by Jaida Jones
Without a glance behind, Inis let Two lead them away. She did what she had to, and that was run.
83
Rags
Prince Shining Talon of Vengeance Drawn in Westward Strike—impossibly beautiful fae prince, Ever-Living pain in Rags’s ass, now otherwise known as Tal—needed to move.
But he was heavy as solid gold and stubborn as an ox, and Rags’s whole body was spent, throbbing, barely recovered from the shit Morien had just put it through. His hand especially. It might’ve turned to stone—swollen stiff with pain and useless from the sting of the mirrorglass needles, a sick dead color Rags liked to call “corpse in the summer.”
A giant silver owl was fighting a murderous, heartless sorcerer in front of Rags’s eyes. The rest of their group, along with the fae kids they’d set free, were doing the smart thing and getting their asses out of harm’s way. But Tal wouldn’t budge.
Rags dug his heels into the floor, dodged a fresh shower of shattered glass, wrapped his arms tighter around the big fae’s waist, and pulled.
Couldn’t make the idiot give an inch.
Rags swore, barely audible over the chaos caused by Three’s pounding wings. He pressed himself close to Tal, knew that not only would they lose Inis, Somhairle, and the others, but if Three kept at it, the whole chamber was going to collapse, killing the very fae Tal was determined to save.
“You’ve gotta move, Tal! We’ve gotta get out of here while we can!”
“I cannot leave my people.” Tal’s blood dripped onto Rags’s body, soaking through his shirt. It was cool, not warm. Rags shuddered. “I must save them.”
“Yeah, some other time, okay? They’ll understand. Quit thinking with your heart for a change and use your brain!”
“I—” Tal’s voice broke. Morien countered Three’s onslaught, managing to pierce her solid silver skin with a handful of mirror shards. She howled in fury and Morien nearly got one hand free, started to trace a new glyph, before Three smacked his fingers with a wildly flapping wing.
There was nothing else to be done. Rags had tried everything but the one thing he didn’t want to do, and this was what it had come to.
Fine. Let the dirtiest jobs fall to Rags. They were what he was best at.
“I command you,” Rags said.
He hated himself for it, but what else was new?
Wondered, regretful, if Tal would ever forgive him for saving his life.
The expression on Tal’s face was terrible. Like a blood red dawn sky, the sign of a storm coming.
“Is that your will?” Tal turned to look at Rags. The motion unnaturally, unbearably slow.
“Yes, damn it!” Rags tugged hard on Tal’s arm. His grip slipped from all the blood and he slid on more of the same, fell on his ass. It stung. “I command you to retreat.”
“Then,” Tal whispered, “I will obey.”
He held a hand over his heart. No place for him to kneel.
Saving him shouldn’t have felt this shitty. But as Tal turned and loped past him, heading for the far end of the tunnel, Rags couldn’t shake his misery at what he’d done.
Was it right? It had to be right.
“Come on!” He struggled to his feet and waved his arms at Three, hoping to grab her attention before Morien did her any further damage, beyond the eye she was already missing. None of them needed to lose more than they already had. “We’re leaving! Get going!”
Three raked Morien with her talons, bowling him over with a final beat of her furious wings. Without waiting to see what happened next, Rags stumbled and ran crookedly after Tal, trying not to think about what it meant that Tal hadn’t waited for him. Or about what he might’ve broken in the service of something bigger than himself.
Any trust that had been built between them.
The way that Tal had looked at Rags like he was the key to every lock the world had ever known.
Rags had told himself from day one that it wouldn’t last.
Most of all, he was trying not to think about those sleeping fae children. The ones they hadn’t been able to rescue. He couldn’t afford a last glance in their direction, not when he was too busy running at full tilt, chased by the screeching of Three’s fury and Morien’s cursing. He was half expecting, half hoping to run straight into Tal, waiting for Rags in the passage, but he didn’t.
Instead, Tal was a golden glimmer disappearing around another dark corner. Did he believe Rags would keep up? Or could he not bear to face Rags after—
Fuck it. Had to run.
