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Grey looked around at the torn-up walls and winced at the creaking planks of the floor as he got to his knees. The world spun when he stood, slamming him straight back to the memory of Reign’s sharp, wry smile. Adrenaline pumped through him as he yanked back his sleeves. Dark spots lingered at his fingertips, grazing his nails like his hands had been dipped in ink. He quickly pulled his sleeves back down and hurried over to the bags along the wall.
Gloves. Where are Noel’s gloves?
There, right at the bottom, where the worn, leather gloves he’d been searching for, and when he slipped them on, he clenched his fists a few times. No more indications that he’d done something heinous—something his mother would’ve considered taboo. Fae creatures were supposed to be revered and respected with a heavy dose of fear, not attacked with the magic forced on mankind.
He rubbed his gloved palms on his knees, sweating at the mere idea that he’d possibly scraped off a small portion of his soul with that transgression, and now this was his punishment—a mark to indicate he’d relinquished a piece of his humanity he’d been less and less certain he actually had in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hoping that apology would be carried through the wind to whoever he needed to right himself with. That sudden sorrow smacked into him so hard he wobbled on the balls of his feet from where he crouched. All the emotion from the previous night washed over him until a dull numbness took its place. He jumped at the sound of soles against the planks and pitched forward to one knee when his head whipped around to the shadow in the doorframe.
“You’re awake,” Noel said, relief flooding his face in a way that made Grey’s heart snap cleanly in two.
Grey scrambled to his feet, tugging down his sleeves over his gloves for good measure. “Y-yeah,” he mumbled, his sights immediately glued to the floor. God, you can’t even look him in the eyes, can you? You basically told him you wanted to die because you’re a coward. Now you’re alive and you don’t even have the guts to speak.
That guilt pushed in from all around him—guilt from somehow surviving, guilt from tossing Noel aside in favor of giving up, guilt for being another burden, guilt for struggling to feel anything but guilt.
Noel started toward him, the toes of his boots stopping short of that intimate distance. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”
Grey folded in on himself, rubbing his arms while the question rolled around in his head, unable to land on any one answer. “I… don’t know.” Like I’ve cheated death again and earned another badge of shame.
The floor creaked while Grey watched Noel’s stance shift. “Grey, I—” he began, his hand reaching for him until it paused, fingers curling as it retreated. A fresh stab of pain sliced through Grey, leaving an empty, throbbing ache while Noel continued. “I should’ve done more back there?—”
Grey’s head snapped up, his brows knitting together with confusion as Noel grimaced and ran a hand through his hair.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t have had you sit outside when we stopped into that town to get fuel. I just thought—” He hesitated, biting his lip and glancing away. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking. I said I wasn’t going to leave you alone again, and I fucked up.”
Grey squeezed his arms, his gaze dipping down again. “I’m not your responsibility, Noel. You can’t blame yourself for?—”
Noel’s sharp, hollow laugh cut through the rest of his thought. “I care about you, Grey. You’re?—”
“Your friend,” Grey finished soberly. “I know. I just… can’t help but feel like there isn’t any more time left. You saw what happened back there—to those macharomancers—right?” He half-heartedly motioned to the doorway.
“What about it? We’re talking about the fair folk getting pissy. That’s nothing ne?—”
“Yeah, and it started back just before we ran into Cy the first time. They’re trying to twist macharomancers into something else because they’re being deemed too much of a problem.”
Noel scoffed. “I think you’re seriously overthinkin?—”
“Am I?” his voice hitched, that sadness catching in his throat. “We argued about how people look at me like I’m a monster because I’m a hemomancer. There’s a reason why that is, and it’s because hemomancers used to be hydromancers, Noel. That’s why that ghost town protected by barriers of running water was wiped out. That’s why people are always side-eyeing me when I go anywhere near any other mancer besides my own kind. The fair folk drove hydromancers mad—they warped their magic, and now they’re doing the same thing to your people.” Grey rocked back when Noel flinched and sucked in a shaky breath. “We’re just things for them to play with. Even if we manage to make a decent trade, don’t you think they’ll push us to make another? And another?”
His back fell against the wall, his legs aching from how he forced himself to crookedly stand with the bags at his heels.
Noel worried his lip and glanced over at the door, a shadow disappearing with a quiet curse before he took another step closer to Grey. “What did they have you do back there?” His voice dipped into a low, dangerous tone that held a hefty dose of concern with that tiny trace of anger.
Grey readjusted his sleeves. “I think one of their leaders had fae madness,” he whispered, the words coming out in a near-squeak. “They had me use a sacrificial ruby on her. I think it helped me take care of most of it, but…” He shook his head, leaving his uncertainty unsaid.
The furious pounding starting to emerge within his skull came with the question of whether or not he’d be forced to watch Noel succumb to madness as well. The most traumatic punishment Reign could think of for refusing to yield, all while knowing he’d have the capability to reverse it if he had the right tools. A slap in the face for thinking he’d be able to run from a creature that deemed themself his master.
Noel cringed, Grey barely getting a glimpse of the expression before it vanished behind a hand running down his face. “That explains the disturbing erratic behavior from the others…”
Pressure built behind Grey’s eyes as he stared down at his hands through the layers of fabric. This version of the Wild Hunt was created to appease the fair folk—to give them the sacrifices they craved in order to avoid mass bloodshed. And here Grey was, prolonging the inevitable out of the selfish fear of death. Or, rather, a slow, painful death with jeers and mocking laughter before he knew peace for the first time in so many years.
This plague could very well be the beginning of that price for disobedience.
“Maybe—” he choked out, forcing down the lump in his throat before he continued. “Maybe we should give ourselves up to the Grand Capital.”
“What? What the fuck are you—Grey, no.”
“So we’re just going to keep running while people start to die? All because we’re too selfish to give up?” Tears broke free as he lifted his head to stare into those bright green eyes—like fresh clover he used to hunt through as a child to find the ones with four leaves and never could. A bitter laugh threatened to break free then, recognizing another sign of the misfortune stamped on his soul.
