29. Katya
29
T here’s a strange sort of frenetic energy to this place—like dynamite seeking a spark. On the surface, most of these people seem placid, broken even, but I can sense that thread of fury buried beneath their blank gazes. Aemon was right. The majority of slaves here are human, though I catch a pointed ear here and there amongst the thralls.
Aemon and I are sitting, backs against the cavern wall, people watching. Well, I’m people watching. Aemon appears to be guard watching. They are shockingly complacent about their duties. There’s a single male guarding the little outhouse bathrooms—literally the only spot I’ve found with any sort of privacy—and a couple more by the entrance Aemon and I were brought through earlier, though they appear more interested watching the women washing in the river than the gate. The rest of the soldiers congregate around a central fire, carousing and drinking themselves into a stupor, while their charges watch on with murder in their eyes .
“When did this all start?” I ask Aemon.
He drags his gaze away from the drunk guards, his brows drawn so close together, they’ve practically merged. “When did what start?”
I give him a flat look and wave toward the scene in front of us.
“Oh.” He smiles, somewhat chagrined. “You know about the Three Nation War, don’t you?”
I can already feel my face reddening. “Yes, but all the books I read made it out like the humans fled over the mountains to avoid the fighting, but that obviously isn’t right so…” I turn my attention to playing with a pebble on the ground, too embarrassed by my own ignorance to meet his eyes.
He sinks a little farther down the wall and throws an arm up on his knee as though preparing for an extended discussion. “That’s because you were reading the fae accounts of what happened. To them, the truth is less important than appearances. The fae want history to remember them as the saviors who brought new medicines, education and culture to the barbaric humans when they settled in Solstyr, but what they really brought was disease and something human guns simply couldn’t fight: magic.” He rolls his head back, eyes on the ceiling. “I remember when I first arrived at the palace, the king and queen were surprised when the tutor they assigned to me told them I could already read. It was their own bullshit propaganda that made humans out as ignorant and uneducated, and yet they chose to believe it. I guess it’s easier to eradicate an entire species if you think they’re inferior to you.”
How sheltered must I have been to not know any of this? “How old were you when they took you to the palace? ”
“I’m honestly not sure.” He scrubs at the back of his neck. “Seven, maybe eight? A lot of it’s fuzzy. I just remember, one minute I’m racing frogs with my sister and the next…” He swallows and takes a breath, his gaze going distant as though he were truly looking back into his own memories. “Everything was on fire. We were all rounded up like sheep. They killed the shifters like my mother outright. I guess they saw them as the biggest threat.”
“But not you?”
He shakes his head and gives me a strained smile. “They wouldn’t kill me. I was the reason they were there.”
I realize my mouth is hanging open like an idiot and snap it shut. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s the truth. At some point, news of a shifter child that could mimic human and fae forms reached the palace. If I’d been an adult, they probably would have killed me, but as a child…” He shrugs. “I guess they thought they could manipulate me into something they could use.”
“So, you were forced to live with the people who killed your family?”
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “It was so confusing, you know? I watched their soldiers gun down my father when he tried to stop them from taking me away. I hated them, but then they took me to the palace and everyone there was kind and comforted me.” He chuckles, but it isn’t at all funny. “It’s no wonder I’m such a mess, huh?” He shakes his head as if to dispel the memory. “Anyway, back to your actual question. The ones who didn’t get away or got killed were given to the ümbrians. It was a win-win for the crown. They got the pesky humans out of their hair and would now get the sythra at a lower cost because they provided the cheap labor.”
“You must have wanted to kill them.”
He turns to me then, his features flat, exterior cool. But I don’t miss the way the corners of his eyes squint ever so slightly or the almost imperceptible tic of his jaw. His mask doesn’t fool me anymore. “Every single day.”
I nod. I probably would have wanted to kill them too. “Kind of makes my issues at Duje seem silly.”
“There isn’t a prize for the person with the most trauma, Katya.” He pauses, head cocked in thought. “Unless insanity qualifies.”
I sputter a laugh, and Aemon gives me a little smirk. “Well, that’s something, I guess.”
His expression turns serious. “Tell me about Duje. Your mom lives there?”
I nod. “And my brother Max. Max is half Leodin, but I try not to hold that against him.” I chuckle, but it’s awkward at best.
Aemon doesn’t laugh along. “You miss him?”
“Of course. Max and my mother were the only things keeping me at Duje. Magicless magi don’t do well in those sorts of places, and even if people could get past that, everyone knew Leodin hated me so…” I shrug and start scratching at the dirt on my hands, like that is going to do something.
“Why?”
My head snaps up. “Why, what?”
“Why did he hate you so much?”
I let out a sigh and slouch against the wall. “Leodin had been in love with my mother since they were children, but she didn’t feel the same way. At some point, he tried to force her hand—I don’t know all of the specifics—and Mama ran. A year later, she returns, pregnant with someone else’s child. He was humiliated. Then, as I got older, and it became obvious I couldn’t perform magic…” I shrug. “I guess Mama was forced to tell him the truth.”
“What truth?” he asks.
I look at him then. I know his secret, so I guess it’s safe to tell him mine. “That I’m half-human.”
“Well, shit,” he says, turning his gaze back to the ceiling.
“To him, humans are lower beings than fae, so the fact she left him to have a baby with a human did not sit well.” I turn back to fidgeting with my skirt. “He beat both of us that night.”
Shaking his head, he says, “So, why did she stay with him if he was such a bastard?”
“Protection.”
His brows pinch in confusion. “Protection from who?”
“The crown.” His features smooth, as the realization dawns on him. I was hiding just the same as he was. “She was afraid if anyone found out the truth, I’d be taken away from her and shipped off with the other humans. At Duje, I was safe.”
“What about your real father? What happened to him?”
I shrug. “Shipped off with all the other humans. Mama doesn’t like talking about him. I don’t even know his name.”
We sit in silence for a moment, me playing with the hem of my skirt, him making doodles in the dirt. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his gaze bounce to me, the ground and back to me again. He does this two more times before I finally call him out on it. “If you have a question, just ask me. ”
“Uh...” He meets my gaze briefly, then is eyeing the dirt again like he’ll find the mysteries of the universe in the orange-brownish mess. “You said you didn’t have any friends at Duje.”
I have a feeling I know where this is going, but I simply nod and wait for him I raise my eyebrows at him in a silent, “Get on with it.”
“Was that time at the inn…” He scratches the stubble on his chin. It’s kind of cute seeing him so nervous. “When we uh…”
“Kissed,” I supply, goading him on because it’s fun to watch him squirm.
“Was that your first?”
There’s really no point in lying. He pretty much knows the answer already, but saying the words out loud is a different matter altogether. I open my mouth to answer, but I’m saved by the unmistakable squeal of the river gate opening. The sound cuts through the din of conversation and all eyes turn to see what’s happening. Aemon and I move in for a closer look. The same fae who brought us here from the prison stands at the helm of his tiny boat, his red robes billowing around him, while the same two soldiers use paddles to maneuver the boat until it’s butted up against the dock. One of the slave-camp guards that had been watching the girls in the river greets him and the two exchange a few words.
“Aemon Cregg,” the guard shouts over the crowd.
Aemon takes my hand. “Stay with me,” he says, and together we head for the boat.