He ran so fast, his feet nearly went out from under him. Slapped the stone wall under one hand to course correct when he veered too close to it. A sudden wind pushed him from behind, and he realized Three was there, at the mouth of the tunnel, holding it for their escape.
How to thank an enormous silver bird sacrificing itself for short-lived, petty flesh-suits who caused most of their own problems? Would Morien tear her to pieces? Use those pieces for mirrorcraft? Fuck.
Rags rounded the corner Tal had disappeared around and nearly tripped on his borrowed red sheet. Ahead in the dark, Tal radiated faint golden light. Like a giant glowbug. A few steps past him, Somhairle, Inis, and Two were shepherding the procession of terrified, tortured fae children.
They were never going to make it out of there. They were too battered, too weakened, too slow. There was no way they could travel back up to the palace in this state, much less escape the Hill. If more Queensguard arrived—more sorcerers—
Shit, shit, shit. Rags went over a mental list of their assets, came up with squat. All he had was that he’d been here before. Under the castle, trapped in its dungeons. He knew exactly how hard it was to escape.
He’d been here before. Rags whistled sharply into the dark.
Maybe he could guide them toward Coward’s Silence, avoid the castle for another way out.
Somhairle was the first to turn, hope in his eyes when they caught Tal’s light. He must’ve thought Rags was signaling something about Three, and when he saw no sign of her, his face fell and he stumbled.
Tal caught him, propped him up, having done the same for any of the little fae who tripped or lagged. He kept close to them the way he’d once kept close to Rags, fussing and watching and caring. Despite having a wound in his arm that cut through to black bone, he was too busy looking after others to remember himself.
Figured.
That perfect idiot.
“Better make Three’s stand count.” Rags swallowed down the snare in his throat to sound like an authority on the matter. “I think we’re close to Coward’s Silence. You know, the prison where they’re probably keeping that other prince—the one who got caught ’cause we fuck up everything we touch?”
“Walk right into the prison like this?” Inis asked. As tired as she looked, her hair in disarray, her clothes torn—parts burned where hot silver had eaten away at the threads when she had turned into one of those silver things, Rags was doing his best not to remember that part—she hadn’t faltered. “Might as well turn ourselves over, lock ourselves in the cells, and do Morien’s job for him!”
Rags shook his head. “Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe the bulk of the Queensguard are looking for us in the castle, and us going to the dungeons is the last thing they’d expect from us. Maybe we’ll have better luck there.”
“And if we don’t?” Inis wiped sweat off her brow with her knuckles, leaving a streak of blood in its place.
Rags shrugged. “You have a better idea? We can’t stay here. Going back up into the castle’s a bad bet. But if we keep going down . . .”
Inis bit her lip. Rags could see her thinking, wanting to call him a muttonhead, but also weighing their limited options.
As she thought, Two stepped nimbly to the side, directly under one of the fae—the one with the cut cheek from Morien’s glass—a moment before she fell. Swooned, more like. Instead of cracking her head on stone, she sagged into Two’s strength, and managed to continue with his help.
Ra
gs risked a glance at Tal. His arm was a mess. If they were going to stand around debating, then maybe Rags could fashion a sling for him out of the red sheet. He was about to start ripping when Tal lifted his good hand, resting it against the wall.
Rags squinted.
Was that—?
Yeah.
It wasn’t Tal behind all the glowing. There were faint carvings somewhere beneath the stone, reacting to him, pulsing, alive. Like in the fae ruins.
Rags had figured this was nothing more than a Queen-made tunnel under the palace, part of the system of dungeons and fae torture chambers Morien and the Queen had set up. But there were fae workings here, workings that couldn’t be seen unless you had fae with you to light them up.
More fucking fae mysteries. As if there weren’t enough in Rags’s life already.
Rags was still squinting when he heard a commotion from the other end of the tunnel, the opposite direction from where they’d left Morien, the mirror chamber, the other fae.
Queensguard reinforcements, had to be. Coming straight for the kids, who were out front. Unprotected.
