24. The Splinter
24
THE SPLINTER
T heir tickets to Avren were already purchased by the time everyone sat down to breakfast in the green-tier quarter of Ailinne. The restaurant where they ate overlooked one of the many natural spring falls that fed into Ailinne’s sacred pools, where high fey drank from cupped hands and stole bottles of the cloudy water to take with them. Saffron wondered how many of the visiting fey actually had been cured of their ashen states after soaking in the pools—but the persistently solemn atmosphere even there in the restaurant implied none had found the divine healing they’d been looking for. He actively avoided the thought of how different everyone would have acted that morning, had Ryder opened and closed the veil again the night prior.
The train they would take back to Avren was a one-way, nonstop route, highly expensive and seats sold out to the point they would have to send their horses on a secondary train later that afternoon. Nearly three days on board, all the way back to Avren, no stopping for any reason. Saffron bristled at the thought.
He endlessly reprised his argument with Cylvan the night before, then his conflict with Ryder, as everyone else enjoyed their meal as if nothing had happened. Apart from him, only Cylvan on the other side of the table didn’t speak much. Saffron felt the constant prickle of amethyst eyes regarding him as he just looked down at his food. Petting Copper’s still-fox-shaped nose where it perched on the bench next to him under the table. Thoughts turning, over and over, churning and curdling until his ears rang.
The heavy pit in his stomach told him being useless in Avren was worse than being swallowed by the veil. Cylvan could curse him all he liked—but forcing Saffron back to Avren to sit and wait for news was practically a death sentence for his sanity. Even if he couldn’t catch Ryder, he could still be useful. He could still have a purpose.
Teeth nipped at his fingers, and Saffron jumped. He scowled down at the golden eyes looking back up at him, bopping Copper on the head and wondering for the hundredth time if he was being stubborn and purposefully remaining that way. But all their attempts to shift him back only proved—he may have been truly stuck. Some sort of unique curse by the ashen state, punishing him for breaking through it through sheer will. Despite all the attempts to startle him back to normal. Feeding him hot mineral water just like those fey who bottled it for the trip home. He and Sionnach had even stopped by one of the hundreds of apothecaries on the way to the station, telling Cylvan and the others to go ahead as Saffron didn’t want to cause any kind of scene. Only for Cylvan to insist, turning heads like Saffron anticipated—as if the prince didn’t want to let him too far out of his reach.
Soon it was clear there was nothing they could do about Copper’s state in Ailinne, and he would have to make the journey back to Avren as a fox. Despite everything else, Saffron managed to find humor in having to buy Copper an ‘animal companion’ ticket at the bursar, no different from the one he bought for Fiachra. Even Sionnach smirked as a leashed harness had to be tucked over Copper’s head, though Copper didn’t complain. He mostly just lolled his tongue happily and rubbed his face all over Saffron’s lap, begging to be pet like a common dog.
Cylvan never commented, though he occasionally threw them a look of disgust. He never asked what had happened, how it happened; he must have assumed they’d just been up to no good in their rooms, getting drunk and getting into trouble. Maybe he thought Saffron had done something with his magic. Saffron didn’t know, he didn’t ask. He mostly tried to avoid Cylvan’s eyes all morning, as every time they met, even for a moment, he was overcome with the urge to be sick. Still not sure how to mention what had happened with Ryder.
As the meal wound down, there was the briefest moment when Cylvan excused himself to imbibe in his last aromatic clump of tobacco from a pipe outside the restaurant, as there was no smoking allowed on such a crowded, multi-day train. Saffron watched him for a moment from where he sat at the table, heart pounding loud enough in his chest to make his throat tighten in and out, finally rising stiffly to his feet and excusing himself as well.
He didn’t want to board the train without trying again. He wanted to express his thoughts about Professor Adelard again, if possible. He didn’t want to board the train without trying at least once more to explain how physically nauseating it was to imagine returning to Avren under those circumstances.
“Cylvan, can I?—”
“Oh, your highness!” Someone else rushed up from behind, bumping Saffron out of the way. They were joined by a few others, who all seemed to notice the prince accessible and lingering outside. All with the same quills, the same pads of parchment floating alongside them and scribbling notes as there was no pinch of ashenness that far north from Avren. Cylvan, all the while, just smiled politely at every single one of them, hardly even giving Saffron a glance.
