by Eva Chase
I spent too long hanging back waiting for something to happen when we were staked out here before. It’s time to bring a little of the attack back to the ravens.
When he’s mere feet away, I pause, letting my form meld into the haze and the gusting snow. The sentry meanders a few steps farther. I gather myself—and pounce.
I’ll give him credit: he reacts quickly, squirming to the side the second he’s hit the ground, dagger already in hand. But that only gives me the chance to let out more of my bottled aggression. I smack the dagger from his fingers with a swift paw, raking my claws across his palm and wrist as I do, and pummel him harder into the frigid earth. With another swipe, I’ve sent his helmet spinning into the haze.
His body twitches as if to transform. Oh no, you don’t. I clamp my jaws tight around his neck, a trickle of his Unseelie blood dribbling over my tongue. A warning that if he tries to shrink into his raven form, I can snap that birdish head from his shoulders before he can so much as squawk in protest.
As the sentry aims an ineffective blow at my chest, I haul him right into the haze where his colleagues won’t spot us. Then I shift so quickly I’ve got a sword at his throat in place of my jaws before he can do more than shudder.
“Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with, cur?” the sentry sputters. “Or do wolves like to play with their food now?”
I bare my teeth at him, letting my still-protruding fangs show. “I’d hardly make a meal out of a scrawny feather-brain like you. And you might get to keep your life if you talk quickly. Tell me about the next strike your people are planning against us.”
The man manages a choked guffaw. “You think I’d betray my people to save my hide? Go ahead and kill me. I’m not talking.”
I should have anticipated he’d reject the opportunity to yield, but I’ve never taken a prisoner for interrogation before, never battled in circumstances where the future of an entire people could be at stake. I press my blade a tad harder, watching blood well up along the gleaming edge, my mind scrambling for my next move.
If he’d rather die than speak, I can’t beat the information out of him. I’m going to have to rely on my wits rather than my brawn. Heart take me if I don’t wish Whitt was here to advise me right now.
Well, what would my oldest brother do if faced with a problem like this? I’ve watched him work his own strategies plenty of times.
He might weave a sort of glamour with his words. Create an illusion that would draw out the answers he needs. Pretend he doesn’t need it all that much, so his target has that much less to fight against.
What do I already think I know, that I can simply get this wretch to confirm—and maybe even add a little more as a bonus?
I pick my words carefully, only lying in implication. “You’re too loyal for your own good—more loyal than others I’ve toppled who valued their lives more.” Those others were Seelie fae I fought for very different reasons, but he doesn’t need to know that. “If you won’t tell me anything about the coming assault along this section of the border, you’ll lose your life, and I’ll simply lose another hour or two finding someone else who will. And then we’ll see how many more of your raven necks we get to wring.”
“You won’t wring any, from what I’ve heard,” the sentry retorts. “When the full moon rises, you’re as likely to savage each other as any of us, aren’t you?”
The question hits me like a lance of ice straight to my gut. I harden my expression before too much of my shock can show on my face. “That’s when your people will attack, is it?” I snarl.
The sentry’s flinch as he realizes what he gave away is answer enough. He hasn’t denied that they’re going to attack here either, accepting what I said rather than taunting me about being mistaken. Maybe I can batter a little more out of him while I have the chance…
But he doesn’t give me that chance. With a jerk of his body, he starts to contract, his arms slipping from my hold as they fling into wings, his armor rippling away into ebony feathers.
No. If he makes it back to his kind, he’ll warn them of what I’ve discovered, and they’ll adjust their plans.
I slam my sword down, and a shrunken head—half-feathered, half-human—rolls to the side, blood gushing from the severed neck.
I push away from the ruined body and wipe my blade on the frosted grass right in the center of the border. His brethren may not find him for days—or if they do, all they’ll see is that he ventured too close to our territory and met an expected fate. But that fact gives me no comfort.
Our enemies know. After all this time, the ravens have discovered our curse. And they mean to use it against us at the first opportunity.
If the Unseelie attack while the border squadrons have lost their minds to the wildness, the blood that drenches the fields next will be all our own.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Talia
The keep’s front door thumps loud enough to startle me out of sleep. I flinch beneath the covers and then go still. It takes a few seconds of straining to listen over the thunder of my pulse before my mind emerges from its dreamy muddle enough for the obvious explanation to occur to me.
August is back.
I throw off the covers and scramble out of the bed so quickly my warped foot jars against the floorboards at an awkward angle. Wincing, I fumble for my brace, not bothering with day clothes or the hairbrush on the bedside table, or anything other than getting to him as quickly as possible.
If he’s back, then he’s okay. Well, he’s okay enough to have made it back. Ralyn made it from the border to the keep so injured he had to spend days recuperating.
By the time I reach the stairs, two hushed voices are already traveling up from the hall below. Sylas was already awake, maybe even waiting for August. The other man might have sent him some kind of magic-born message to let him know he’d be coming.
I hurry down the stairs, not bothering to try to disguise the tapping of the foot brace’s wooden slats, the hem of my nightgown brushing against my knees. When I reach the bottom, August and Sylas have gone silent, watching my arrival.
