I only hope that, from where she rests in Elysium, my mother will forgive me for how far I’ve fallen from the Ravenswyrd way.
* * *
I sleep like the dead, but I'm woken in the early hours of the morning by frenetic energy under my skin, the Fates singing an executioner's toll underneath my scars. The weight of the death to come presses heavy on my heart, pushing at the muscle until I’m sure it’s going to burst.
I lie there, my eyes squeezed tightly shut, as I pray to the Fates that I'm just worried about my magic and the days ahead as it replenishes, but I’ve sensed this feeling too many times in the past to fool myself. Even before my scarring, I felt the call of the Fates and woke too many times on the edge of a battlefield, knowing the devastation to come.
By the time Reed takes over from the night watch, I'm awake and preparing supplies, cutting linens into strips and boiling hot water to ensure they’re clean and ready for wounds, moving the tinctures around obsessively on the shelves to ensure the healing and pain management vials are within easy reach, keeping myself busy in the only productive way I can as doom grows thicker around us all.
He steps up to the workbench and presses his hands against the wood as he leans his weight onto them, a stern look on his face as he says, “You feel it as well. The whole castle woke up as if marching toward a funeral pyre. Tyton has been pacing for hours, and everyone is avoiding Tauron like the dragonpox.”
A grimace tugs at my lips, but I stoke the fire and keep to my work. “Prince Tyton needs to rest and ensure he’s eating well to recover. If there’s an attack coming, he needs to be ready.”
He nods as the usual maid steps in for Princess Airlie’s morning tea, her eyes on the stones beneath our feet. I set the cups out while he relays this to the maid, and she bows to him before scurrying away, eager to be out of my presence and off with her morning work.
I send Reed a dry look, the grimace still lingering on my lips. “I wish Firna would come down instead. That female’s no-nonsense way is far preferable to the meek and terrified maids in her employ. Honestly, they’re all ridiculous.”
“She's busy with the princess—they’re supposed to name the baby tonight. The entire castle has been preparing for the naming ceremony for days, and now this war is going to take that from the prince and princess,” he says, and despite the dread forming a lump in my throat, the corners of my lips tug up into a smile.
“I have to admit, when I returned from the Northern Lands I wasn't expecting to find such loyalty in the Unseelie high fae, especially from a soldier without blood ties, but the way you speak of them both is a relief. I know they’re safer with you around.”
Reed pulls up a chair and sits at the workbench, then grabs one of the piles of linens and begins to tear them into strips. They’re the perfect size, thanks to his ever-watchful gaze calculating and weighing my every move, and I don’t have to direct his actions at all.
His reply is low but firm, a declaration if I’ve ever heard one. “My family has always served the Snowsong royal bloodline, but I have a great respect for Roan and the princess. When all the other families closed their doors to their people and hid amongst their riches, they both heeded the calls for aid. Both of them have fought for their kingdom. They stayed true to Prince Soren’s claim to the throne, even when offered great riches to abandon him for the regent’s claim. Prince Roan didn't learn how to swing a sword merely to prove himself as a high-fae male, he did it to lead armies and protect the Outlands. When the witches came for his father’s lands and the people he’d sworn to protect there, he returned home. Even as the princess battled against the curse to bring their son into the world, he trusted his family here to keep his wife safe while he did what was right…even though it nearly cost him his life. Prince Soren isn't the only future leader of this kingdom. Prince Snowsong is the heir to Fates Mark and will lead the entire army of the Outlands. I'm proud to follow him, regardless of the Unseelie Court’s opinions.”
We fall into silence once more, the workload halved thanks to his help, and when I finally run out of supplies to prepare, I thank him quietly before moving back to the stove.
The truce between us makes things more comfortable for me, but I can’t let myself slip, not even for a second. The easy air exists between us in the first place only because I'm not acting in a suspicious way. The moment I do anything outside of our agreed upon tasks, I'll find myself shackled in iron, the pleasant and easy patterns of my days ripped from my grasp once more. This wasn't such a terrible prospect before, but the ache in my chest at the loss of my magic reserves is a grave warning and could bring my torture and death should I ignore it.
