Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
CAIRN
Did you enjoy the show, Moirthalen?
I meant it as mockery. A reminder of what I am, what she helped release by coming here with her bow and her birthday excitement. But now something colder fills my veins.
She saw everything that happened. She has access to my mind.
The bond I forced onto her when I ingested her blood and then mixed mine with hers should only work one way. Should only flow in one direction, my awareness sliding into hers. Yet it carried her straight into my mind.
If she can see through my eyes, she can see where I am. What I’m planning … and what I’ve done.
If she tells anyone—
My jaw locks so hard my teeth ache.
She won’t. She can’t. She has no understanding about blood and magic or what I did. But humans are clever in their stupidity, and someone else might understand. This is a complication I don’t need. If she mentions it to anyone, someone might believe her … use her.
A princess who can spy on the escaped fae. What a weapon that would make.
I file it away under problems I can’t solve tonight, and step outside.
The courtyard is full of my people. I should be celebrating, exultant over the fact they’re free. Instead, I’m cataloging damage.
They’re scattered across the open space.
A male near the well has his hands pressed flat to the rim, his head bowed so low his forehead nearly touches the stone.
A female by the fence keeps reaching out to touch the wood, then pulling back, then reaching again.
She’s caught in a loop she can’t seem to break.
Another is pacing in tight circles, walking the dimensions of the cage that held her for decades.
Seventy-nine of them. It took most of the night.
Therin first, then Vel. Once they were free, we hunted down the other guards and bled them dry to free as many fae as we could before their hearts gave out.
Once enough of our people were on their feet, I left Therin in charge and went to make sure no one woke to raise the alarm.
A whisper of magic kept all the humans asleep in their beds. None of them felt the blade across their throats.
All but two, anyway.
The mage I couldn’t find. His quarters were empty when I got there, his bed still warm, and I cursed myself for not dealing with him first. He would have felt every collar break, and known exactly what it meant. By the time I reached his door, he’d already run.
He’s out there somewhere, carrying news of what happened here. And I’m standing in a courtyard full of fae who can barely remember their own names. I shove the thought of the mage aside. It joins Alleria on the pile of things I can’t fix right now.
Before the Sealing, we were dangerous, terrifying. Now we’re this.
The humans would laugh if they could see us, and take notes on what worked best. The irony would be amusing if it weren’t so fucking tragic.
I scan the courtyard, trying to see past the damage to who they used to be. Some of them might find their way back if we give them time. Others won’t. The emptiness inside them is too far gone to be fixed. Whatever the humans did to them, there’s nothing left to save.
A female sits apart from the others on a patch of open ground. Her face is tilted toward the sky, and tears run down her cheeks in steady silvery tracks.
Serath.
I’d know that profile anywhere, even wasted to bone and sinew. There’s no sign of the bright, fierce joy she always carried. No sound of the melody I heard her humming through the bond yesterday.
She’s just … crying. Silently.
I cross to her and lower myself to the ground beside her, keeping space between us. I don’t know what touch means to her now, but she was beautiful once … and that would have put her in the same row of cages as me.
“Serath.”
She doesn’t look at me.
I want to tell her it’s over. That the cages are empty and the guards are dead, and she’ll never wear iron again.
But Serath’s skill was an affinity for hearing lies, and everything I want to say would ring false to her.
The collars may be off our throats, but that’s not the same as free. We both know it.
So I don’t speak. I just sit with her while the sun breaks over the horizon, and I let the silence be enough.
Serath’s breathing hitches. Her hand moves, inching across the ground toward me. I place mine beside it, close enough that our fingers almost touch, and I wait. I don’t take her hand. I don’t know if she would want that. I know how unexpected touch makes me react.
That’s where Therin finds me.
He comes around the corner, a human sword in his hand and blood coating his arms to the elbow. He takes in the scene—me on the ground, Serath weeping softly beside me—and immediately lowers himself to the dirt on her other side, mirroring my position.
The three of us sit there in silence while the sun climbs higher. Two warriors who remember what she was, and one who’s forgotten everything except how to grieve.
Eventually, Therin shifts. I know that move. It means he needs to talk to me, but he’s giving me the choice of when to do it. I turn my head, and let my fingers brush against Serath’s hand lightly, before rising to my feet.
