The Renegade Son (Winter's Blight Book 2)

by K. C. Lannon

  “James…,” Iain practically whispered. “You don’t really think I’d do something like that, do you?”

  For a moment James just stared at the ground solemnly.

  Iain felt winded like he’d been sucker-punched.

  Then James looked up. “No,” he said with a sigh. “You’re really confusing, but I at least know you wouldn’t do that.” He almost smiled.

  “I’ll take it,” Iain said gratefully.

  He couldn’t say he blamed Deirdre for her mistrust. For all she knew, he was just as thoughtless as the soldiers who had locked her up in Neo-London. He was just James’s addict brother, someone even he didn’t seem to believe in.

  He had made her feel this way. He had done little to earn her trust thus far besides giving her his word. Words, he knew, were meaningless sometimes. And his words had done nothing but hurt her.

  “You don’t trust me. That’s fair.” Iain took a shaky breath. “I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

  With a few parting instructions for them to wait and get out of there if something happened, Iain took his things and headed through the woods in the direction of the Forest Caves. Once he was a good distance away, he dressed quickly in his uniform, put his beret on his head, and placed his firearm in the holster on his belt.

  The Forest Caves were in the middle of a mossy clearing in the trees, in the middle of which was where the military camp was set up. The only visible entrance to the cave was located down a steep slope of a hill a few yards behind the camp. From Iain’s vantage point in the woods, he could only just see the top of the dark, jagged cave mouth at the bottom of the incline that led to the mostly underground structure. What he saw with more clarity was the line of military trucks on either side of the camp and the two armed guards that stood at each of the possible entrances to the encampment.

  Several white tents were set up, made from tarp to keep the damp out. As a gust of wind came through, the side of a tent toward the middle of the clearing flapped open, revealing a table that Iain guessed held a map. He only caught a glimpse of several figures inside—one of them most likely Commander Walker.

  There was also some machinery that was unfamiliar to Iain on his right, just in front of the military trucks there. The equipment wasn’t anything used in military operations. He could imagine that it was used for lowering people into the cave or for pulling things out of the cave, as it looked similar to a tiny lift.

  James would know what it’s used for and what it’s called and when it was invented…

  He was about to assume that Alvey had not yet made it to the caves, when he heard an echoing shout across the clearing. It was a girl’s voice—high and clear—and it was shouting words from a language Iain did not understand but had heard before: Welsh.

  Alvey…

  The soldiers guarding the entrance directly in front of him both twisted around toward the cave to see what the ruckus was. One of the soldiers turned to the other and began muttering about some faery prisoner. The other one suggested that someone ought to shut her up.

  Iain’s stomach turned. He had to act quickly, and he didn’t have a plan.

  If you don’t do something now, Alvey could get hurt.

  He was seen the moment he stepped into the clearing by the low-ranking guards who were standing there. As he walked toward them, they raised their guns at him at first but soon lowered them again when they noticed his uniform.

  “What’s a warden doing out here?” one of the soldiers asked, his eyes widening as he took in Iain’s appearance. “You don’t have the clearance to be here. What’s your jurisdiction?”

  “My name is Iain Callaghan,” Iain said, reaching slowly into his jacket and producing the identity disk from around his neck. “I need to speak to Commander Walker urgently.”

  One of the soldiers darted off to presumably report to Commander Walker.

  “Callaghan?” the other soldier said thoughtfully. “General Callaghan’s missing son?”

  Missing? He said I was missing…

  He couldn’t get out a reply before Commander Walker strode into sight with the other soldier following behind him. The commander was a tall man with a very neat mustache and well-groomed hair. Philip had spoken highly of him on more than one occasion, saying he was reasonable. That claim was about to be put to the test.

  The soldier began speaking to his commanding officer, informing him of who Iain was. “And he says he needs to speak with you urgently, Commander.”

