Reaper: Faction 14 (The Isa Fae Collection)

by Gwen Knight

  With a nod, Taly gestured toward the door. The girl from the hallway placed the towels next to the tub, then followed her out.

  Finally. A moment of peace and quiet to digest everything that had come to pass.

  I was free of the prison, free of Osvea and Arik. Free of Dask. But what did that mean? So far, from the sounds of it, I’d gone from one brother to another. And who was to say Markos wasn’t as crazed as Arik? Why bring me here?

  Leaning back in the tub, I contemplated these questions while slowly washing myself clean.

  The water cooled quickly, and I was about to climb out when someone knocked on the door. They didn’t wait for my response. Instead, the door eased open, and Taly slipped back inside with clothing draped over her arm.

  She offered me another gentle smile before hanging them up on the back of the door. “I’ll wait for you out in the hall. Once you’re dressed, we have a meal prepared for you and Oren downstairs.”

  I nodded and waited for her to leave before padding over to the door.

  The dress was simple but elegant. A deep royal blue color that would complement my eyes. Nothing I would have worn for Arik. And thankfully, this time it covered my arms and shoulders. Unlike the last dress. I pulled it on, buttoned it up, then turned toward the mirror.

  My dark hair fell in wet, thick waves that curled around my shoulders and down my back. I reached for the nearest brush and combed through the ropes. I’d always worn it braided to keep it out of my face, but this time I opted to leave it free and flowing. A choice I’d never had before.

  Once content with my appearance, I popped open the door to find Taly leaning against the nearest wall. With a pleased nod, she turned and led me down the stairs toward the kitchen. As the smell of food wafted through the air, saliva pooled at the back of my mouth. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. Long enough that my stomach was seizing with hunger.

  “Help yourself,” Taly said. “Markos and Oren are already in the dining room. They’re waiting for you.”

  I mumbled a quiet thank you, then reached for the nearest bowl and scooped up what looked to be stew. The smell of meat tickled my nose, and my pulse quickened with excitement as I headed toward the dining room. I had no idea how Markos kept this place supplied, and right now I didn’t care enough to ask. The smell of the food was satisfying enough to shut me up. At least for the moment.

  Their voices drew me to their side of their table where I tucked in and shoveled food into my mouth. It wasn’t until silence filled the room that I paused and glanced up. Both Markos and Oren watched me with amusement.

  Right. Manners in front of the fae. I swallowed my bite, then took another.

  “Guess my brother didn’t feed his prisoners,” Markos commented in his gruff voice.

  I lifted a single shoulder, my mouth too full to speak.

  “My father was too concerned with power to do much else,” Oren responded. “And my brother seems to have inherited that trait.”

  “Yes, I remember that trait well,” Markos mused. “Your grandmother was very much the same. Never happy with what she had, always wanted more. Before her, Osvea had been nothing more than a small blip on the maps. A tiny town with precious little to offer. Thanks to her, it’s now the capitol.”

  I finished my stew, then sat back and stared at Markos. Under the dining room’s bright lights, his appearance seemed harsher than outside. The scars ran deep, including a few that marked his eye socket. Whatever violence he’d seen in his life, his face revealed a dark tapestry of scars that spoke louder than words.

  “Well, girl.” He leaned back in his chair and appraised me, as I did him. “Let’s hear it then.”

  “Hear what?”

  “Your questions.” He cocked his head. “I’m sure you have many.”

  So many that I didn’t know where to begin. I ran my hand down my stomach, pleased to feel it a bit swollen, and considered what I wanted to know. “What is this place?”

  “My home,” was all he said.

  I drummed my fingers against the table and considered him. “What else is it?”

  Laughter slipped past his gnarled lips. “Clever girl. It’s also a safe haven for those who don’t agree with the way my brother was running the city.”

  “A sanctuary.”

  “Of a sort,” he responded.

  “You don’t seem afraid of me.”