We move far enough away that our voices won’t reach her, and Therin turns to face me.
“I saw what you did to Cowen.” His mouth curves. “Didn’t know you were such an artist.”
“I had time to practice. In my head, at least.”
“Didn’t we all?” He rolls his shoulders, working out tension, and the action is so familiar, it hurts.
How many times have I watched him do that after a fight?
Shake off the killing, ready for whatever came next.
“The guards are all dead now.” Something dark and satisfied crosses his face. “A few tried to run.”
“And?”
“They didn’t get far.”
I wait. Therin has always liked to savor his reports, and this is his first one in a long time.
“One of them was the bastard who used to spit in our water. Big one with the crooked nose.” His grip shifts on the sword hilt.
“How long did it take him to die?”
“Long enough that he had time to regret every mouthful.”
The rage in my chest purrs at that. “Good.”
All those years in cages, and Therin is still Therin.
He looks at the fae surrounding us, and some of the brightness fades from his expression. “It’s bad, Cairn.”
It’s worse than bad. Centuries of iron, isolation, and abuse … this is what’s left.
“What do we do with them?” The question is quiet, soft, a plea to his commander to have an answer for him.
That’s what I was before the Sealing. And it seems cages don’t change the chain of command. Assuming any of us survive long enough for a chain of command to matter.
I draw in a deep breath. “First we deal with the basics—shelter, food, water. Then we figure out what we have. Who can move, who can hold a weapon if they need to. I will set some wards to turn away anyone who comes close. But that won’t work for long.
The mage escaped, and he won’t stay silent.
” I don’t mention Alleria. That’s something I need to think through first.
“After that?”
“Let’s focus on the immediate for now.”
Vel approaches us before he can respond. A sword rides at her hip, and there’s a familiar look on her face. One that means she’s already working through ideas.
“I’ve checked the food stores,” she says once she’s close.
“There’s a week’s worth, maybe two if we stretch it.
Water isn’t a problem.” She waves a hand toward the well.
“Weapons in the armory. Plenty of iron-tipped bolts. They were well-equipped for hunting us. Everything is organized and labelled. Very professional.” Her lip curls with the disdain she reserves for the profoundly stupid.
“Now we’re equipped for hunting them,” Therin murmurs.
“Eventually.” She surveys the courtyard, taking in the broken and the lost. “We need to know how many can be useful.”
“Useful?” Therin frowns. “That’s a cold way to put it, Vel.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “Do you have a warmer one that will get us through the next week?”
“No. I’m just noting it.”
I look between them. Some things don’t change, no matter the circumstances.
Vel and Therin have been circling each other since before the Sealing.
They don’t dislike each other, but they’re not really friends either.
They’re bound together by loyalty to me, and absolutely nothing else.
I used to find it entertaining. Today, it’s just exhausting.
“I’ll assess them,” I cut in before they can really get started on a fight.
They’re bad enough when they’re together all the time, I can only imagine what three centuries of not clashing could become.
“Therin, finish sweeping the buildings. Make sure we didn’t miss anyone.
Vel, keep cataloging supplies. I want to know exactly what we have to work with. ”
Vel turns to me. “You’re going to assess all of them yourself?”
“They need to see me.”
“They need to see someone. It doesn’t have to be you specifically.”
“Yes, it does.”
For a moment, she looks like she might argue. Vel always looks like she might argue, it’s her natural state. Then the corner of her mouth twitches in something that might, on anyone else, pass for approval.
“There he is.” She turns back toward the lodge. “I was wondering if the cages managed to break you.”
“Not yet.”
“Good. It would be a shame to survive all this time just to discover you’d gone soft.” She pivots on her heel and walks toward the grain store.
Therin watches her go, then laughs softly. “She hasn’t changed one bit.”
“Neither have you.”
“Was that a compliment, Cairn? Maybe you have gone soft.”
“Take it however you want. Get moving before I decide you’ve gone soft. I want to know if there are any humans still breathing on this property.”
“And if there are?”
“Make sure they stop.”
He grins, all teeth and promise, and heads toward the outbuildings. I move across the courtyard toward the male I’d seen earlier, standing near the well. He looks up as I approach.