In that first moment, both their expressions are so grim that my heart plummets. Then a smile breaks across August’s face. He strides over and sweeps me up, claiming a kiss I’m happy to return.
After, he nuzzles my hair. “Couldn’t wait to see me, huh, Sweetness?”
He definitely doesn’t appear to be bleeding profusely or missing any limbs. I beam back at him. “Had to make sure you got here all right. And to find out the news. If you’re back so soon, does that mean you managed to question one of the Unseelie warriors?”
August’s smile fades. He sets me down gently on my feet and glances at Sylas, who looks as solemn as before.
“What?” I say as the silence begins to stretch uncomfortably. “You can’t just not tell me.”
Sylas’s mouth twists as if he’d prefer it if he could take that tactic, but he motions to August.
“Fill her in on the part you’ve already told me, and then get into the rest.”
When August looks at me, his face has fallen so much that I want to kiss him again just to see if that would bring the light back into his golden eyes. My hands clench at my sides, bracing for the obviously bad news.
“I caught one of the ravens’ sentries,” he says. “And I found out enough to know why the arch-lords are so concerned, if they know even half of it. The Unseelie have learned of our curse. They know that on the night of the full moon, the warriors at the border will be too crazed to properly defend our lands, and they mean to launch an attack then, presumably a large one.”
He turns to Sylas. “The sentry essentially confirmed that they’ll be targeting that northern section of the borderlands. I’d guess they’re still wary of assuming the battle will go easily, so they figure they’re better off focusing all the resources they’re comfortable assembling into one spot rather than attacking all across the realm.”
Sylas nods. “That’s what
we would do if our situations were reversed. I wonder how they found out after all this time—and how much the arch-lords know. As far as I heard, they hadn’t warned anyone specifically about the full moon.”
“No, nothing beyond the standard preparations. They didn’t say the additional protections they were arguing about were for any specific time or reason.” August lets out a huff of breath. “The Unseelie could get enough of a foothold that we’ll have trouble kicking them back to their side of the border even once we have our heads again. And that’s without considering how many Seelie will fall while we’re unable to properly defend ourselves. What can we do? Shoving more forces at the problem will only make the chaos worse.”
A chill has collected in the bottom of my stomach. The Unseelie know the summer fae’s greatest weakness, and they’re already looking to exploit it. Tomorrow night could become an outright bloodbath. But my horror comes with a twinge of confusion.
I step toward Sylas to catch his attention. “There doesn’t have to be any chaos. You’ve got the cure right here. We make the tonic after all, make sure all the warriors at the border get it—and whoever else the lords can spare. The full moon isn’t until tomorrow. There’s plenty of time.”
I hadn’t thought it was possible for Sylas’s expression to turn any graver, but I was wrong. He grazes his fingers over my head in a careful caress. “As much as I appreciate your selflessness, Talia, we can’t jump straight to that solution. We’d still face all the same problems of keeping you with us and safe once your powers are exposed. If there’s any other way—”
“How can there be any other way? You’ve been trying to figure out other cures for decades. What are the chances you’ll come up with something in the next twenty-four hours?”
His whole face tightens, etched with anguish. “We didn’t go through all this strife only to throw you to the wolves as some kind of sacrifice now.”
The tension radiates off him. I can only imagine how torn he feels. He grappled enough when I first came into his care over keeping me safe despite the benefits he might earn for his pack by offering me to the arch-lords, and that was before he’d made me so many promises. Before not just his pack but his entire society had come under an immediate, dire threat.
He’ll have trouble living with himself no matter what he decides.
Fine. Let it be my decision then. I can’t live with myself if I hide away like a coward when so many lives hang in the balance that I could save so easily.
I raise my chin. “Then don’t throw me to them. Put all your thinking toward figuring out your best shot at keeping me safe while offering my blood. It is mine, and I don’t want anyone dying so that I can hold on to all of it.”
Sylas sweeps his arm through the air. “It shouldn’t be your problem to solve. We aren’t even your people. You were never meant to be here in the first place.”
“But I am here. And it is my problem, because wherever I came from, you all are my family now. I’m part of this pack. You saved me—let me save you too.”
Resistance still shows all through Sylas’s stance. Next to him, August looks from his lord to me and back again, clearly hesitant to override Sylas but unwilling to argue in favor of abandoning the border either.
As if there’s any real choice here. We could debate all day, and in the end, the only real answer would still be to use me. They just don’t want to admit it yet.
I glance toward the wall in the direction of the pack village. Inspiration hits me with a rush of determination. I can end this argument right now, claim the decision so utterly there’s no way Sylas will be able to deny it.
I spin away from them toward the kitchen and march to the door at the opposite end, my foot brace clacking in time with my uneven steps. “Talia?” August says, startled. At the sound of him and Sylas following, I pick up my pace as fast as I can without outright running.
They haven’t been locking the exits against me anymore. I push past the door and hurry out into the yard by the herb garden and the orchards. At a limping jog, a throbbing pang forming in my foot, I hustle around the side of the keep toward the twisted-off-stump houses where the rest of the pack live.