  “Last the general told me, you were supposed to be at the rendezvous point in the Surrey Hills with a faery prisoner, after Commander Prance was lost.” Commander Walker halted in front of Iain, giving him a once-over as Iain performed the proper salute. “Clearly you never made it there, and you ceased all communication. Was this desertion or something else, warden?”

  Alvey was still shouting.

  Iain’s mouth went dry. He decided to focus on the immediate threat and the reason he was there. “Commander,” he said, gesturing inside the clearing, “the prisoner you have right now is affiliated with the Summer Court. Her family is important enough to have Seelie creatures keeping track of her outside their territory. You should release her, unless you want trouble with the Court.”

  “The Courts are already giving us trouble.” Commander Walker narrowed his eyes. “You say she’s a Seelie faery, warden?”

  Iain nodded. “I encountered her earlier when I arrived in town; she had a servant of the Summer Court following her and requested my help to deal with it, Commander.”

  “Commander Walker—” An infantryman ran up to the commander and began speaking to him.

  Iain froze.

  He barely heard anything of what Boyd was saying. He’d never really noticed how alike Boyd and Philip looked until now. There wasn’t much difference, save for Boyd being a little bulkier than Philip had been, and there was no warmth in Boyd’s eyes. And Boyd’s face was bruised on one side, red and swollen.

  Boyd seemed to notice him at the same time. Boyd’s mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile as if he were just told wonderful news instead of having seen someone he disliked.

  “I’ll have you fill out a report once you’re back in Neo-London about your missing faery prisoner,” Commander Walker said, turning back to Iain after he and Boyd had finished their exchange. “Then we’ll determine whether or not you’re guilty of desertion. I’ll be sending Prance and his battalion to locate your lost faery captive after we’re finished here.”

  “Commander—” Iain protested.

  “Whatever it is, you can speak to Prance about it.” Commander Walker waved him away, heading back toward the military camp.

  “Prance,” the commander added, “see to Callaghan’s statement. We’re about to commence with the operation.”

  “I’ll see to ’im, Commander,” Boyd said, never taking his gaze off Iain.

  Iain barreled past him quickly into the clearing, heading straight toward where he thought Alvey would be located. There was a small, guarded lean-to—perfect for keeping captives. He did not need to turn around to know that Boyd was lumbering close behind.

  If he could just get to Alvey and tell her to cooperate—

  “Where’s the faery girl?” Boyd asked, so close that Iain felt his breath on the back of his neck.

  Iain stared straight ahead at the lean-to. “She’s right in front of your face.”

  “The other faery girl.”

  “Oh, her.” Iain feigned surprise. “She’s somewhere safe.”

  Fingers dug into his shoulder, biting like incisors. Iain didn’t even let out a breath in response, determined to keep moving. Iain wrenched his arm out of Boyd’s grasp, but the moment he did, Boyd grabbed for the handgun at Iain’s belt.

  Iain wheeled around to face him, a snarl in his throat, and struck out with his elbow. He landed a blow against Boyd’s chin, but Boyd was unaffected, not even loosening his grip as he pulled the firearm free.

  “Possible deserter
s shouldn’t have guns,” Boyd spat. “It’s protocol. You can ask the commander yourself, or I can put you on the ground in cuffs and tell him how uncooperative you’ve been.”

  Iain glared at him.

  Boyd held the handgun up by the handle and swung it around carelessly, drifting it past Iain’s face before stowing it in his jacket. “Wardens don’t even get guns, do they?”

  They stopped walking as Boyd’s radio buzzed to life. Through it, a familiar voice rang out with a static-laced chorus of chatter in the background: “This is General Windsor, requesting an update on extraction plan War Hammer. Over.”

  Boyd just ignored his radio, staring at Iain smugly instead, looking like a thickheaded bulldog that was very pleased with himself.

  “Aren’t you… going to answer that?” Iain asked, nodding to the radio.

  Boyd just smiled without showing his teeth.

  Meanwhile, the radio buzzed again as the general continued to speak. In the background, Iain could hear boisterous voices asking questions and figured the general must be speaking to new recruits or overseeing training.

