prince. That bastard was untouchable.
“I would still like to know about the runes,” Cillian pressed.
“Then get me ink when we return and I’ll draw them on you.” Aven stifled a smile. “We’ll see how many people get up in arms about it.”
She might redraw them on herself as well, if only to feel better prepared for whatever they’d face when they returned. The first night in the cottage, she’d ruminated on the meeting with the King and how it might have turned out without Cillian’s interference. The second night she’d been intimately aware of him sleeping with only a wall to separate them. How did the crown prince sleep? Did he wear a nightgown like she did, or did he strip down and pass out, the way she’d heard her soldiers joke about in the past?
Something pressed at her to find out, but she stifled the urge.
Curiosity would indeed get her in more trouble if she snuck out of her bed and into his, if only to slake it.
“I never thanked you, though.” She adjusted her grip on the reins.
Cillian turned to her. “For what?”
“For helping me out with your father. You didn’t have to step up. I was prepared to handle the consequences.” Which shamed her, how she’d thought it might be easier to just let him end her.
“I need you to know that any intrusion on my part wasn’t just for the peace between our people,” Cillian insisted.
He sounded so eager, she stifled a grin. “Oh, I know. Your far-reaching plans. You probably see centuries into the future.”
Cillian remained silent, but something in the quiet between them felt natural. Rather than forcing any conversation, Aven stared straight ahead, allowing her body to soften in the saddle. She moved with the easy rhythm of her gelding with the sun gilding her pale skin and casting warm slants through the trees.
They moved out of the town limits and through the fields separating the cottages from the forest around the palace. It felt easier to breathe out here. Easier to let down her guard even though she knew she shouldn’t.
“Would it be hard to believe that you are part of my plan?” Cillian said at last. “Part of my future?”
“Yes,” she agreed after some hesitation. “At this point, in life and in the fighting… I’m no one.”
“Who told you that you're no one?”
“Your father would have gutted me without hesitation if you hadn’t stepped in. And Roran…” she trailed off, shaking her head as his face flashed through her mind. “He’s made his opinions clear to me. So why do you care?”
“Because in getting to know you, I’ve seen something passionate and worthwhile in you. You are the future, Aven. Together I think we can accomplish wonderful things.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond or why her eyes suddenly blurred. The horizon became a hazy line in front of her. Several options burst to life in her mind before they died on her tongue because this didn’t feel like the correct occasion to make a joke and play everything off under what her brothers used to call her self-deprecating humor.
She was saved from speech by several outraged voices coming from the line of the forest.
Cillian glanced sideways at her in concern before he clucked his tongue, digging his heels into the stallion’s side and spurring him onward. She followed suit, and the Appaloosa flew into motion.
They rounded the lane, and a wall of guards halted them in their tracks. And there, standing between them, were two men. Humans.
Aven stopped short, and her breath tightened her chest. “What’s going on?” she murmured.
Cillian had the same question, and he dismounted, leaving the reins draped across the horse’s neck as he approached the guards.
They turned to him with their heads bowed, a gesture of loyalty, and as a single unit, clenched their closed fists against their hearts.
“Your Highness,” the nearest guard said. He stepped forward, and a gold feather inked on the side of his helmet marked him as one of Cillian’s personal soldiers.
“Care to explain what’s happening here, Captain?” Cillian maintained his smooth and even tone, and yet Aven thought he looked rattled.
Emotions clattered around in her torso and her mind, and she could not look away from the two humans. The tallest looked as though he hadn’t had a decent meal in God-knew-how-long. Ribs showed visibly beneath the thin material of his tunic, tied around the waist to keep it from bagging around his frame. He shouldered a rucksack stuffed full with something she couldn’t see and physically used his body to step in front of his companion.
The young boy couldn’t be older than sixteen and had hardly any meat on his bones. The similar shape of their eyes and chin marked them as father and son. The younger of them gripped something slim and red in his hands.
They both struggled against the hold of the guards, and yet the implacable set of the fae males made any such fight an automatic loss.
“We caught these two stripping bark from the tree.” The Captain sounded solemn, furious. His eyes glinted with a combination of rage and a desire for retribution when he turned them to Aven. “It is a punishable offense.”
