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Her long tail twitches. “Wreth. You’ve heard of me, no?”
“I don’t come into town much.” I shrug.
“Surely they speak of Wreth the Feared out on the sea?” Her claws leave deep grooves in the wooden cart.
“I keep to myself.”
She smiles, her fangs long and sharp. “Next time you go out fishing, be sure to mention me to your friends. They’ll have tales to tell. Dark ones. Full of blood.”
“I’ll do that.” I try to sound subservient, but it doesn’t exactly come naturally. Even so, I keep my gaze low and my shoulders hunched.
Removing her claws, she backs away and gestures for me to continue. “The kitchen is on the next path to your left.”
“Thank you.” I roll my cart away from her.
“One problem, Janare.” Her voice is almost at a low purr.
I glance around, but she’s gone, hidden somewhere behind the hedge. My hand strays to the blade strapped to my chest under my shirt. “Problem?” I scan the leaves, trying to find her through the blooms and greenery.
“Granthos hates fish.” She leaps out, her claws flashing.
9
Beth
“Just lie still.” Taura washes my wounds with a cloth. “Master went too far this time.” She frowns, her big eyes sad as she tries to wipe the blood and spittle from my throat. “He let them take too much.”
“Missed me, eh?” I force the words out though I don’t feel like talking.
“I did, actually.” She squeezes the bloody water into a white basin and continues cleaning me.
I want to tell her there’s no point, that I won’t last the night, that I intend to end my life as soon as she leaves me alone. But I don’t. I let her wipe my blood away, even if I intend to shed a great deal more of it soon.
She pauses, and I realize her hands are shaking as she leans close. “What was it like?” she whispers.
“What?” I wince at the burning ache that lingers in my torn skin.
She moves closer still. “Being free. What was it like?” She glances around, afraid that the plain wooden walls of my old room might hear her. If they hear anything, they never speak of it, not of the pain or the suffering or even the small, fleeting moments of happiness I’ve had. These walls are silent witnesses to all of it, and they’ll be the only ones to hear my dying breath.
“Lenetia?”
“It’s Beth.” I shift on the bed, the wounds in my legs shooting with raw pain. “And freedom was …” How can I put into words the gift that Taylor, Leander, and Gareth gave to me? It’s impossible. From the moment Gareth freed me from the dungeon, he showed me what it was like to be treated as an equal. Was he broody? Sure. Followed the rules to a fault? Definitely. But did he ever treat me like a slave? No.
She presses the cloth against my neck, bringing me back to this barren room.
“It was more than I’d ever dreamed.” I choke up a little, hating myself for my weakness but experiencing it all the same. “In the winter realm, all are free. Those words seemed so foolish when I first heard them. Like fairy prattle. But they’re real. For the short time I was there, I was free. I could go where I wanted, do what I wanted. I was treated just like a high fae.”
Her eyes widen as she absentmindedly dabs my stitches. “Treated like one of them?”
She’s done a good job patching me up, her fine sewing wasted on me. I’m lost, but she doesn’t realize it. She will when she finds my body. Poor girl.
“Given the same deference as a high fae?” she persists.
“Yes and no. Outside of Byrn Varyndr, the high fae aren’t masters of everything. In the Red Plains—”
“You went to the Red Plains?” She squeezes the cloth into the basin. “Were there wind wights?”
“Yes.” I nod. “Huge creatures carried on a dust storm as high as the sky. But the Vundi took us in.” I wrinkle my nose. “Well, sort of. They kind of wanted to kidnap my friend Taylor, but that’s another story. The point is that the Vundi high council—their rulers—were a mix of high and lesser fae. They were all equal.”
“Here in the summer realm, they were truly equal?” She stills, her eyes still wide. “No difference between them?”
“None. They worked alongside each other. And in the winter realm? It’s the same. Better, really. Everyone there is free.”
She glances around, nervous again. “We heard the winter king took a changeling for a mate. Is that true?”
“Yes. My friend Taylor.” Then I shake my head but stop because of the ache. “But also, no. We only thought she was a changeling. But he wanted her for his queen all the same.”
“A changeling queen.” Her lips twitch in the ghost of a smile. “Can you imagine? I never thought something like that was possible.”
“When you’re free, anything is possible.” I bask in the warm memories of spending time with Gareth, Taylor, and Leander.
“Anything?”
I hold her gaze. “Anything. There, I was someone. There, I had a choice. There, I could say no.”
She almost drops the bowl but continues her work. I can hear my words rolling around in her head beneath her flow of dark brown hair. Saying no to our masters was simply not done. The power in that word is immeasurable. To be able to dissent, to refuse? Unheard of amongst the slaves of Byrn Varyndr.
She pulls my arm into her lap to better see her work, and my fingers graze her belly. With a jerk, she pushes my hand away.
“Taura.” I can’t hold back the sadness in my voice, my heart.
“It’s nothing.” She doesn’t look me in the eye.
“Granthos?”
She doesn’t respond. So, yes, that bastard had his way with her. She’s barely seventeen years and already with child against her will. If I had any magic—any at all—I would tear this fine house down on top of Granthos and then shit on the pile where he lay dead.
“It’s okay.” She swipes a tear away with the back of her hand.
“No, it isn’t.” I take her hand in mine. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
It’s not. She’s right. But maybe if I’d been here, I could have stopped it, could have offered myself instead. Because on her own, she had no option but to submit. “No” isn’t allowed.
“Almost done.” She gently removes her hand from my grasp and continues her work.
When she’s finished wrapping my bites, she stands and grabs the basin. Her voice is so low I can barely hear it. “The winter realm is free. Do you think one day—” She chews her lip. “One day maybe all of us can be free?”
Should I lie? Is giving false hope even worse than telling her the horrible truth that no one in Byrn Varyndr will ever be free until the lesser fae and changelings join together and fight for themselves? Because that’s the only thing that can change the way things are. I saw it in the campfires and the legions of soldiers beyond the mountain. They were prepared to shed as much blood as possible to gain equality, even if they were only pawns in Shathinor’s dark game of conquest.