Saffron didn’t know if it was on accident, or if Cylvan really was outright ignoring him—but embarrassment consumed him whole in an instant. Embarrassed to be seen even trying to speak to Cylvan alone, embarrassed knowing Cylvan likely cringed at the thought of Saffron acting up again when surrounded by all the wrong people to see it. So Saffron just bowed his head, turning stiffly to go back into the restaurant. To reclaim his seat, as Cylvan talked up the people outside.
He could only guess what they must be asking him—but the way a few kept glancing his way through the windows gave him a good enough hint of some of it. Saffron’s face went hot, turning away and biting back the bile rising in his throat. Knowing he would get no more chances to speak to Cylvan again before boarding the train. Knowing to return to Avren was to go mad. Knowing, perhaps, he’d been left with no choice.
Saffron rose from the table a second time, finding the bartender at the drink counter and asking if he could have a piece of paper and pen. As quickly and clearly as he could, even as Copper bumped against his leg in question and his friends watched from their table, Saffron scribbled out everything he thought Cylvan needed to know:
Attend to your dueties in Avren. I am going to Morrígan to visit Professor Adelard. I know no writers will bother following me if you go to Avren. I will have Taran with me. I didn’t tell anyone else I was leaving, so do not be angry with them. I don’t know how long
He scribbled out those last words in frustration. Not caring if Cylvan worried or wondered. An immature way to do it, but—Cylvan seemed to only expect bratty pettiness from him anymore anyway, so he didn’t care. He was just a beantighe, after all, like Cylvan had said during the satyr party.
“Bastard,” he mumbled, forgoing everything else he thought to write, and instead ending the letter through his teeth.
Stay safe. Enjoy the journey. I will see you again soon.
Saffron’s hands shook as he handed the pen back to the bartender. As he folded the paper once, then twice, then clutched it in his clammy palm and rose just as the rest of his friends did to head for the door. For their train back to Avren, that three day journey where Saffron would not be joining them. Where he would go to Morrígan by the urging twist in his gut that if he couldn’t stop Ryder, he could at least find another way to help. He would deal with the fallout, with Cylvan’s anger, afterward.
Outside, Cylvan was still chatting with the writers, but managed to excuse himself as the arriving train on the platform rang its bell to invite passengers to begin boarding. Saffron wasted no more time, hurrying up behind the prince and pretending to bump into him, in the same motion tucking the note into Cylvan’s doublet pocket. Cylvan didn’t notice, just put his hand out to grab Saffron’s arm and steady him, meeting his eyes for the briefest moment that—at the same time, felt like an eternity. Saffron almost thought Cylvan was reading his mind, that he would reach straight into his pocket and find the note, summoning the fallout before Saffron ever had the chance to go—but then Cylvan turned, releasing Saffron’s arm just as the others caught up, and the moving crowd swelled around them.
Cylvan might as well taken Saffron’s heart with him; it wasn’t until that moment he realized, there was a part of him that wished Cylvan had actually read his mind. Found the note. Begged Saffron not to go. But he didn’t—so Saffron would.
There were at least a few hundred high fey gathered on the platform, bustling around the train doors waiting for them to open so the sea of bodies could flood through. In the chaos, it wasn’t hard to linger back slightly. Still within reach of Sionnach, who turned and gave Saffron a little smile like they’d seen the awkward interaction between himself and Cylvan moments prior. Saoirse turned and did a quick head count from where she stood at the front of the crowd with Cylvan, keeping most of the people out of reach of him. Copper pressed himself between Saffron and Sionnach’s legs so he wouldn’t get trampled between all the feet, and Sionnach kept swatting at him as he constantly nudged the bottom hem of their skirt with his wet nose. Saffron lifted Fiachra’s cage to his chest, holding it close so no passing knees would bump into it and knock her off her perch.