Was he speaking directly to her?
Cillian jutted out his chin. “Then you know what to do. We take them back to the palace for my father to pass judgment.”
“I don’t understand,” Aven said in an undertone. “What’s so bad about stripping bark from a tree?”
Cillian only returned to his stallion and mounted in a single gliding motion. His gaze trained ahead, he clucked his tongue, setting off toward the palace in a breakneck pace and leaving her to catch up. Or not.
Aven spared a glance backward to see the guards dragging the two humans behind them before dirt kicked up from her own horse’s hooves obscured them from sight. But she wasn’t sure she’d ever forget the look on the older man’s face. She recognized his particular brand of defiance. She’d worn a similar expression every time she did something unsavory that she knew was necessary during a fight. Her men had followed her without hesitation.
The two today weren’t familiar, and she wondered where they’d come from, and how they’d managed to get this deep into the fae territory. If she considered their appearances, she might almost think the two of them were slaves in some noble’s household. Except she knew the fae did not keep human workers. The humans were too hated to even be of use for menial labor.
What had happened with the tree bark, and why was Cillian unwilling to talk to her about it?
He reached the palace stables first and dismounted. Several stewards raced forward to intercept his stallion, and he strode off toward the palace just as she reached the gate to the pen around the stables.
“Did you have a nice ride, little princess? Did my brother provide satisfactory entertainment for you during your escape?” Roran asked from where he lounged against the fence rails.
Did the prince never work? Or did skulking count as work?
Aven glared at Roran and ignored the helping hands of the stewards. “Rather than taking such a keen interest in whether I’m entertained or not, why don’t you answer a question for me,” she snapped.
Roran held his arms out to the side as though he were an open book. “I’m all yours. Ask me what you will.”
Her feet hit the ground, and in the next beat, they led her horse off and left her alone with Roran.
“Did Cillian tell you what we saw on our ride home?”
“Is that your question?” Roran tilted his head to the side.
“We came upon his guards and a couple of humans. Apparently they were caught stripping bark from a tree?” She struggled to remember the name of the tree and came up short. “What’s the big deal?”
“A tree?” Roran repeated, uninterested in her tedious questions. Then he snapped his fingers at her, and surprise narrowed her eyes. “Does it really matter what they did as long as they are responsible for it?”
“Responsible for what, though?”
She gasped when Roran reached out and grabbed her arm, his fingers biting down into her skin and freezing her through. She could have sworn a thin layer of frost formed all the way down to her fingertips.
“Where are you taking me?”
“The King doesn’t want you out of his sight. He’s personally invited you to the proceedings. They will no doubt be held immediately. The crowds gather even as we speak. Your precious Cillian will be there.”
Aven’s legs turned to lead. She stumbled after Roran, and he only growled when she stayed a pace back from him. Aven could not make her legs work to keep up, and he ended up half dragging, half hauling her into the palace with him.
And she noted he hadn’t called the Fae monarch anything but King .
“What proceedings?”
Roran kept his gaze straight ahead. “You’d be surprised how quickly things progress when the King desires it. I suspect he wants you to see what happens to mortals who cross too far over the line.”
The ice continued down into the pit of her stomach as a strong sense of foreboding filled her mouth with a bitter taste. Too soon they were back in the throne room where she’d stood all those days ago. Right before Cillian had stepped in and saved her from whatever King Donal had planned to do to her in retribution. A fae life taken.
Today, only a few strips of bark had been stolen. No, not stolen, she mentally corrected. The soldiers recovered any strips the two men stuffed into their rucksacks.
So why the fuss?
Why the display?
The room filled with more people than there had been during her own sentencing. She glanced from side to side, growing smaller with every passing beat, until she was nothing but a scrap of dandelion fuzz on the wind, only held in place by Roran’s punishing grip.
This time the Fae King sat alone on his throne. Cillian was nowhere to be seen, and where she’d once stood, the two human men huddled together.
They looked so small, so fragile. With chains wrapped around their arms and necks, dragging them down, they might as well have been carved from sand in some child’s box. Just as easily smashed as well.
