"Excuse me?” Ellie raises her hand. “Before we go, would anyone happen to have a spare set of shackle keys?” she waves toward the metal leg shackles the mercenaries had put on her.
"No," says Talyn.
"If I erode the metal enough to weaken it, can you break her chain the same as you'd done with mine?" I ask Kai. It’s what I had done with both our manacles back when we’d been the merc’s prisoners. The one thing my alchemical magic has proven good for in the field.
The entire clearing goes eerily silent for the second time in a quarter hour, all the fae’s faces whipping in my direction with varying degrees of shock, suspicion, and savage hostility.
And, in the case of Kai and Kyrian, a tense stillness that’s more alarming than any outburst.
"Alchemist," Talyn breathes, the word sounding like an accusation and a death sentence all at once. "You're an alchemist."
Shit. The word hangs in the air like an armed explosive. My heart stutters as I realize Kai and Kyrian hadn’t been planning on sharing this little fact about me with the rest of their kin. I’m not sure why not, given all the trouble they went to to kidnap me.
"I—I just meant—" I stammer, but there's no taking it back. Alchemist mages are extremely rare in Eryndor, but the auricalloy we create counteracts the fae’s immortal magic, giving the humans a fighting chance against the fae. Taking an alchemist out of action is catastrophic for Eryndor defense supply lines… but I imagine my being the daughter of Eryndor’s general is the bigger deal. And Talyn already knew that.
Talyn's eyes narrow to dangerous slits. "You protect this thing after everything that it's done to our kind?”
It? Seriously? "Oh, I'm sorry," I snap, exhaustion and stress finally cracking my self-control. "Weapons that render your magic inert right when you are trying to kill us with it must seem terribly unfair to you. Fair battles are quite the inconvenience."
“Yes,” Talyn says with a slow drawl that sends dread through me. “Quite the inconvenience."
Chapter 4
Kyrian
In theory things could have gone worse. Though I can't imagine how.
As Talyn's limping patrol escorts us into camp, I take stock of the mounting disasters. First is the fact that if being Commandant Ainsley's daughter wasn't enough to get Rowan homicidally hated by the entire army, having outed herself as an alchemist certainly sealed the deal. Thanks to the bloody wolf, the word is spreading with wildfire precision — and by the time we pass the first row of tents, the soldiers are appearing out of the woodwork to get a look at the monster we’ve brought.
A monster who doesn't know that she owns my soul. Completely. Irrevocably. She claimed it somewhere between sneaking Spire medicine to the slums and trusting me with her nightmares in that storm-ravaged ruin. As she walks beside me, her auburn hair catching the morning light like captured fire, it's an effort of will to keep myself from staring.
From murdering all the fae who are, in fact, staring.
She doesn’t know,I want to shout from the mountain top.She has no idea what the auric alloy truly does. Hell, she has no idea what her precious Eryndor truly does.
Which brings me to my second problem, that of Rowan Ainsley currently hating my guts. And who can blame her? We've completely destroyed Rowan's trust. The betrayed way with which she looks at me makes my soul bleed. When her eyes meet mine—which they rarely do now—there's nothing of the warmth that once lived there. No teasing light, no reluctant affection. Just a cold, hollow emptiness that occasionally flares with such raw hurt that I have to look away first.
We all know that when it comes to Rowan, the real monsters are the three of us—Logan, Kai, and myself—who looked her in the eye while we lied, who held her while she slept, who promised her safety while planning her captivity.
And that is problem number three. I’d been certain a fae detachment this close to Eryndor’s border would be commanded by one of Flurry’s career generals. Someone with a strategic mind or at least a brain that operated independently of their cock. Rutting hell, anyone—anyone—but my half-brothers would have deferred to my authority long enough for us to do what we must whether they agreed or not.
Instead, we get Theron who’s never shown an interest in commanding anything where blood might be involved. When I left, there was an unspoken rule demanding that anyone training with Theron dull their blade’s edge.
Not only do I lack the rank to force Theron’s hand, but he’d gladly trade half the kingdom for the pleasure of seeing me put in my place. Which, according to the too many conversations we’ve had about it, is somewhere beneath the horse dung in the royal stables. That is all to say that I’ve much less control of the intended captivity than we’d all hoped.
Rutting hell. What the hell has happened over the last three years?
I stifle a sigh as the command tent looms ahead, larger than the others and dyed forest green rather than standard white.My brother's preference—Theron has always considered himself above convention. The guards outside stiffen at our approach, though I know we are expected.
"Your Highness," the guard on the right says with just enough deference to be within protocol despite the less than subtle hostility exuding from him. "The commander is awaiting you inside." A pause. "No humans allowed. Just you and him.” He jerks his head toward Kai.
"That's going to pose a problem," I begin, knowing I can't—won't—leave Rowan and Ellie alone out here. I wish Logan hadn’t taken off, but I know enough of his history to understand why he did.
“Is it?” The guard smiles.
Kai’s shadows writhe around him menacingly.
“Kyrian.” The tent flap snaps open before another brawl can break out, my half-brother swaggering out in a walking portrait of calculated perfection. Creaseless uniform, polished boots, hair cut short around his temples in what appears to be military precision but is really designed to disguise the thinning strands he inherited from his mother.
