35. Ezryn #2
It’s as busy a camp as I’ve ever seen; I’d thought they’d unleashed their entire army on us at Voidseal.
Where were all these soldiers stationed?
Tall tents crafted of heavy canvas line the cavern, interspersed with cooking canopies filled with pots bubbling with stew and armories lined with spears, bows and arrows, and all manner of handheld weapons.
Yes, they’re preparing for war, but there’s life being lived here. A group of women are gathered around a crystal hearth, singing in an unfamiliar language. Away from the tents, two men toss a leather ball back and forth, heckling each other. There are no children, I notice.
The Eldraíth Ruvénir. That’s what Faustrius called his people. The Chosen Fallen. The fae who followed Sira down from the Above to the surface. She had taken their faeness and turned it rotten, as she does with all creations. And now they are alone in the world.
My son. That’s what he called Kairyn after Sira turned my brother into one of them. How lonely, to be the last of your kind. How beautiful a chance at a legacy must seem.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dayton’s stationed himself at an armory, blending in by busying himself with a rope.
George is at a cook tent and somehow got himself on stirring duty.
Stars know where the Autumn brothers have scurried off to, but I can only hope Farron keeps his curiosity in check. We can’t make ourselves conspicuous.
Which means I better find myself something to do, because standing like an idiot in the middle of the causeway is sure to bring about questions.
Ahead, I see an area populated by several firepits.
Though, I suppose that’s not really the right word.
There’s no smoke, no flame, only a soft glow from the heated crystals within.
Cryptgarden uses gems for much of their architecture, but these are different than I’ve ever seen before.
They must be some underfae discovery. In fact, when I look around the camp I spot more of the crystals: glowing in the place of torches, heating metal for smithing, and even powering a rope pulley system that moves supplies from one side of the camp to the other. Light. Heat. Energy.
My mind begins to whirr with the possibilities, and as much as I’d like to snag one to examine later, I have to keep focused on the mission.
Most of the crystal basins are surrounded by fae, but there’s an unoccupied one. It’s close to a pair of underfae sitting around another pit but—
I know them. How could I forget the man who arranged for Sira to turn my brother into a monster?
Faustrius appears like any other soldier, huddled toward the crystals’ warmth. His red eyes are grim, the rough scratch of an untended beard across his jaw. His skin is blue-gray, the color of slate, and his large antlers are adorned with strips of colored fabric.
Beside him sits Aquila, the priestess who nearly killed Dayton. She’s got her head tilted up, staring at the cavernous ceiling with a faraway look. One side of her face is still red and sagging with ruined flesh from when Farron burned her at the volcano. A few stray hairs poke out from her skull.
Quickly, I descend to the empty crystal pit, pretending to warm my hands with the radiant heat, but my concentration remains focused behind me.
“Enough, Faust! I can’t listen to this anymore,” Aquila quietly snarls. “It’s beyond me why you even care. He’s not one of us.”
“Does it matter?” Faustrius says lowly.
“Of course it matters. Did his kin treat us with fairness? With mercy? No. We were frozen and left for dead. The High Prince of Winter can rot in that cage.”
I blow on my hands and work to steady my breathing.
“No creature deserves to be kept in such conditions, even an enemy,” Faustrius says.
Aquila lets out an exhausted sigh. “It’s not a prison!”
“The menagerie is worse,” Faustrius breathes. “What you cannot control, you cage. Is that not her way?”
“She wouldn’t like you talking that way,” Aquila responds in a singsong voice.
Silence echoes between them. Up close, I can hear the faint hum of the crystals. My own breathing sounds like a roar in comparison.
Finally, Faustrius murmurs so low, I barely make out the words: “It’s concerning, Aquila.”
“The rose?”
“The rose.”
“She plans to use it,” Aquila whispers. “Change all those gobbos’ minds to jelly. They don’t know it yet.” She pauses. “You don’t think she’d…”
“No,” Faustrius says quickly. “She’ll never turn it on us. She promised me.”
“But still. All those poor gobbos.” Aquila lets out a sigh. “War is war, Fausty. We’re all players. And one day, when this is all over, we’ll see it again.”
“See what?”
I turn my head so I can catch sight of them out of my peripheral. Aquila leans over to Faustrius and grabs his arm, pointing up to the sky. “Whatever’s up there. It’s got to be beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Of course it is. You know it is, Quill. One day, we’ll walk among the clouds once more and earn back the right to fly among the stars.”
“The stars?” Aquila asks. “Oh, those sound wonderful.”
Faustrius gives a strange laugh, then knocks her on the unburnt part of her head. “You should sleep.”
Aquila stands and stretches. “I must respond to her summons. She wants to know when we’re moving the army to Cryptgarden.”
Faustrius rises as well. “Put her off. It’s bad enough you and I have to spend so much time there.”
“She’s going to be ma-aad,” Aquila sings and prances off toward one of the southerly tunnels.
Faustrius walks past me, and I duck my head, busying myself with rubbing my hands above the crystals. The heat licks at my skin, but I don’t pull away.
Keldarion is being kept in Cryptgarden’s menagerie. That’s all we need to know. Because wherever Kel is, Caspian won’t be far. And wherever Caspian is, our Rose will be too.
And wherever our Rose is, trouble is sure to follow.