  Iain sucked in a breath; it was strange to hear the general’s voice now, when Philip’s plan had relied so heavily on speaking to the man. It was also strange that he appeared to be on base in Neo-London when he was on leave after the death of the king.

  His brother…

  Iain looked at Boyd, hoping to find some trace of someone who could be reasoned with, and all he could think about was Philip. Iain began, “Before he died, Philip told me—”

  “You say that name again,” Boyd growled dangerously, “and your face and this ground are going to become real friendly.”

  The threat did nothing to sway him. Even though he knew Boyd was more than willing to go through with each and every threat he’d ever given, Iain found it had little effect on him anymore. He could deal with physical pain.

  “Boyd,” Iain said firmly, “your brother knew what you and General Callaghan were doing, and he wanted it stopped. He was worried about you.”

  “You lying—” Boyd’s face twisted in rage, his eyes burning, and he lunged forward. He jabbed Iain in the chest, grounding out, “I wish you could know what this feels like. You won’t, but your little runt of a brother will after I put you down like a dog.”

  A death threat? That might be more impressive if he hadn’t threatened to kill me on a regular basis…

  But at the mention of James, his stomach went cold.

  “You can’t do anything with Commander Walker and the infantry members around,” Iain said, glancing away from Boyd’s cold gaze. “You can’t do anything without General Callaghan’s permission.”

  “You think General Callaghan didn’t brand you a traitor to spare your life?” Boyd scoffed lightly. “See, that would make him look bad, his son being executed as a deserter and a traitor. Better to have me kill you than have a scandal, General Callaghan says.”

  He’s lying. He must be lying.

  Please be lying.

  His father threatening to try him for treason for disobeying direct orders was one thing, Iain reasoned. He could almost understand that, in a way. It was detached while still remaining logical. Ordering Boyd to execute him quietly and without a trial, however, was a different kind of monster. It was cruel.

  Every decision his father made, every precise and cold remark given, every disappointment, Iain had consistently justified. He’d been a champion of defending his father—ignoring or excusing his every action with devotion that had even put Boyd to shame. Even when he’d considered moving out and taking James with him, Iain had wavered.

  What if I was wrong about him? What if I’ve always been wrong?

  Boyd was staring at him, his mouth twitching at a satisfied smile.

  Iain had stopped walking and was staring at the ground, his breathing ragged and broken. But the smile on Boyd’s face brought Iain out of his thoughts; he didn’t have time to waste anymore. He did not have time to break, even though he wanted to. And Boyd did not deserve a moment of satisfaction from him.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Iain muttered, starting to walk again. His doubt burned hotter, melting into anger. “I know what really happened at the memorial, and when that comes out, it won’t matter how many innocent gals you blame.”

  “Even if you did spill, and even if people did believe you, the general’s got hundreds on his side, and he’ll have thousands before this is through.”

  Boyd began to silently point to one out of every few soldiers they passed. There was one of each on General Callaghan’s side, if Boyd was to be believed. There was one of each here, and no doubt more in Neo-London, who supported the Iron Guard taking full control of the country and whatever else the general had planned.

  There couldn’t be that many people who approved of the king’s death.

  Iain refused to believe that.

  “See, there are three sides to this thing,” Boyd explained quietly, stopping out of earshot of the other soldiers. “There’s the right side, the one that’ll prevent the Fae from taking humanity out. Then there’s General Windsor’s side, the monarchy’s side, which is to do nothing. Then there’s rotten traitors to humanity like you, worst of all of ’em, ’cause you side with the enemy—faeries.”

  As they reached the lean-to, the guards stepped aside, revealing Alvey, who was red in the face from shouting at the top of her lungs.

  “I know her,” Iain said to the guards, then glancing back at Boyd. “Maybe I can get her to calm down.”

  “You know her?” Boyd snapped.

  In response, Iain just winked at him.