I begin to write out instructions and tasks on small pieces of parchment, careful to wait until Reed’s interest in my actions wanes before I quickly write out a message. I click under my tongue as though I've made a mistake, a familiar action of mine, and cast the parchment into the fire. I stand in front of the stove as I stoke the flames to hide the flicker of magic lighting blue as my message is sent on its way.
Reed follows me out to the gardens and watches as I kneel to weed the planters, inspecting each and every leaf and picking off any insects that dare to snack on my hard work. I'm not usually so fussy about them, but I can't afford to lose any of my precious supplies. Once the garden is yielding an abundant harvest, I’ll relax about the pests, aware of the cycles of nature that we’re desperate to cultivate once more. All food chains start with these minuscule creatures and will lead to the wildlife returning to the lands.
“Why don't you make a sacrifice to the earth and let it replenish you? I can see how tired you are from yesterday. Why not let the earth give back to you if it’s always so eager to help a Ravenswyrd witch?”
I press my hand against the stones that separate the planters, warm under my touch even in the weakened light of the autumn sun as the hot springs below Yregar work year-round. Some of the tightness in my fingers eases, and I sigh as I soak it in, turning his words over in my mind. He listened well to me before, and while I’m not going to expose my vulnerable state to him, I can answer him this.
“I’m perfectly well, just a little fatigued. A good night’s sleep is all I need to ease away the last clutches of the rite. I could give to the land right now, but it has little left to give me in return—it’s replenishing and storing nutrients for the long winter ahead. Besides, a sacrifice is about what you can give, not what you can get. The forest didn't need to demand such things from me when we entered, or from Tyton. It knew our hearts and knew what we would do without ever being asked. It was your heart and Prince Soren’s that were in question.”
Reed scowls, but as he opens his mouth to reply, he jolts, his teeth snapping together as he glances up at the soldiers on the walls. My gaze follows his, and we watch as they begin to move about, a warning sign of something arriving at the gates. The sentries don't shout for aid, so I doubt it's a witch army ready to enact retribution for the curse, but I stop my work and watch regardless.
Reed’s eyebrows begin to rise, his own hearing picking up details of whatever’s being said up there, and I curse my own limitations, not for the first time and I’m sure not the last. High-fae hearing would’ve come in handy a hundred times before today.
When it’s clear he’s not going to tell me anything about the ruckus taking place, I shift my focus back to my work and I leave him to eavesdrop without my scrutiny. I have the last of my preparations finished with and the workbench cleared once more when a tension finally fills Reed, his shoulders growing rigid as the familiarity we’ve grown together melts away and the immovable Outland soldier materializes before me once more.
When his eyes flick back to me, a small seed of dread takes root in my gut, my lack of power never so concerning as it is right now. More noise and movement on the wall is drowned out by sounds within the castle, doors opening and soldiers’ footsteps rushing down the hall toward the healer’s quarters. I don’t need to see Reed’s reactions to know this isn’t a good sign for me, but it plays out for me regardless.
Apprehension colors his eyes before he wipes his expression clear, his shoulders rolling back and a command in his voice as he says, “Get up. I’m taking you before the prince to answer for your crimes.”
CHAPTERFORTY
Soren
When the messengers begin to stream into Yregar, riding through the gates as though chased by the monsters of the Fates while the sun sets on the horizon before us, I call for a full attendance of my household in the Grand Hall.
Airlie brings her son with her this time, knowing that only our most loyal supporters live within these walls, and though the ladies flock to see the baby, she doesn't remove him from the sling for their curious eyes. She stands, rubbing his back gently through the fabric as she chats quietly with them all. She’s careful to ensure there's always a healthy distance between her infant and the crowding females cooing after the miracle of her curse-breaker child.
Roan stands at my side and watches their every interaction carefully, his eyes narrowing when Aura arrives and immediately rushes to her daughter’s side, but the female has been subdued by the consequences of our potential failure and is no longer eager to convince her daughter to leave Yregar. If anything, she's now desperate for them both to stay.