Rags was the first to act. Two must have been distracted caring for the hurt fae, and anyway, nobody had Rags’s instincts for trouble. He scrambled forward, hands balled into aching, shaky, but still sharp-knuckled fists, ready to take the new wave of opposition on.
He met a massive silver lizard instead, a familiar face beside it.
Their missing Queensguard. Ex-Queensguard. The one who was on their side. And damn, but he looked like someone’d tried to mince his head for meat pies.
Then again, Rags couldn’t imagine that what Cab saw looked any better.
“Shit!” Rags nearly laughed with relief, arms jellying. “Did anyone know he was close?”
It was Inis’s turn to shrug. “Two was guiding One.” She peered into the semidarkness behind Cab. “And he said there were others, but I wasn’t expecting . . .”
“Here to rescue you lot.” It was a skinny redhead who spoke up, with a street accent, someone Rags could finally relate to. And there were two fae beside her, which had stopped surprising Rags somewhere around chamber of mirrors filled with dozens of little ones. They looked in marginally better shape than the recently liberated fae kids.
“Right,” he said. “Follow me, knucklebrains.”
84
Cab
They’d killed five Queensguard on their way to the sewers. Another six inside the tunnels. Most of that was Hope’s doing, if Cab was being honest. Uaine did well for herself, too.
Cab tried his best, finishing off the wounded, but he was the rear guard this time around.
With his injuries, he had to hang back. Protect Sil. Die for her if he needed to. In the meantime, he had to trust that Hope was the best person—best fae—for the hardest job.
And he was. He fought like a wildfire. So angry, there was no getting past his offense to put him on the defense. Ever. The Queensguard didn’t stand a chance.
Many of them had been stationed in the sewers, but they’d only been expecting a ragtag group of rebels, not their furious fae bodyguard.
Or One the lizard, her tail as swift and deadly as her claws. She shared some of the thrill of the fight with Cab, along with assurances that one day, they’d fight together the proper way.
Cab would have to ask her later: What way was that?
Hope finished off another pair of sentries, and One was sweeping them aside to clear the path for the others when her voice swished into Cab’s head. She was following instructions only she heard, communicating silently with the other fragments.
We’re close, darling, One said. And we don’t have much time. We’re going to need a leader. Think you’re the one?
A serpentine laugh followed that. Was that a pun?
Cab looked around, but no one else had heard it.
They ran into Rags the thief and his group barely a moment later, and Cab had stepped forward to meet them.
After that, time swelled dizzily as Cab drifted in and out of consciousness—in and out of One’s consciousness. The lilt of Einan’s husky voice sounded different, less musical, through One’s unimpressed ears.
Hush, little baby, don’t say a word, One crooned. Building up your strength. Be a good boy and take your medicine.
Cab rested, taken outside of his body so One could encourage it to heal. When he returned to himself, they were headed to Coward’s Silence.
“Been this way before,” Rags was explaining as he led the charge. Shining Talon wasn’t dogging his footsteps, so plenty had changed since they’d last been together. “Once we’re in the dungeon, if we’re not overwhelmed by your brothers in steel, the folks who don’t have mirrors in their hearts can look for Prince I’m-a-Traitor, while the folks who do have shards sit back and get those nasties out of our bodies.”
“This plan is—” Cab began.
“Terrible?” Inis supplied.
“I was going to say unlikely to succeed,” Cab said.
“Terrible,” Inis agreed.
“Everybody fucking criticizes, but nobody brings something better to the table.” Rags laughed hoarsely. Cab recognized the sound. It was gallows humor. The giddiness that flooded a man when he’d been on the move for too long, had to treat the possibility of dying like a joke in order to keep going. Cab managed to clap Rags on the shoulder, making him jump midstep before he realized it wasn’t an attack. A gesture of solidarity. Something a Queensguard captain would do for his recruits.
He was no Queensguard anymore, but he’d fight to protect these people. They were his brothers and sisters in arms now.