  He lifted a thick brow. “Should I be?”

  “Everyone else always is.”

  “Hey,” Oren griped, “I’m not afraid of you.”

  My gaze shifted to him, only to find his green eyes alight with mirth.

  “Your table manners, maybe. But not you.”

  I didn’t join in on the laughter. Instead, I turned back to Markos. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “Now, that’s the question, isn’t it?”

  “That’s why I asked it.”

  His smile broadened. “I like you. Not afraid to speak your mind.”

  “That she isn’t,” Oren agreed.

  After a moment’s pause, Markos stretched back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. The way he watched me, as though I was the answer to all his prayers, unnerved me.

  “I brought you here, girl, because you’re a means to an end.”

  Another vague response. “A means to what end?”

  “Not what. But who. The correct question is ‘a means to whose end’?”

  “Fine.” I leaned forward and placed my arms on the table, willing to play his game a little longer. “So whose end am I the means to?”

  “My nephew’s, of course.”

  I startled in my seat, my gaze darting to Oren.

  “No, girl. The other nephew. I brought you here because you’re going to end this civil war.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “What civil war?”

  “The one we’re about to start,” he said with a wide grin.

  7

  They found me alive at the bottom of the hill, bruised and bleeding. Arik’s done a number on me, ensuring I’ll never return to Osvea. He’s taken everything from me—my pride, my purpose, even one of my eyes. Little does he know, I refuse to back down. His way is not the only way, nor is it the right way. They might have forgotten that I am the eldest son, the one meant to rule. But I’ll remind them. I don’t care if it takes years, I will take back what is mine. Take back what he stole from me. And when I do, he will rue the day he stole my throne.

  —A passage from Markos Brooke’s diary

  They had to be kidding, right? They had to be. A civil war. Downright insane was what it was. Sure, it was something I’d always dreamed about. The thought of someone sneaking into Arik’s estate and starting a rebellion was all a young witch hoped for. But this was reality.

  I knew nothing about war, and even less about rebellions. But I knew numbers. I knew strength and power and strategy. This cabin housed ten people, maybe less. Facing off against the fae guard, they’d be nothing more than a mild nuisance. Maybe they’d make it past the gates, but the market swam with Leith’s men.

  “Keira?” Oren asked.

  I shot him a glance, noting his close proximity to his uncle. The way he leaned toward him, his hands crossed on the table. Clearly, Oren agreed with Markos.

  Nervous laughter spilled from my lips. “You’re crazy. Both of you are, if you think you can pull this off.”

  “Now, hold on there—”

  “Let her finish,” Markos said.

  I studied them both and shook my head. “Not only do you intend to start a civil war, but you want me to help you? There are, like, what? Maybe ten of you in this house? And you want to face down the entire capitol. Maybe you haven’t been there in a while, Markos, but Oren should know better. Leith and his guard will smack you down before you even have a chance to rise up. And Dask? The man just killed your father—do you really think this is the best time to stage a coup?”

  “Dask already staged the coup,” Oren argued.
“He might be the heir, but he’s hardly the right man for the job.”

  “And you think you are?”

  Shock widened Oren’s eyes. “I’m a mite bit better than my brother.”

  “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean you’re qualified. Your brother has been training with your father his whole life. Your father groomed him for the role, all while you were out getting handsy with the noblewomen.”

  Anger colored his face.

  I held up a hand before he could speak. “I’m not saying that Dask is the better choice. Far from it. He’s a lunatic. I’m just asking how you think you’re the better solution?”

  “Well, I’m not a lunatic. That’s a good place to start,” he said, dryly.

  “But that isn’t the only requirement.”

  “You seriously don’t think I can do this?”

  Another laugh slipped past my lips. “Me? I don’t even know you. This is the longest we’ve ever communicated with one another. And the only presence you’ve ever had in my life was breaking me out of the dungeons. I have no idea what you’re capable of.”

