Chapter 32
VARIAN
“See? I was right,” I muttered to Ryland. “Fucking impenetrable, my ass.”
Here we were, a stone’s throw distance of the Butcher’s cursed black castle, and not one of those Fae soldiers so much as noticed.
“Guess I’m better than you thought.”
Yes, I knew I sounded peevish, but I could get us inside. I just needed time to figure the shift schedule of the patrols, to map out their routes and find an opening. I’d done this a thousand times before, and everyone had their weakness, even Lord Butcher.
I just had to find his.
Ryland nudged past me to get a better view.
But…even I had to admit…at the moment, things did not look promising.
Those enhanced Fae fucks patrolled every inch of the grounds, moved in waves over the battlements, magic sparking from their fingertips, a few wreathed in shadow.
Some sort of dark, protective shield closed ranks around the structure itself, trapping everything inside.
Even from here, that ward made my skin tingle, as if my body anticipated the pain if I so much as touched that foul magic.
“Nothing’s impenetrable. Let’s try a different view.” Ryland scanned the desolate terrain, then nodded to a far-off ridge.
“Over there, higher ground. Maybe we can see over the wall, into the bailey. Get a better idea of what we’re facing once you get us inside.”
“Glad you’re finally giving me some fucking credit.”
“Well, despite Rooke’s reservations…and admittedly, mine,” Ryland slid me a sideways grin, “you do always manage to get us inside, Varian.”
“And I will this time, too,” I insisted, gathering my magic before I ghosted us over to the opposite ridge. I bit my tongue nearly in half, to stop myself from reminding Ryland we were in this mess because he’d lost the Crown, even when I knew I was being incredibly unfair.
But we couldn’t afford to fail.
The picture Rooke painted in my head stuck with me, like a splinter under my skin—of Gravelock marching across Valarian, the Crown on his head, villages and cities burning before him, innocent Fae turned to ash.
After enduring a hundred years of war, with only three brief years of peace, that vision couldn’t come to fruition.
I refused to let this asshole ruin what so many good Fae had sacrificed for, especially Lyrae.
We had to get inside Evernight Castle.
If we really only had a day…
Gravelock had to be stopped and we were the only ones close enough.
The mages at the Citadelle, the Valarian army, even the dragon and wyvern shifters in Mysthaven were too far away. An invasion would take too long to organize, and I believed Rooke when he said we wouldn’t make it out of the Shadowlands alive with the relics.
“Well? What do you think?”
Ryland prompted. Even flat on our bellies behind some scraggly want-to-be trees, the wind tore through our hair, penetrating the heavy woolen cloaks like they weren’t even there. Not as cold as the High Barrens, yet somehow, without my magic, the chill seemed to sink deeper into my bones.
And this fucking sand.
Did this shit seriously have to work inside every single crack and crevice?
“I’m fucking looking. Give me a minute.”
This side was no godsdamned better. The constant patrols left no visible openings, exposing us not only to the relentless wind whipping off the black desert, but with no cover, we’d be perfect marks for the archers posted on the ramparts.
Off in the distance, a pack of Grimbeasts roared, and the constant flapping of those tattered black banners gave me a fucking headache.
“What about at night?” Ryland inched forward on his elbows, dragging his belly through the gravelly sand.
“Those gates can’t stay warded all the time,” he said. “They need deliveries, food, weapons, and supplies.”
“Deliveries don’t happen at night.” I refrained from rolling my eyes.
“And we’ve already been here two hours this morning. Not a single wagon or rider has come down that road. Gravelock and his soldiers probably exist on nightmares and evil, from the looks of that place.”
Once more, I scanned the long avenue leading to the castle gates, a pockmarked, twisting affair that looked less of a formal road and more of a cart path, but…the dirt was worn down enough to have seen some recent traffic.
And those big Fae fucks probably required a ton of food.
“Nightmares and evil…that sounds about right.”
Ryland repeated, studying the defenses, following a quad of soldiers marching across the open bailey, his smile widening slowly into the expression that told me he’d just figured out our way inside.
“Maybe deliveries don’t happen at night, but attacks do.
These bastards have to eat, Var, there have to be deliveries.
And if one of their wagons just so happened to show up tonight, chased by a pack of Grimbeasts…
don’t you think they’d let us in? I mean, how much planning would it take for us to find a wagon and a couple of mangy nags to pull… ”
I shook my head, on the verge of telling him that was a stupid fucking idea, when a flash of movement in one of the high towers caught my eye. Something bright, silvery, almost ethereal. Completely out of place amongst the stark black stone.
I lifted my head higher than was wise, peering through the shifting ward, trying to ignore the beast’s howling as they drew closer.
There. A pale face peered out of a window in the highest spire, a face I recognized even now, from half a mile away, fifty years after I’d last seen it. Horror spilled through me in a nauseating tumble of bile, stealing my words, my breath, every logical thought.
“Holy gods.”
“I know, right?”
Ryland, still staring down into the bailey, was completely oblivious.
“I come up with the best plans, especially under pressure. I don’t know what to say. Call it a gift, and I expect you to tell Lyrae how incredibly clever I am when we get back to the island. As a matter of fact, you’d better…”
“No, you idiot, there,” I pointed, my finger trembling. “Top window, western spire.”
I knew the second he saw her, because Ryland’s expression went slack, mouth falling open. He looked like I felt right now, like someone kicked him in the stomach, then carved out his heart.
“That’s… that’s not possible, Varian,” Ryland husked brokenly, the blood draining from his face. “That can’t be her. It cannot.”
“You know it is. And you know exactly why she’s there.”
And why everything suddenly made such perfect sense.
Ariel hadn’t been scooped up accidentally that day we’d been lured to the Citadelle with the promise of a golden sword and a fortune in gilder.
Just like it hadn’t been chance when we’d been lured to Lord Maldrake’s with the promise of an equally extravagant payoff, fifty years before.
Venmir Gravelock was the one who offered us the Maldrake job, something we’d yet to tell Lyrae.
Both heists were traps—but Ariel…she’d been the real prize.
“We have to tell Lyrae.”
Ryland breathed, his face pinched in horror. “We have to tell her everything, and knowing her sister has been here all this time…”
He swallowed hard.
“This will destroy her, Var.”
“We have to get inside those walls and get both her and the Crown out.”
Fresh resolve swept through me as I looked at the problem before us with new eyes. “Okay, so…how do we entice an entire pack of Grimbeasts out of the desert and through those front gates? And how do we make sure we don’t end up getting devoured, instead of them letting us inside?”
“The Grimbeasts aren’t the real problem, Var,” Ry muttered, sweat beading on his brow, despite the cold. “Lyrae will insist on coming. There is no way she’ll be left behind while we save her sister.”