Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Aurelia
Someone knocked. I didn’t answer, though my body tensed, waiting to see if they’d let themselves in.
A moment later, I listened to a few muted clinks, and then it went quiet again.
Even then, I stayed where I was, curled on the soft bed with the blanket twisted in my fists, counting breaths and the beats of my anger until both blurred into one.
Hours drifted like a lazy current. Some part of me felt the urgency of figuring out my next move, of pushing past my hurt and shock that Amanti was alive—and had kept secrets yet again. But it wasn’t just Amanti’s presence or lies I struggled to process.
It was all of it.
Callan’s betrayal. The way he’d used his compulsion on me all this time. Duron’s attempt to trap me so he could drain my magic. Just like he’d been doing to his own people all this time. Sonoma’s death. The fact that my father was a king of Hel.
Rydian.
Somehow, his betrayal made everything worse. And now, lying in this bed alone only made me think of another bed. One we’d shared. A single, reckless night where I’d forgotten how many secrets were between us. How many reasons I had not to trust the male, who, in the end, I bared myself to anyway.
I couldn’t stay in this room forever. But in order to keep moving, I needed a plan.
And settling on one that wouldn’t get me killed was proving difficult.
Instead, I nursed my hurt and my outrage for as long as this room’s amenities would allow.
Eventually, my stomach betrayed me with a low, traitorous growl.
Hauling myself out of bed, I rifled through the pack of clothes someone had left and found a pair of pants and a loose-fitting tunic to wear before stuffing my feet into my boots. By the time I was dressed, I was light-headed, and my stomach was knotting from hunger.
When I cracked the door at last, the corridor was empty.
A tray of food waited on the floor: a heel of bread, a wedge of hard cheese, thin-sliced salted meat, a little dish of something pickled and bright. The tea in the lidded mug was lukewarm and mint-bitter. I sat down right in the center of the open doorway and pulled the whole tray into my lap.
The food steadied the worst of my trembling hands. The fog at the edges of my sight thinned. But the quietness of the house offered no clues about my captors. Or, as Amanti put it, her friends.
When I finished, I wiped my fingers on my pants, gathered what remained of my pride, and stepped out to face whatever waited.
The main room was empty. Not even the guard was around. I briefly considered making a run for the front door. But in the hearth, a fire crackled with enough fresh logs that I knew I wasn’t truly alone.
Instead, I decided to study the space until I had my bearings.
I wandered slowly, taking in the trinkets that sat on shelves.
The weaponry on the walls, some of which I recognized from history lessons about the Great War, some of which were completely foreign to me.
The placards mounted beside them offered information in a language I couldn’t decipher.
The bookshelves were the same way. Leather-bound texts in languages I’d never learned. The common tongue was shared by every kingdom in Menryth, so I’d never needed anything else. Whoever this collection belonged to had a different opinion. Or an obscure hobby.
Some small noise made me look up.
I found Amanti watching me from the other side of the space. Her expression was wary but patient.
She was giving me time, I realized. Ironically, it was the one thing I knew we didn’t have much of.
Not after what I’d done to Duron. Or whatever the Midnight Court had planned for me.
I still wasn’t willing to take Amanti’s word for it that this court wasn’t a threat.
I’d done that with Callan, and look where it’d gotten me.
“We should talk,” I said at last.
“All right.”
Her arm was still in a sling, her ruined wings tucked at her back. Every time the mantle of her dark hair shifted, I saw the ragged edges again, and worry scraped my ribs raw.
I paced in front of the fire, thoughts racing through all the things that needed to be said between us.
“You’re going to wear a trench in this floor,” she said at last.
“Good.” I kept pacing. “Maybe that damned guard will break his ankle in it, and I can see myself out.”
“It’ll take a lot more than a rut in the floor to stop Thorne,” she said mildly.
“Exactly what will it take?” I tossed out, only half-joking.
“That’s a good question,” she mused. “For starters, you’d have to get past three Midnight fae, all elite warriors with gifts from the gods.”
“Wonderful,” I muttered. “So, it was a communal kidnapping.”
A low voice drifted from the doorway. “We prefer rescue.”
I whirled. The guard from earlier leaned a shoulder against the frame, a hulking silhouette with a neatly kept beard and eyes the color of slate before rain.
A section of hair had grown longer than the rest and hung in three small braids at his shoulder.
He’d swapped the cloak for a dark wool shirt, sleeves rolled to forearms corded with quiet strength.
