Chapter 19
Noctharis was a run-down sprawl, the city a tangle of narrow streets and leaning stone buildings that looked as though they’d once known better days.
The traces of what it had once been were scattered everywhere I looked—ornate arched doorways, facades that still hinted at old wealth, ornate metalwork gone green with age.
It had been a place of importance once, a city that had mattered, perhaps even grander than Solmire in its prime.
But now the decay was everywhere, in the crumbling stone and the people alike—rough-hewn, shabby, and worn thin.
I wondered if these Fae, with their impossibly long lifespans, had lived here when it had been great, and had watched its slow decline.
I wondered where the joy had gone after they’d been freed from the monster who’d nearly conquered Elantis—whether it had simply faded with time, or if the state of the city was a quiet punishment for the fact that Rìan had once made his seat of power here.
Had Elantis turned its back on this place because of it?
Allowed it to wither, year by year, until this was all that remained?
Or was it Levinica? Had the gradual unraveling of her mind seeped into the bones of the city she ruled?
There was destitution here. A heaviness that hung in the air. The people carried it in the deep lines carved into their faces.
I walked and walked, not daring to speak to anyone or even meet their gaze. No one approached me, though one woman barked at me to move as she shoved a cart of thin, salted fish over the worn cobblestones, her voice as rough as the street beneath her wheels.
No one spoke of Rìan.
No one said his name. There were no whispers, no furtive glances. The Fae of Noctharis carried on as though nothing had changed, as though his return meant nothing at all.
The air was biting without the sun. I wondered if it was ever truly warm here, as it had been in Solmire.
Still, it felt clean, bracing. I drew it into my lungs, and it steadied me somewhat, clearing the worst of the wine from my head and quieting the tremor in my hands—though it did nothing to lift the weight pressing down on my shoulders.
Old docks stretched into the harbor, their wood silvered with age. Ropes creaked softly as fishing boats rocked against their moorings, their hulls patched and worn, nets piled high across their decks, ready for the morning's catch.
If there was a way out, it would be on one of those boats.
I studied them, wondering whether I could slip aboard unseen, hide well enough to make the crossing without discovery.
I had no coin to offer, no leverage to bargain with.
Only the hope that I might go unnoticed.
Could fishing boats even make the journey to the mainland?
I knew nothing of boats. Even less of the sea.
The night shifted beyond the harbor, gray clouds thickening in the distance. What had first seemed like haze began creeping inland, fog rolling low over the water before curling along the docks and slipping into the streets.
I shivered as the air turned colder, the last of the sunlight gone now, and cursed myself for not having a cloak.
I turned from the water’s edge, my gaze lifting to the castle perched along the low cliffs at the edge of the bay.
No one had come to find me. No one had bothered to drag me back to my room.
They weren’t worried about me escaping—not on an island where there was nowhere to escape to. And with the bargain hanging over my head and Aedric's life in the balance, I was hardly a concern to the Dark Prince.
I wasn’t even useful to him.
The control I had over my magic was laughable. I didn’t know how to wield a knife. Couldn’t read. I’d been good with a bow, but even then my father rarely let me do any killing. He’d been the blade. All I’d ever been good for was telling him whose head to take.
I’d survived in the human realm. Always found a way through. But had that been skill? Or had it just been instinct—the kind that came when there was nowhere left to go?
I’d certainly thought myself clever when I’d gathered the iron ash. When I’d poisoned Veylan and slipped free. When I’d tricked the Moiraithe. But maybe I’d never been anything more than that—just a trapped rat, gnawing at whatever it could until it broke free.
It was the sound that finally drew my attention: a lively tune carrying from somewhere nearby. I followed it along the edge of the docks until I reached a low building near the shoreline, its frame slightly crooked, its sign worn to nothing. Not that I could’ve read it if I tried.
Light brightened the windows, warm and inviting in a way the streets hadn’t been. I hesitated only a moment before pushing the door open and stepping inside.
Raucous laughter greeted me, along with the stench of sour ale. A fiddler sat in a corner, drawing his bow hard across the strings while a group of bawdy males sang along, their voices loud and off-key, tankards sloshing as they swayed in time with the music.