  But the guards already allowed Iain to step inside, probably desperate for the girl to stop screaming. Alvey immediately stopped yelling long enough to tilt her head back and sniff the air. Her expression flickered confusingly from a scowl to a faint smile to a neutral mask.

  “Have you come to see that I am securely bound?” Alvey asked him sharply, sticking her nose in the air. She held out her wrists, clad in iron cuffs and a little sore-looking where the metal touched her.

  “Alvey,” Iain whispered. “I’m here to get you out. If you want to leave, you need to behave and keep quiet. I’ll figure something out.”

  “You shall figure something out, shall you?” Alvey sneered at him. “’Tis I who will save us.”

  Iain ducked out of the tent as he heard Commander Walker begin ordering his soldiers. He stepped out to see the commander approaching.

  “Prepare the site for the blast. That dwarf isn’t coming out without a fight, and so we’ll commence with the extraction plan War Hammer.”

  “The dwarf in the cave?” Alvey piped up, raising her eyebrows. “He is a stubborn one, isn’t he?”

  “Quiet!” Boyd ordered her, giving a look that might have made her quail if she could see it. Boyd turned to the commander, saying, “This faery might have information on where the king’s assassin is located. She needs to be questioned. Now.”

  When Commander Walker raised a hand to silence him, Boyd’s eyes flashed dangerously. Iain wished he had his firearm on him in case something went down. He did not like the look of this at all.

  “You know about the dwarf, hmm?” Commander Walker asked Alvey. He signaled for the guards to wheel her out of the lean-to and into the light of the clearing.

  “Of course.” She tossed her head, her blond hair catching the light, then smiled lightly. “He is a bit temperamental, is he not? ’Tis his personality. I am sure he is not pleased with you all coming here.”

  “That’s putting it lightly,” Commander Walker said, folding his arms. “We’re under orders to excavate that cave, and our bullets aren’t working.”

  “Naturally. He is far too tough for that, always has been. He has even been a bit of a braggart about it, between you and me.”

  Iain was quizzical but said nothing, watching in awe as the half elf talked her way out of the situation. There was no way she was chummy with that dwarf and hadn’t told the
m—it would have been an opportunity to brag to the rest of the group. He had to admit, he was impressed.

  “If you’re a friend of his,” Commander Walker said, “I’m sure you would be concerned to hear we’re considering just burying him alive.”

  “That is a surprise. He has survived many a nasty cave-in. And having all that rubble and so on would be inconvenient for you, would it not?” Alvey tilted her head. “Why do you not just ask him to leave? He is wont to be rude but not impossible to talk with.”

  Commander Walker snorted. “We could if we could understand him, or he us! He doesn’t understand a word we’ve said in the past, and who knows what monster language he’s speaking…”

  Alvey frowned, then said a few words in Welsh. The effect on the commander and some other soldiers was immediate; they went stiff, eyes lighting up in not a necessarily pleasant way.

  Iain fought the urge to roll his eyes.

  “You speak his language,” the commander whispered. “He’s said that exact thing before, several times, that exact thing…”

  “Of course. I am a friend of his, did I not say as much?” Alvey pushed her short hair back carelessly. “I do pray he does not get hurt with you going in and blowing up the place…”

  The commander flashed a warm smile at her. “Say, why don’t you try to… convince him of our good intentions, hmm?”

  “Commander Walker, don’t be absurd!” Boyd stepped between Alvey and his superior. “She’s a faery!”

  “Her veins aren’t going black from the iron, so I’m assuming she’s a half faery,” the commander said dismissively.

  “She can’t be trusted! If even one drop of faery blood is present, she’s on their side!”

  The commander waved away his objections. “Unlike you, Prance, I have a schedule to keep and treasure to find. I was ordered by the king himself, may he rest in peace, to do this job. And I don’t want to waste time because I had to cause a cave-in to get rid of some old troll-ish dwarf. We’ll let her speak to him; there’s no harm in trying. If things don’t work out, we’ll carry out the plan.”