Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“Wolf made me a deal.” I offer the information to Talon, rubbing my aching hands. “Finn’s life—and the magic that might save her—in exchange for mine. I made him swear he wouldn’t kill me.”
Talon’s brow twitches in a quick furrow.
There’s a flicker of… is that confusion, or intrigue, in their eyes?
I can’t tell, but it makes my chest tighten.
“Wolf doesn’t break his promises. If that’s what he said, you can trust him.
He doesn’t tolerate betrayal, in himself or”—their eyes darken—“from others. He knows better than any of us how high the stakes are.”
Deathly high. Not just for me but for Finn, too, if I fail.
And even though they’ve never really let me in, I have to ask. “Why are you in this?”
I don’t expect a real answer. Talon doesn’t owe me anything.
But they run a finger along the leather sheath around their wrist, and the flat hilts tucked there. Their brown eyes churn. “I’m here for my little sister. Ciara.”
My heart aches as I ask, “What happened to her?”
“She was an apprentice when the High King razed the temples. The mages took them starting at eleven to sweep the floors and light the incense and learn about magic. Ciara…” Their voice sounds like it’s been torn through broken glass.
“She was the first one who really knew… me. Who grew up knowing me as the name I chose for myself, once I knew who I really was.” Their voice roughens. “Who I am.”
Talon’s eyes find mine, long-buried pain there.
“Ever since she was little, she dreamed of seeing caoranachs. She loved the mage tales, the histories of the Old Ones and their battles and the stories that ancient magic might linger in mage bones. It cost our family everything to buy her apprenticeship, but she was so damn happy.”
A fissure cracks along the edges of my heart.
“After the gardai razed the temple, I looked for her. But… the bodies were all charred, and none of them were…” Talon coughs, rubbing the scarred palm of one hand over their face.
My chest twists. Those burns…
“None of them were small enough to be a child her age. Wolf and Fang, they tracked her from a scrap of her childhood blanket. She’s bound into service at Dunluce.”
“Oona’s family estate.” My blood chills.
Oona’s family used Cymrean mercenaries to put down rebellion during the uprising. They sided with the royals instead of the rebels. Dunluce is one of the most dangerous places on the isle for someone with ties to the temples, to magic.
Other than Castle Mount, that is.
Old Ones, our world changed so damn fast. We were too young to do anything then, when the way things were collapsed all around us, tearing our families to tatters.
A sliver of courage licks through my veins, up the curve of my spine.
We’re not too young anymore.
Talon nods, hard and quick. “I owe the Whisperers for the magic to track her, but I’d be here even if they hadn’t found her. Some fights are too important to waste time regretting how you got onto the battlefield. We’re here now—and I know where I stand in this war.”
Fire sparks in me at their words.
I reach out and rest my bandaged hand lightly over their clenched one. The needles tingling deep into my nerves are worth it.
“So do I,” I vow.
You would never guess a noble daughter died in this sand one week ago.
The festival is a riot of colors, delectable scents, and vendors hawking precious things from every corner of the isle.
Musicians and buskers perform in the four corners of the entrance square, laid out almost exactly where I slid off the stolen—borrowed, I hear Talon’s voice in my head say—horse to walk to my near death.
Castle Mount looms behind us, and far to the east the first glimmer of sweeping green hills beyond the city walls shimmer under shifting clouds and the brutal drop of the sea cliffs.
Old Ones, one day I’ll make it past these walls. Finn and me, both.
Aoife, dressed in a white gown with a thick fur wrapped around the neck of her simple gray cloak, waves from the edge of the crowd. As if she wants to stand out by not glittering.
“I like your other cloak better,” I tease, surprising myself.
Her eyes dart over the nobles around us, as if she’s looking for someone. “This one’s warmer.” Aoife nods politely to Talon.
Talon watches closely as Aoife guides me through the densest part of the crowd, keeping me on edge.
They still won’t share whatever suspicions they have about Aoife.
I can’t help but wonder if maybe it’s just a spy’s job to be overly cautious. To worry, even if there’s no proof. Because if there was proof, they’d surely tell me.
The festival is thronging with nobles and stalls catering to them.
And even though I’m not someone who is usually distracted by shiny things, Old Ones—there are so many of them.
My eyes run over glowing silver ingots laid out on a polished wood table for closer inspection, as if the vendors actually trust the precious metal won’t go for a walk into a passerby’s pocket.
Cloth spun with gold draws little huddles of boys and their fathers, studying the fine stitching.
One stall sells only purple things—robes and scarves and cloaks in the exact hue as the one Aoife has—and the vendor eyes the crowd with a discerning mask.
Aoife looks longingly at the rich cloth, then turns away.
“This is… something.” I don’t know what else to say.
She claps her hands and points. “Oh, wonderful. She’s here!”
“Who?” Surprises here, I’ve come to learn, are almost always bad.
“Just wait. She only comes once or twice a year, but she sells out within an hour every time.” Aoife guides me to a long line of impatient nobles, most with clinging small children.
I raise one eyebrow at Talon, and they only shrug.
Just for that moment, I can picture the way they must’ve been with their little sister—watchful, always on the lookout for danger. They remind me of Finn, and my heart flares with the pain of missing her.
I need to get a message to her after this, something Talon can pass to Wolf and Wolf can pass to her. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to or doesn’t think it’s a good idea.
I need her to be prepared to run, if things here go… badly.
Aoife brightens at the smile of the vendor and hands over a few silver coins in exchange for three small cups. Before I can protest—silver coins are worth ten times the value of the bronze coins I’m used to—Aoife hands one cup to Talon and one to me.
“Try it,” she tells us, eyes gleaming bright with excitement.
Warmth seeps through the cup to my bandaged hands, but it’s not painful. If anything, the warmth almost eases the sharpest edges of the nerve pain.
Inside the small cup is a dark, thick liquid sending up little spirals of steam and smelling like… Old Ones, I don’t even have the words. Like nothing I’ve ever smelled before. The rich sweetness is intoxicating, and my mouth instantly waters.
I glance to Talon and take a small, polite sip.
It tastes even better than it smells. Luscious.
Delectable. I don’t know where to start, but I never want this cup to empty.
Whatever it is leaves a thick line along Talon’s upper lip, and I smother a laugh, tapping my own and catching their eye.
A smile cracks the tense line of my mouth, and with a faint flush, Talon wipes it away.
When was the last time something made me laugh?
I can’t remember, but it feels good. It feels easy, and I let the smile linger after another sip. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted. What is it?”
Aoife offers a small smile back. “Hot chocolate. Melted down from bitter bars shipped from the Leon Republic and sweetened with milk and sugar. You like it?”
“How could anyone not?” I study her as I take another sip, thinking. Aoife has nothing to gain from helping me or being kind to me—or to Talon.
But she’s kind. She’s been nothing but kind since the first moment we met.
She very likely saved my life that night she stopped me from trying to kill Neve.
Maybe I want to see some of those girls dead too.
A figure in black shifts behind her shoulder, a mess of dark hair almost—maybe exactly—like Wolf’s peeking out beneath a dark hood as the gardai swarm around the crowd.
The cup slips from my hands.