I supposed even in the saddest places, music still found a way to bring people back to life.
I wove my way through the crowd, the floor sticky beneath my feet, and paused just long enough to take it in—the low beams hazed with smoke, the narrow tables crowded with drinkers, the fire burning steadily in the hearth.
Only a handful of seats remained, scattered along the walls, and I slipped into one before anyone else could claim it.
The fiddler drew my attention, his shoulder-length blond hair shifting with each movement, his eyes closed, his bow sawing over the strings with impressive speed.
Sweat gathered along his brow, but there was something in the frantic pace of the tune that set my nerves on edge, that wound tighter instead of easing the tension already sitting in my chest.
A Fae woman with a weathered face dropped a tankard of ale in front of me, the tin hitting the table with a dull thud. I offered her a small smile in thanks, but she didn’t return it.
“Food?” she barked over the music.
I shook my head, but she was already gone before I finished, pushing through the crowd toward another table.
I lifted it toward my lips—only to stop as the scent reached me. I held it there for a moment, the pull of it immediate and strong enough to make my grip tighten. I could already imagine it, the way it would take the edge off, the way everything would soften again, blur, quiet.
My hand trembled.
Slowly, I lowered the tankard back to the table.
I didn’t let go right away. I sat there with my fingers still wrapped around the handle, staring into the thin, amber liquid as the music rose and twisted through the room, louder now, faster, pressing against my skull in a way that made it hard to think past it.
I wanted it. I needed it.
Rìan’s voice echoed in my mind, thick with distaste and repulsion.
Drunk.
The word lodged in my mind, drowning out everything else.
When had that happened? When had I become this way?
Solmire, maybe. The fire, the chaos, the death. The strident note the fiddle struck sounded like a woman screaming, and my throat thickened around the memory.
And after Solmire… Aedric.
Oh, Aedric.
That memory came hard, too. Solmire had broken us both, and whatever had been left of us had split cleanly apart. The imprint of his hand on my skin…
And Calantha, that terrible sight, the blinding pain of torture—
My palms began to sweat. The pieces started to come together, slowly at first, then all at once. I didn’t want to feel any of it. The grief. The guilt. The pain.
The betrayal.
I nearly lifted it again, tempted by the pull of it, to the promise of a quieter mind. But something in me recoiled—not just at the thought, but at the need, at the part of me that wanted it so badly.
I stared at the drink a moment longer, my stomach knotting as I looked at myself—truly looked, in a way I’d avoided until now—and didn’t like what I saw.
I pushed the ale away and stood, the urge to reach back for it still there, still insistent. I forced it down and turned toward the door, shoving through the crush of bodies.
I could handle this. I’d handled so much worse. My own demons, at least, I could control.
I was nearly at the door when a clammy hand closed around my wrist, yanking me backward before I could react.
The room lurched, voices and movement blurring together as I lost my footing—someone laughing too loudly to my left, the cloaked male seated near the door, the flash of the fiddler’s bow—and then I was pulled down hard onto someone’s lap.
An arm wrapped around my waist, hauling me close as another hand slid over my thigh, squeezing. His hot breath hit my cheek, thick with drink.
“Well now,” he muttered, slurring. “Look what just fell into my lap.” His friends chuckled around him.
Revulsion surged through me as his mouth pressed wetly against my neck, his hot, reeking breath brushing my ear as he murmured, “Stay, and I’ll make that soft, tight human cunt of yours sing.”
The pressure in my chest broke. Rage flooded through me, blinding in its force, and I shoved hard against him, wrenching from his grip as I stumbled back to my feet. “Pig.”
His face mottled, his thick lips twisting as laughter broke out around him.
I turned away without another word, pushing through the crowd, desperate for air, space, silence. I needed to get back to the castle, back to my room and into bed before that craving took hold of me again.
The door swung open under my hand, and the cold hit me all at once.
The air sliced hard enough to make me suck in a breath. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold in what little warmth I had left.