Chapter 56
Huntyr
I’d allowed myself to get too distracted.
It was a mistake I had never made before, and I would never make again.
It had been such a beautiful picture, so clear I could see it as if it had been painted right before my eyes.
Tyla was healthy and happy. I had finally started to accept that the Fae weren’t evil, that there wasn’t anything wrong with the magic in my blood.
I sat at that dinner table surrounded by all of them and considered myself among friends.
Worst of all, I’d let myself be too consumed by him, by his body and his words. By the way he seemed to be the only person in my life that actually made me feel… safe.
That might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.
I’d let myself feel safe with him.
I had been wrong to allow that.
I wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten the truth of who the other was, though.
Derian, too, had gotten swept up in the fantasy of it all. He had grown too accustomed to seeing me relaxed and happy. He’d gotten comfortable comforting me. He’d come to view me as nothing more than a woman who was simply coming to terms with her new reality.
He had forgotten about the monster that lives under my skin, the darkness that hardens my soul.
And he is out of his mind if he thinks he can keep me locked up here.
The guard closes the bedroom door behind me as soon as I step over the threshold, but I linger there in the entry, listening to the scuff of the floorboards shifting under his weight in the moments that follow.
Two steps.
Just enough for him to turn and stand guard.
I snarl in the silence to myself.
That Fae bastard really does intend to keep me locked away in this room until he decides how to handle my sister.
“The prince only wishes to keep you safe. You’re not thinking clearly.” Kaia’s voice is soft in my mind.
Coddling.
“You’re bonded with me. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am sworn to lay down my life for yours. I will not, however, throw my life away because you insist on being reckless.”
Anger boils through me, lighting my very core on such fire that my fingertips explode in light again. Sparks fly out of them, crashing around the room. Glass shatters as crystal decanters and goblets crash to the ground.
“Are you alright?” Kaia demands, sensing my sudden rush of anxiety.
A dumb question. I ignore it.
If she doesn’t intend to help me, then I have as much use for her as I do for Derian right now.
I don’t need either of them.
“Huntyr!”
Moving to the desk, I rip out the top drawer on the left.
Ironically, he’d been the one to tell me about the weapons stashed away in here.
His mistake. He should have known better than to trust an assassin with the knowledge of where his blades were.
I’d already stashed plenty on my person before he’d barged into the war room with the others, but I am taking these, too.
They’re finely made. A bead of scarlet wells on the top of my finger when I tap against the tip of the blade.
Good. Recently sharpened. The hilt is wrapped in warm leather, small enough to be uncomfortable for a male hand.
Slowly, I look over the handle, pausing to glance at the inscription carved into it.
Thalas Vel’en
Old Fae language. Its meaning escapes me, but I absently wonder if it’s a name. I’ve never been sentimental enough to name the daggers I kept in my personal collection back in Velia, but I suppose it doesn’t entirely surprise me that Derian is.
“You cannot just ignore me.”
Kaia’s voice snaps me back to focus, and I don’t bother responding to her as I strap the additional weapons onto my body.
“You are better than this. I chose you because you are better than this. You are acting like nothing more than a reckless child."
No, I’m not. I’m acting like a big sister.
This is who I’ve always been.
And I’ll go down swinging if I must, but I’m saving my sister.
My weapons are hidden under the dark cloak I’ve belted across my waist, and I pull the hood up to hang low over my face before moving to the glass doors that lead to the small balcony.
Outside, there’s not a shred of light to be found other than that which emanates from the few torches and fires at the guard towers.
Derian might have instructed them to stop me, but ultimately their attention will be turned towards the Wastelands, towards Tyla.
None will be expecting anything odd to be happening on the prince’s own terrace.
For someone who claims to know me so well, he’s severely underestimated me.
He thinks a single guard posted outside the door can stop me, as if I couldn’t just render him unconscious.
Easy as that would be though, there’s no way to know if someone else might stumble into the hallway and see the scuffle. No way to ensure that I could sneak out without being caught. No, I need to be entirely unseen if I have any hope of breaking out of this fortress.
Which leaves option number two.