“Watch,” Roran whispered harshly in her ear, his breath icy against her skin.
“Why are you doing this?” she wanted to know, looking up at him.
He lifted his lips up in a snarl urging her to stay silent. Aven could have sworn those teeth lengthened into canines, but when she blinked, the imagery passed. With no other choice, she turned to the humans, her horror growing as the guards pressed in closer.
“Do you have any idea the severity of your crimes?” King Donal, unbothered, studied the tips of his boots. Like the stitching there was more important than the punishment he was surely going to mete out today.
What other choice was there?
He wouldn’t have urged everyone into the room unless he fully planned for a spectacle.
Even with the horror growing inside of her, rage kindled along with it, until the two feelings twined together into an unbreakable rod of steel. She felt it inside of her.
“Speak.” The King barked out the word, and both humans flinched.
“We needed the bark,” the older man insisted. His voice was a tremulous and reedy thing, too thin to make any real impact. “My wife is sick. A tonic made out of the bark will break her fever and bring her back to good health.”
“And you thought stealing it from my land would be the right way to do this?”
“I knew you wouldn’t give it to me if I were to ask. Your Majesty.” The human showed remarkable strength of character. He lifted his head and even from his crouched position, he stared the Fae King dead in the eyes. “You have a low opinion of humans, but the bark is only found here, in the forests around your stronghold. I took a chance.” The man glanced at his son. “Please don’t punish the boy. He didn’t want me to come along, but the entire thing was my idea. He had nothing to do with it.”
King Donal lifted himself from the throne. “Oh, I highly doubt you’re telling the truth. Mortals are known to be liars. It’s pathetic.”
Although he didn’t look at her, Aven knew he’d spoken those words for her benefit as well.
“The bark does not belong to you. The healing properties are not yours to access. You trespassed on my land, and no matter your intentions, you stole from me. That type of behavior warrants a strict punishment. I believe I will make an example of you. There is truly no other option.”
“No.” Aven struggled against Roran’s grip to free herself. To do what, she didn’t know. She had to get there. Had to get between the King and those men. The son was younger than her; he still had a long life ahead of him.
“Hold still,” Roran hissed. “You’re going to draw attention to yourself.”
“How can I hold still when something terrible is about to happen?”
There was no justice here. Not in any sense of the word.
At the King’s command, guards brought in several sturdy poles, the wood gleamed dully in the light, freshly oiled. They hoisted them in the center of the room, magic securing them to the marble floor with a sickening finality.
Aven’s stomach lurched as she realized their purpose.
Gods, no. They won’t—they can’t ? —
“Please, Roran, you have to do something,” she urged. She turned to him and pulled him down to her, gripping the fabric of his shirt. “You have to stop this.”
“I’m no hero.” He refused to look at her. “You know that by now.”
“You don’t need to be. But you can still stand up for what’s right. The man’s wife is sick. Please.” She’d get down on her knees and beg if it would make a difference.
To her growing frustration, she knew nothing would.
“It’s time for the mortals to learn that there is nothing they can do to stand up against Mourningvale!” King Donal lifted his voice until every syllable rang from the rafters. The electric charge of magic filled the air, and the strength of it brought queasy waves to her overheated stomach.
A cheer lifted from the rest of the crowd, bloodthirsty and eager.
The young son huddled against his father, the chains like an anchor around his neck and his face bleached of all color. A dark stain spread across his breeches—he’d wet himself in terror.
Roran held Aven tightly, locking her in place to force her to watch the spectacle. That was exactly the scene in front of her, the barbarity of it.
“Why does it matter?” Aven hissed to him. “Why would anyone deserve such a harsh punishment for stealing a few scraps of bark?”
He grabbed her around the middle, holding his wrists to create a chain around her when her body refused to still. “I’m sorry.”
“Tell me.”
He only shook his head, and it fueled the fight inside of her. Poured fuel on a spark of flame and turned it into a raging inferno. It didn’t matter that there was no way for her to help. The injustice prevailed with the rest of the fae exuberant. Waiting for blood to spill.