  “As it so happens, I agree with Keira,” Markos chimed in.

  My mouth snapped shut.

  Oren, on the other hand, unleashed a glare on his uncle. “Are you serious?”

  “I may not be a member of the court, boy, but I still hear things. Predominantly that you’re nothing more than a rake. You play the role of a prince. However, if your brother isn’t able to rule, the task falls to you. And that’s where I come in.”

  “You,” Oren repeated.

  “With me at your side, I can help prepare you for your duties. I was raised alongside my brother. Our parents didn’t believe in only training the heir. Everything Arik was taught, so was I.”

  I bit my tongue to keep silent. Arik was almost as bad as Dask. Power hungry, crazed, and arrogant. If both brothers were taught the same, it seemed unlikely Markos would be any better. Not that I could say that aloud. I was just a witch, after all. A tool to them. My political opinions meant little.

  Except to Oren, apparently.

  “Well, girl? Does that ease your concerns?”

  What was I to say? I changed the topic. “And how do I fit into all this?”

  Markos leaned forward, a twinkle in his eye. “I think it’s safe to assume Dask won’t willingly give up the throne. Why would he? Even if we informed Osvea of his crimes, he’s backed by the guard captain and his regiment. And we won’t be able to get through them. Not easily.”

  My stomach clenched with nerves. Things were becoming clear.

  “But if we can get you past the guard…”

  “Then I can reap him,” I whispered.

  Silence swept over the house, as though every last ear had tuned into this part of the conversation.

  “It’s a guaranteed death, right?”

  Unfortunately, yes. “I’ll need to lay my hands on him if I’m to drain him completely. You’re asking me to get up close and very personal with him.”

  “I am,” Markos agreed. “Right now, it’s the only plan I have.”

  Suddenly, everything made sense. This was the reason Oren had freed me from the prison. Not out a sense of pity or honor, but to help them take the throne. To help them instigate a revolution. To make me a rebel. I’d known from the start he must have had his reasons, but I hadn’t expected this.

  They were all the same. He wanted to dethrone his brother and take over Osvea. In his own way, Oren was just as bad as Dask.

  “There’s more,” Markos continued, his gaze settling on my wrist. “Oren removed your bracelet, yes?”

  “So they couldn’t track me here.”

  “Well, that, but there’s another reason. As you so helpfully pointed out, we lack the numbers to take on the guard and win. But we don’t necessarily need more men—what we need is more power.”

  Of course they did. It was always about power. And it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. “The Foundry.”

  The corner of Markos’ mouth crooked upward. If I wasn’t mistaken, that looked like a flash of pride in his eye.

  “Bravo. Yes. If you reap the Foundry, it might provide us with enough to take on Leith and his men. Enough to get you into the estate where you can reap Dask. We haven’t the numbers for a full assault. So we need to be clever.”

  “And then what?” I challenged. “You slap a bracelet back on my wrist? Lock me up again?”

  “Do I seem the sort to chain people up?”

  Truthfully, he did. He looked like a man who didn’t know how to back down, who fought for what he wanted. And even if his intentions were pure right now, they’d change. He’d see the benefit in turning me into his weapon, like his brother had.

  “Keira,” Oren murmured.

  When I didn’t answer, he reached across the table and took my hand. Something startled within me, but I didn’t pull away.

  “You can trust Markos,” he said. “He was exiled by my father because he rebelled. He doesn’t believe witches should be penned up and kept as fodder. He’s always believed in free rights for everyone.”

  While that made me feel a bit better, it wasn’t enough. Once I funneled all that power to Markos, I honestly doubted he’d simply release me. Or maybe that was my lack of faith in the fae speaking.

  “You’re asking a lot,” I murmured. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I don’t trust your kind. I never have. I’ve never been given reason to. And now that’s exactly what you’re asking me to do. You’re asking me to work with you, but to what end? The Foundry has been destroyed. There are no witches left other than me. What will you do? How will you keep Osvea alive without magic?”