The stone of the fortress walls is old and weathered, covered in cracks and ledges that will serve as perfect handholds. Tentatively, I test two of the divots in the stone, sliding my fingers against them until I find a grip strong enough to hoist myself up and begin the climb.
I grasp onto my next purchase, and the stone crumbles under my grasp.
I bite down on my lower lip to stop my hiss as the flesh on my palm tears, leaving hot, scarlet blood against the grey stone.
My boots scratch for purchase on the uneven mortar as I struggle to regain my grasp, but I eventually find the right cracks.
The small indentations that are just enough to balance on as I lift one hand above the other.
One more slip could leave me with a broken leg, or worse. So, I won’t slip.
The ground gets more and more distant as I go, the height only a secondary thought that long lost its holdover me.
Kristona had made sure of that.
“I won’t wear a harness?”
He grins down at me, the expression answer enough. “If you mess up a mission and find yourself on the wrong end of a chase, do you think your attackers will wait for you to put on a harness?”
I look between him and the wall next to us again before shrugging. “I suppose I just won’t mess up in the first place.”
Kristona laughs and gives me a gentle shove towards the wall. “Ever the arrogant one, aren’t you? Climb. No harness. No fear.”
But there was fear then. A great deal of it.
I fell dozens of times before I stopped fearing the pain of it.
I feel fearless now.
The rooftop isn’t far. I fold my hand into an arrow slit in the wall and give one final push, swinging my body over the edge of the battlement. I land hard on the stone walkway, dirt and blood covering my bare hands.
I don’t even feel the sting of it. There’s no time to worry about it, anyway.
Without hesitation, I run down the parapet, keeping my posture hunched and my steps light. If my spatial awareness is correct, which it always is, I’m likely above the hallway leading to Derian's room, which means following this will take me parallel to the courtyard and above the war room.
Right over their heads.
They’re none the wiser.
There’s a break in the wall—a five-foot drop to the lower parapet—and I don’t slow my speed. I leap, landing in an effortlessly controlled crouch. Pain shoots up my knees, but I surge back to my feet, following the line of the turret that will lead to the very edge of the fortress.
I’ll have to drop down. If my calculations are correct, I’ll land before the two guards posted at this position. Silently, I move forward and glance over the edge of the fortress top to watch their shadows move. They’re pacing slightly. One chuckles.
They’re distracted.
I give myself thirty seconds and back away from the edge.
The fall looms ahead of me, only darkness visible past the stone walls, and I know that there’s only a jagged hill slope below. No rope. No stairs.
Twenty seconds.
“This is going to hurt,” I grumble to myself before pushing off the balls of my feet.
Fifteen seconds.
I jump.
Wind flies around me, pushing back the hood of my cloak, and I twist my body, landing into a roll on the ground.
My shoulder takes the brunt of the impact and screams in protest, but I have only a moment to be grateful it’s still in its socket before I’m pushing aside the folds of my cloak to grasp the daggers on my waist.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize the two guards that I stand to face. They struggle to recognize me, though. Their brows raise. Their jaws drop.
“Lachlan?” one asks with a surprised chuckle.
Ten seconds.
I lunge, slamming the pommel of my blade against his head before they register my intentions.
His partner stumbles back before realizing my intentions and raising his sword against me.
I duck under its swinging weight and jam my fist into his gut, spinning behind him as he doubles over and cracking the hilt of my dagger against his temple.
Numbly, I stare down at their fallen, unconscious bodies.
“This really was too easy,” I muse as I move to untie the horse strapped to a nearby fence post. Really, I’m almost offended that Derian didn’t even try to challenge me.
As I kick the horse into a gallop towards the Wastelands, I don’t bother looking back.
I don’t bother questioning whether he’s right about my acting too rashly.
All those nights ago, he said it all served a purpose. This was why it had all happened. All of this—my training with Kristona, the Conclave, finding out I was Fae—prepared me for this moment.
I gave up my innocence, pieces of my soul, for this. I had to become the Huntress. For her.
For Tyla.
I came to the Fae kingdom to save her. My sister.
And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.