I had the distinct impression that the sword at his hip wasn’t a threat so much as an extension of his body.
“One of my rescuers, I presume,” I said, the word laced with sarcasm.
He offered a mock-bow. “Thorne Varros, at your service, Your Highness.”
“Where are my swords?” I demanded.
“They were removed for your safety. And ours. Though apparently the blades weren’t the primary threat.” His gaze flicked to my hands as if he’d seen the embers spark from my skin earlier. “At any rate, you’ll get them back when you’re recovered.”
“Recovered?”
“The drugs we gave you,” he said and had the decency to look slightly embarrassed by it, “are pretty strong. They’ll take another day or so to fully leave your system. Until then, you’ll be a bit off balance.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m not off balance.”
“Of course not,” he said gravely.
I frowned, remembering how the food had helped steady me, how it took the edge off my shakiness and blurred vision. Maybe it had been more than just hunger.
Before I could ask what, exactly, they’d given me, another figure appeared behind Thorne. Another male, older, broader in the shoulders, quieter in presence, though no less imposing. And familiar. Recognition hit me like a punch in the gut.
“Daegel,” he said as if to remind me.
As if I’d forgotten.
“I know who you are.” The words came out thin as a blade. “Rydian’s third.”
Something like warmth moved through his eyes—friendliness, unguarded and infuriating, considering he was one of my captors.
“You remember.”
The way he said it, like it was a compliment I’d given him, only sent irritation rushing through me. “I don’t think I’ll forget you. Not since you helped kidnap me.”
“Rescue,” he corrected.
Thorne gave me a look as if to say, “See?”
A third figure pushed past them both—female fae, brown skin, dark braids coiled at the nape of her neck. A scar nicked one eyebrow; another bisected her lower lip and tugged one corner downward in a perpetual frown.
“This is her?” she asked the others.
Her gaze landed on Amanti behind me, who must have offered silent confirmation. The female fae frowned at me.
“I’m Keres,” she said, breezing past without waiting for my response.
She carried a wooden tray with a steaming bowl and a mug that smelled like crushed mint and bitters. She set them on the low table near the sofa and glanced at Amanti in a way that was not deference so much as fondness curbed by discipline.
“Eat. You’ll stop shaking.”
“I’m not—” I began.
Keres cocked her head. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
I watched in mild shock as the Aine warrior lowered herself to the chair and took the mug Keres handed her.
“Thank you,” she told Keres.
Keres nodded once and moved to the hearth, where she checked the clean bandages drying on a rack set near the heat of the flames. Her back was turned to me, which made her either formidable or na?ve.
Weighing my chances for escape, I stole glances at the others.
Thorne remained in the doorway, watchful.
Daegel took three steps into the room and stood with the patience of an old tree, not to mention the solidarity of one.
Whatever this was—rescue, kidnapping—they weren’t letting their guard down.
“How long have I been here?” I asked no one in particular.
“Two days,” Amanti said. “Nearly three.”
“Two days?” I blinked. “And the journey here took…”
“Another three days before it,” Daegel said.
Keres hissed at him for it.
“I’ve been drugged for five days,” I said, wondering what I’d missed. What state the realm was in now. With Duron gone, with Callan likely now king… and with so many witnesses to my furyfire that night. A power imbued by Hel itself.
Would the realm have guessed me a demon’s daughter by now? Would they turn on me for it?
“They had no choice.” Amanti’s eyes softened with that damnable patience. “Heliconia’s scouts have doubled. We couldn’t risk you slowing them down in any way.”
“Ah. Well, I wouldn’t want to burden you with my slowness while you were busy kidnapping me to another kingdom.” I glared at each of them one by one. Daegel and Thorne looked slightly sorry, but Keres didn’t even blink.
“Where are we?” I asked into the tense silence.
Keres said nothing. At least she didn’t hiss. Apparently, that was all the permission Daegel needed.
“At the edge of the Trolech Forest,” he said. “Just south of the city.”
The city. Did he mean Ravenna? The capital city of the Midnight Court?
“And this is your house?” I asked him.
He looked to Keres, who answered for him.
“This is Frithhold, an outpost dedicated to the court’s protection. Thorne and I live here now, but it belongs to us all,” she said.
All? As in, the three of them? Or were there more?
I looked at Daegel. “You’re midnight fae.”
He nodded slowly. “I am.”