“We’ll back you up,” Cab said. “Sil, can you manage—”
Sil nodded firmly. No choice. She would manage.
As ever, Cab was astounded and inspired by her bravery.
They moved on in silence, save for the unsteady breathing of the rescued fae. The occasional skitter of loose rock as someone slipped. A gasp as One or Two darted to their side to support them.
“You sure you know the way?” Einan asked Rags. Time had stuttered to a nervous spiral. They knew the fate that awaited them: trapped underground, ambushed by Queensguard, by sorcerers. “Who are you, anyway, Skinny?”
“I’ve got this,” Rags insisted.
Tell him to get it faster, One said.
Her anxiety threaded its way through Cab’s nerves, but he was used to it.
This state of constant attention. Fear. Always keeping watch over his shoulder. It had been his sole companion in Tithe Barley’s barn. Not the best friend, but one he’d learned to manage. He could teach the others how to live with the burden.
If they survived long enough.
That won’t be helpful, Cab chided her. He knew from experience how telling someone to rush only helped them to be clumsy. Judging by their tattered group, a collective of dirt and sweat, blood and torn clothing, they’d met with their share of opposition.
“No offense,” Einan chimed in, though she couldn’t have known there was a conversation already in progress, “but I was hoping your friends might be . . . bigger. More impressive.”
“I’m not impressive enough for you?” Cab asked.
Einan looked him up and down, then surprised him with a wolfish grin, which kindled some of the old fire behind her tired eyes. “Not the first word that comes to mind.”
Dull heat spread under Cab’s skin. He let himself wonder what did come to Einan’s mind when she thought of him. Might explain why she’d kissed him in the Gilded Lily.
The distraction kept his mind from screaming that they were heading ever deeper with no hope of escape.
Rags still had a shard in his heart. What if Morien was controlling his actions even now?
That’s enough of that, One broke in. Plenty to worry about without you imagining extra horrors.
She was right. Cab didn’t know what he’d do without her, would’ve lost his way if she’d stayed behind to stand against Morien so the rest could esca
pe, as Three had done.
Ahead, the flickering of torches set into the walls. Rags held up a hand and their untidy group shuffled to a halt.
“This is it,” Rags whispered. “Or . . . it should be. I was led through here the first time I— Never mind. Anyway, see? No Queensguard. I’m guessing they got called over to deal with our rescue mission.”
He winced as he said it. Cab didn’t need One to inform him that the attempt hadn’t gone as well as they’d hoped.
“You’re bleeding, master.” Uaine inclined her head in Shining Talon’s direction. “I could see to that, if you’re willing.”
“Here’s where those who need medical attention and shards removed from our hearts should stop,” Rags agreed. “The rest can go in and bust out our royal ally.”
“We can’t split up,” Inis said. “What if some of us get captured? There’s no way of knowing.”
“One and Two can still communicate,” Cab pointed out. “They’ll be our eyes and ears.”
“I’m going to get Lais,” Inis insisted. She glanced at the young man next to her, his face dark with sorrow and tight with pain. “The Queen wouldn’t let the Last kill her own flesh and blood, Somhairle.”
Somhairle. The prince Cab had spoken to when they were planning this madness.
Enemies, One warned.
Cab turned, weary arm hefting a sword he’d stolen from a downed Queensguard and held on to just in case. How much damage would he be able to do? His fingers felt like sausages. Still, he’d have to try.
But it was only an owl winging toward them, bursting out of the darkness, nearly barreling into Somhairle’s chest. Despite how weak the young prince looked, the impact didn’t knock him over.
It was no normal owl. Its entire body was wrought of silver.
Three.
She’d seen better days, missing a chunk of feathers from one wing, an eye, and half her lower beak. Blood on her talons, a splash across her breast, and Cab could have sworn she was grinning.
Turned herself into a hundred daggers, One explained approvingly, all of them aimed at the Lying One. Would have cut him to shreds, too, if he hadn’t grown so powerful on the blood of fae children. She scared him, although she left a few of those daggers behind.