My lovers’ footsteps sound behind me, but they don’t know what I’m up to yet, so they’re not putting in enough speed to stop me. Soon, they won’t be able to.
A few of the fae are up and about in the pale early morning light, puttering around their homes. Not enough to make this tactic really work. As I cross the last short distance around the edge of the keep, I pitch my voice to carry. “Hey! Everyone in the pack! Get up, come out—there’s something you need to hear.”
Behind me, Sylas’s breath hisses between his teeth in dismay. But I’ve already hurtled onto the field into full view of the houses, the pack-kin who were outside staring my way and others emerging from their doorways or peering from their windows to see what the fuss is about. I plant myself before their puzzled eyes, my heart hammering in my chest, counting on Sylas not wanting to bewilder them even more by charging in and hauling me away but prepared to keep shouting anyway if he does.
I launch straight into the most important part of the matter. “I am the main ingredient in the tonic that can cure the full-moon curse. My blood is, I mean. I didn’t only just arrive in the faerie world. Another lord was keeping me captive and using my blood for the tonic. Sylas—” I trip over my tongue for a second, realizing I probably shouldn’t admit to his crime even to his own people. “When I got away, Sylas and his cadre helped me. And now I want to help all of you. As long as I’m around, I don’t want any of you to have to go through the full-moon wildness again.”
While I’ve made my announcement, Sylas and August have come to a halt behind me. Sylas clasps my shoulder, but he doesn’t haul me away. Too many gazes are fixed on us now, too many gaping fae taking in my proclamation. More slip from their houses—I see Harper outside hers with her parents, her startled eyes even larger than usual.
As the buzz of adrenaline fades, it occurs to me that I must look pretty ridiculous standing here in nothing but my nightgown with my bedhead hair. A blush warms my cheeks, but not enough to stop me from standing tall and taking their scrutiny.
One of the older men starts laughing. “That’s absurd. A human’s blood, curing our curse?”
“It’s true,” I say, keeping my voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “If you need proof—someone give me a knife. All I have to do is cut my finger, and you’ll be able to smell the—”
As I hold out my arm, Sylas’s grip on my shoulder tightens. He steps past me, authority radiating off his pose. “That won’t be necessary.”
I brace myself for him to try to cover up my story somehow, but I must have played my cards well enough. Too many people heard what I said—too many people who might repeat the story, even if they don’t believe it, to fae beyond this pack, who could pass it on to the arch-lords in turn.
“I can confirm that Talia speaks the truth,” Sylas says. “And thanks to her compassion for our pack, we will escape the curse beneath tomorrow’s full moon. With that in mind, I expect you to treat her with twice as much kindness and respect as you already have.” He glances down at me, his mismatched gaze just shy of a glower. “For now, we have much to prepare.”
A pinch of guilt jabs my stomach at the way I’ve forced his hand, but it was going to be forced one way or another anyway. I think from the way he phrased his confirmation that he’s accepted my right to make this call.
Aerik used my blood over and over for his own selfish gain. This time, I can claim it for a cause that matters to me.
Whatever consequences come from that decision, at least they’ll be the ones I brought down on myself.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Whitt
“You know,” I say, stretching my hands out over the earth, “if we’d really been thinking ahead, we’d have gotten Aerik to throw in his stash of vials when he yielded. He must have a rather large supply he no longer has any
use for.”
Sylas lets out a low guffaw from where he’s standing in the shadows of the parlor doorway, checking on my progress. “Perhaps I’ll offer to take them off his hands next month. Your magic appears up to the task today. We should only need a few dozen more.”
“On it, oh glorious leader.” I shift my concentration away from him to the ground beneath me, sensing with my mind rather than seeing with my eyes in the darkness of the much-too-early morning, and roll the true name for sand off my tongue.
With absolute focus, I will the particles that shiver up through the soil to meld together into the tiny glass flasks that will each hold one dose of our tonic. The true name’s mark, just beneath my left shoulder blade, itches with the amount of power I’m directing through it.
I’ve certainly summoned larger constructs into being, but not quite so many items in a row. The kitchen counters are already packed with vials. Sylas is lucky I even bothered to commune with sand enough to command it. None of the domains we’ve occupied are exactly beachy, but my fondness for weather magic led me to mastering some of its more obscure forms. I can conjure a mean sandstorm if need be.
Hmm, maybe that would be just the thing to send toward Aerik’s domain one day. I’m sure I could manage it without leaving any trace of who guided it there. Let him and his lot find themselves shaking sand out of their drawers and picking it from their teeth for weeks to come.
The minor trauma we got to inflict on them for their yield was definitely not enough.
Sylas wouldn’t approve of that plan, though, and I have more urgent concerns at the moment. It’s only a couple of hours before dawn, with the full moon approaching at next sundown. Sylas wants to be on his way to bargain with the arch-lords before any sane person has taken breakfast.
As I shape the last few vials, the itch in the mark deepens into a piercing sensation. I restrain a grimace. The vials may be small, but they require quite a bit of precision. With the amount I’ve created, I’ve nearly drained my stores of magic, which aren’t as bountiful living so far from the Heart of the Mists as they used to be. If we require even more, I may have to sacrifice a bit of my flesh to the process.