He’d released Copper’s leash, seeing as he wasn’t actually any other normal ‘animal companion’ that needed to be shown around. Copper would follow Sionnach and the others onto the train, too. None of them would notice Saffron was gone in the crowd, until the train doors had already closed and the journey was already started. Cylvan would find the note in his doublet, and then they would all know Saffron hadn’t been accidentally left behind, or grabbed at the last second, or anything like that. They might be angry with him too, but—he didn’t know how to draw Sionnach, Copper, Maeve, any or all of them away with him, without Cylvan immediately noticing. He didn’t want to take any of Cylvan’s friends from him suddenly, either. As if they’d planned on abandoning him all along. Despite it all—that was not something he wished Cylvan to think he was mentally, emotionally capable of doing to him.
The train doors opened, and the excitable crowd rushed forward. As they did—Saffron locked his legs, and didn’t move. He just stood there, clutching Fiachra’s cage to his chest, allowing the other passengers to crest around him like waves around a stubborn log lodged in the sand of a beach.
The rest of the group had managed the crowd well enough to board the train swiftly, leaving only Sionnach on their heels. And at one point, the satyr did actually turn to look for him. Saffron threw up a hand with a weary smile to imply he’d only been separated, he’d catch up, don’t wait. Sionnach had no choice but to continue as the surging mass of bodies forced them toward the train. With such uneven footing on their hooves in such a tight crowd, if they tried to push back, they would be knocked off balance anyway. Knowing that much, they obeyed the tide all the way to the train doors, where they threw Saffron one more look, then had to hurry out of the way. The last one of his friends who would turn to look, and notice him lagging.
Saffron pivoted suddenly, pushing against the crowd. Away from the platform. Before he lost his chance, or his courage. Knowing if he didn’t go in that moment, he may still be too much of a coward to make the commitment.
There was still a crush of a hundred people pushing their way onto the train once Saffron made it into a bubble of open air, having to lean against one of the platform awnings to clutch his chest and catch his breath from how claustrophobic the effort felt. His thoughts raced once he regained his composure, searching for the steps down to the road, picturing in his mind the station stables where Boann and the other horses were being kept until the later train came to take them.
He only made it a few steps that way, before a whine and the sound of scattering feet caught his attention, making him twist around just in time to watch Copper’s massive body wriggle and writhe its way through the crowd, knocking more than one group of fey passengers to their ass on the platform. Harness long gone, like a wild beast.
“Copper—!” Saffron gasped, lowering to one knee with Fiachra’s cage in one hand as his friend rushed to meet him. Copper head-butted him, knocking him backward and making stars flash in his eyes. “What—are you doing, damnit! Why didn’t you get on the train!”
But Copper just bit at Saffron’s sleeves, attempting to drag him back into the throng, bright golden-brown eyes demanding to know what his problem was. Saffron nearly heaved the animal into his arms and threw him into the crowd, hoping the surge would carry him all the way to the train doors like a sponge in a bath—but then he heard the chittering whispers of a group of people watching him, and he turned to see the same handful of gossip writers from outside the restaurant watching him in curiosity. His blood ran cold, breath catching as his instincts immediately shifted. Knowing more than anything he wanted to get out of their sight before they could ask questions. Before they could write anything about what he was doing.
“Gods, alright, just—come on. Come on!” Saffron hissed, grabbing Fiachra and jumping back to his feet, motioning for Copper to follow as his bird screeched and angrily flapped her wings from all the jostling. Copper yipped and barked in bewilderment, still biting at Saffron’s hands, his ankles, like he thought Saffron was just confused—but Saffron focused only on leaving the platform and making his way to the stables.
Only when Copper realized the direction he was heading, did he seem to finally understand. His snapping urges trickled away. Replaced with uncertain whines, small yips of frustration, constantly trotting faster to try and get ahead of Saffron and meet his eyes. But Saffron just looked ahead. Toward the stables. Knowing if Copper noticed him lagging behind, he might not have escaped as seamlessly as he hoped.
The stable-keeper recognized Saffron from earlier in the day, barely managing a greeting and a nod as Saffron hurriedly stepped inside and motioned to his horse. Boann, in the stall farthest in the back, had had her saddle removed, with all of Saffron’s traveling things still in the bags as the worker made his way down the row. Saffron quietly thanked ériu for the blessing, hurry to his horse and through the stall door.
It took all his strength to heave the saddle from where it hung over the barrier, but Boann was patient as ever as Saffron managed to pin it against her side, then shove it upright onto her back. He was just tightening the first belt around her belly when the steam train released a deafening whistle, making him jump. He leaned toward the stall window, peeking as the train doors closed to passengers. There was no one else coming for him, after all.