  “Perhaps it’s time Osvea learned to survive without it,” Markos offered.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Survive without magic? Are you mad? Your whole society is dependent on it.”

  “With the Foundry’s and Dask’s atern, I believe we can keep Osvea afloat for many years to come. And when the funds start to dry, there are other ways to replenish ourselves.”

  “Like laying siege to other cities,” I grumbled.

  “That was Arik’s way. It isn’t mine.”

  Yet. But when someone became desperate, there was no telling what he’d do.

  “I see the distrust in your eyes, girl. And it’s warranted. I only ask that you give us the time to prove to you that I’m not my brother. Those are of us who have chosen to live here did so because we didn’t agree with Arik’s ways. We sought a different path. You’re accustomed to hate and abuse. Believe me when I tell you, you won’t find that here. If you need time to think about my offer, you have it. There’s no timeline set in place, other than the Foundry. We need to reap the bodies before Dask removes them.”

  “Tomorrow,” I murmured. “He told me I would go tomorrow. But once he discovers Oren and I are gone…”

  “His priorities will shift. We’ll use a glamour, and we’ll send you with as many people as we can. We’ll protect you. How long will it take you to reap all the bodies?”

  All the bodies. As though they were nothing but numbers to him. But these people were my family, or had been once. The thought of reaping Logan gave me a chill. I didn’t want to see him like that.

  I cleared my throat and drove back the images of his lifeless body. “A few hours maybe. And I’m not sure how much atern I can hold. It’s been a long time since I’ve had free reign over my powers.”

  Markos raised a hand to his face and fingered the scar along the edge of his chin. “All right. We can’t be seen, though. This needs to be done as quietly as possible.”

  “Just me and Oren,” I suggested.

  Markos paused and considered me.

  “If you send me with a bunch of others, the guards will notice. I know how to get into the Foundry unnoticed. And the two of us will stay hidden. If some guards do come, Oren can pretend like he’s showing me around, trying to impress me.”

  “The idea has merit,” Oren commen
ted.

  “Very well. Just the two of you. But once you’ve reaped the entire Foundry, I want you both back here. We’ll take inventory of the atern you collected and divvy it up appropriately.”

  According to whom? Not that I would ask such a question. “If that’s it, I’d like to get some sleep.”

  “Of course,” Markos said. “And think about what I said tonight. I have no problem giving you time to decide. We’ve made up a room for you, upstairs, second door on the left. Oren, yours is across the hall from hers. You should get some rest as well.”

  I nodded, then rose from my seat and started toward the stairwell, unaware that Oren had followed me until his hand brushed the side of my arm.

  “Everything is going to be all right, you know.”

  I glanced up at him and gave a small nod. “Sure.”

  “That sure sounds more like you’re appeasing me.”

  A small smile pulled at my lips. “Sure.”

  “We’ll leave early in the morning, first light, before the market wakes up. The sooner we’ve finished this task, the better.”

  As it was, I agreed with him.

  Apparently sleep wasn’t going to come easy tonight. Every time I tried, I stumbled into the waking nightmare that had become my life—the Foundry the main featured event. Images of fire streaking through the streets, Logan and my father screaming as the flames cut them down. So many images, and I couldn’t shut off a single one of them. I should have been there with them, should have refused to return to Arik.

  But I’d been a coward. Too frightened to stand up to him. Too weak to fight back. Too gutless to protect those who’d meant the most to me. And now I was paying for it with their lives.

  The thought of returning to the Foundry in the morning twisted my stomach. I didn’t want to see them that way—didn’t want to remember them as charred corpses. Didn’t want to feel their scorched bodies beneath my hands.

  My pulse sped up as I imagined that scenario, and tears pricked at my eyes. It was too much. Markos asked too much.

  I shot a glance toward the window next to my bed with my fingers bunching in the blankets.