Chapter 2 #6
I can’t believe she’s Kismet. Why have I not felt Fate’s penance upon me? I’ve hurt her before, I know I have. I need to consult my books once we get to the Light. There must be something about the Fate Touched in one of the older tomes. I need to know more.
Even more uneasy about it, her, and my actions, I resolve to remove the conjures as soon as I have the strength. I move to stare at the Ring rising dramatically before us, willing it to open so we can get far from this place to the relative safety and anonymity of the White City.
It’s Bryn who knows it’s coming first. She looks toward it and tenses. I have barely enough time to blink before the roar sounds and the ground shakes a little.
How did she know, I wonder as I make sure we’re far enough away so that we aren’t pushed back like we were earlier. Does she remember that Breach travel made her sick before or is she somehow attuned to it on a deeper level because of what she is?
I take her hand and stride toward the open portal, glancing back only once to ensure we aren’t being followed. I don’t know how long it’ll take Warrior to wake and I don’t want that animal coming through with us.
He’s more dangerous than I ever imagined when we were pretending to be part of Bere’s group of flesh traders and, at least at the moment, he could easily beat me in a fight and take Bryn. He clearly knew what she was before we came here. He had plans for her.
How is he different from you, then?
I ignore the thought and focus on the Breach, tightening my hold on Bryn so that we aren’t separated in the void.
As we step through, I’m equal parts relieved that we’re escaping and anxious about the journey to Merediea. Though it should be quick, traveling the Breach isn’t something I particularly enjoy.
But only a moment or so later, we step out into the White City of Merediea. As usual, the sun shines off the tall pale towers. The air is pleasantly warm, and there’s a buzz of the nearby market on the breeze.
I want to stop, take a breath, have a moment of realization that we’re so much safer than we were only moments ago, but, instead, pulling Bryn along with me, I stagger from the circle of stones that mark the unsafe zone.
I keep us from being seen, taking us off the main road where the market has drawn too many of the city’s inhabitants to get through the crowds without bumping into anyone.
It’s loud and busy, traders shouting about their wares and haggling in low voices. Groups of pixie females chatter and laugh as they look through ribbons and swathes of cloth. Guards patrol in intervals for lawbreakers.
I take us slowly down a parallel road, away from prying eyes just in time for my conjure to fade.
I try to work another, but I can’t use my magick at all.
I’m depleted and dead on my feet. We can be seen now, so I don’t look at Bryn once, letting her trail after me as I play the master though the thought of it makes me sick.
Instead, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other along the cobblestone streets down the hill toward the river and then through the maze-like alleyways to the undercity where our passing will barely be noticed let alone remarked upon.
We get to a set of wooden stairs that go up to a nondescript matching door and I hope that the conjures I put on the place when I left to ensure no one bothered it have held.
I go up slowly, whatever strength I had left quickly waning. I feel weak, and, halfway up, I wonder if I’ll make it to the top.
But Bryn surprises me. She puts my arm around her shoulders in a sure grip at odds with how frail she looks from her mistreatment in the pits, and helps to pull me up.
We finally get to the small square platform, both breathing hard. She reaches for the door handle, but I stop her.
‘Let me…’ I begin, my words tapering off because it’s taking too much of me to even speak.
I somehow have just enough in me to release the conjure and open the door.
Inside, I glance around just to make sure it’s truly safe before I stagger forward and fall face-first onto the bed.
Jak
‘We need to go back to Merediea. We need to find her!’
I pace the cottage floor for the thousandth time. I haven’t stopped since we remembered what Locke did to us.
‘I know,’ Morgan says, sounding so calm that I want to hit him.
‘Fuck!’ I snarl, grabbing up one of the plates and flinging it into the wall.
It shatters. I don’t feel better. I pick up another one.
‘Jak!’
‘What?’
He puts his hands up in placation. ‘We will go and we will find her, but we can’t if you get us thrown in the cells!’
I put my head in my hands, knowing he’s right. Gods, I’ve never been so angry, never felt so betrayed, not even when Varrik, a fae I considered my father, was shown to be a lying villain who’d manipulated so many of us into loving him for years.
But Morgan is right. I give a small nod.
‘I just… It’s been weeks, Morgan,’ I whisper. ‘She was meant for the pits.’
My stomach lurches as I can’t help but imagine the horrors she’s seen, had visited upon her.
‘I know,’ he says again.
I give voice to my fears. ‘Could she even still be alive?’
‘She’s strong,’ he says, perhaps more for his own comfort than mine. ‘She was well fed and has an iron will. If anyone could survive, it would be Bryn.’
‘And what of the torments they’ll have subjected her to? What if her mind is…’
I think about some of the humans we’ve brought back, the ones who only mutter to themselves in corners, fearful of everything. The ones who drink poison, or throw themselves down the falls by the river to end their lives as though their suffering will never be over despite being ‘saved’.
What if she cannot escape the dark memories of the past? What if she looks upon us and only sees masters where once she saw friends…more than friends?
‘It won’t be,’ he says harshly, the fear in his eyes giving him away. ‘And when we find her, we’ll protect her. We’ll help her and we’ll heal her. Body. Mind. Spirit. Whatever she needs to be whole again. It’s the least we can offer her after…everything.’
‘How will we get there?’ I ask in a low voice, even though I know that there’s no one here but us. ‘We already returned the amulets they gave us to get back from Merediea if we needed them, and neither the fae nor Halsford Council will agree to let us go back, not without hours of deliberation.’
He snorts. ‘You mean days. Besides, neither are meant to convene properly for at least another week and they’ll never call an emergency meeting for one Dark Realmer.’
I nod. ‘Even if we did get Dane to call them together to talk it through, and they came to a decision, it wouldn’t go our way. Calder is ruled by the Underhill’s fears, and Tavish is ruled by him. They think Dark Realmers too far gone. Not Light Realm enough to be saved.’
‘So did we a few weeks ago,’ Morgan says, full of self-loathing.