His heart pounded harder, faster, as the same part of him that hoped Cylvan would find his note and stop him all the way on the platform, also hoped he might notice Saffron missing and still chase him down. But he didn’t—he didn’t, and he wasn’t coming. Saffron was going to go to Morrígan. He was going to continue trying to find a way to get his friends and Asche back. Even if Cylvan thought he was mad, or a fool, or hated him by the end.
Knowing there would be no way to keep Fiachra silent as they fled, Saffron opened the flap of her carrier and released her, then flattened the foldable cage and tucked it into one of his saddlebags. The bird swept over Copper, claiming a talon-full of fur from his tail and summoning a snarl from the beast, who chased her ahead of where Saffron hurried Boann to the exit.
But outside, just as Saffron pulled himself into the saddle—something grabbed the back of his cloak, choking him as he was wrenched from his lift in the stirrup. Thrown to the road with a breathy grunt, Boann reeled backward in alarm as Copper snarled, but Saffron heard none of it—suddenly pinned beneath pale hands and the sharp glare of icy eyes.
Despite Saffron’s first instinct, though—it wasn’t Cylvan who’d grabbed him.
“Th-the train!” Saffron exclaimed, and a bitter smile split Aodhán’s face.
“Oh, think you’re funny, do you?” they said with venom, shoving Saffron down and knocking the air from him. They kicked Copper away as the fox attempted to bite their hand, grabbing Saffron’s face and squeezing until Saffron flinched. “Running away to meet with your rebel leader, hm? Finally had enough pretending? That true nature of yours, I see, to lie?—”
“Oh, fuck you!” Saffron snarled back, making Aodhán raise their eyebrows. “I’m not going to find Ryder, goddamnit—I’m going to Morrígan!”
“What is gods’ name is at Morrígan that’s so important?” Aodhán growled back, grunting when Saffron slammed a knee up between their legs and made them buckle.
“None of your business!” Saffron shoved Aodhán off, scrambling for Boann’s reins to pull himself into the saddle before he could be grabbed again, but Aodhán was faster, grappling for Saffron’s ankle and yanking him back down. From the platform, the train’s whistle blew again, followed by a cloud of dark smoke as the coal engine roared and the weight of all its cars crept forward. Even Aodhán lifted their head to look, furrowing their brows in annoyance like they really thought they’d be able to grab Saffron and drag him back in time.
“Did Cylvan send you to get me?” Saffron asked, kicking Aodhán away. “I guess it shouldn’t surprise me—that he wouldn’t come after me himself!”
“I came for you myself,” Aodhán grumbled, clearly realizing the futility of their chase and releasing their grasp on him. Sitting back, they brushed themself off, before glancing over their shoulder as the cluster of gossip writers still watched from the corner of the platform. Saffron noticed them, too, heart leaping into his throat and propelling him to his feet.
“I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly, pulling himself into Boann’s saddle. “I have to go—but I’m not going forever. It has nothing to do with Ryder—well, not directly. I promise. I’m not trying to—hey!”
He barked as Aodhán approached, moving faster than Saffron expected, heaving themself up into the saddle behind him. He attempted to elbow them in the stomach to knock them back off, but they just growled at him, jamming fingers into his side and making him choke.
“I’m not about to let you go anywhere on your own, witch,” they hissed. “Not when you’re leaving in secret like this. If it really is nothing to be worried about, then you won’t mind me joining you. Since you’ve made me miss my train, and all.”
“There will be other trains,” Saffron attempted to argue, accidentally yanking on Boann’s reins as he fought to meet Aodhán’s eyes over his shoulder, turning the horse in circles. “Get off!”
“Go on, my lord,” Aodhán insisted otherwise, sneering as they uttered the title. “Wouldn’t want people to think you were up to no good, fighting one of the prince’s guards in the dirt on the road. You said you were going to Morrígan—so let’s go.”
Saffron glanced back toward the gossip writers, who continued to watch him. Biting his lip, he swallowed back everything else he meant to say. He tightened his grasp on Boann’s reins, then swallowed the nerves growing in his stomach. Alright , he thought to himself, rather than speaking it out loud. It seemed he really had no choice.