I learn how long it’s been since anyone took care of this land—one hundred years since someone marked the equinoxes and solstices. One hundred years since someone gave willingly without expecting anything in return, and my heart bleeds for the land that has been so neglected. It was a witch, and I have my guesses about which coven she hailed from, the land offering me a few clues, but not enough to be sure.
Tyton watches my every move, his magic pressing against me as he monitors what I'm doing, but even as they pass each other like ships in the night, he never passes on this information to Tauron. Neither of them speak to me, but the food does get markedly better, which is good, considering they insist that I eat.
When I did little more than graze from the first plate, Tauron stood up and came up to the bars on my door, glaring down at me as he snapped, “If you don't eat that food, I will come in there, force your jaw open, and shove it down your throat myself.”
In my past life, I would have ripped the man’s arm off if he tried such a thing, but that’s not my purpose here. Docile and sweet little Rooke from the Ravenswyrd Forest—the girl I left behind—that is who I am now. I’m hiding my Northern Lands self behind compliance to survive this confinement.
On the third day after we confronted the Unseelie Court, I notice a frenetic sort of energy around Tyton, a jerky manner to the way his limbs move and a curt tone to his voice as he sends Tauron on his way.
I study him carefully from the corner of my eye and, when he senses my attention on him, he shifts his ire to me. “I don't care how bored you are in there, witch, stick to your tinkering with the earth and keep me out of it.”
I shrug at him and pull myself to my feet, then pace the cell to stretch out my limbs. They crack with disuse, a tautness in them I have not felt in some time, and I bite back a groan.
I distance myself from the pain by prodding at him. “You should drink some honeysuckle tea. Brew it with peppermint to hide the bitter taste, and it’ll ease your headache.”
His eyes narrow at me. The vicious look on his face is common to Tauron but an anomaly for Tyton.
“Are you trying to poison me, witch?” His voice is scathing. “Are you trying to use your magic against me now that you have shown yourself to be nothing more than a docile little lamb caught in a deadly trap? I won't fall for it.”
I bend at the waist to stretch down and touch my toes, feeling relief as my back finally pops audibly, the sound ricocheting off the stone walls. “It's not magic, it's medicine. Any healer worth their salt would give you the same recipe. If you want to walk around grumpy and in pain for the rest of the day, be my guest. It's no bother to me.”
He scoffs and rolls his shoulders back, finally shifting his eyes from me as he inspects the roughly hewn stone above our heads. The blocks still show the markings from the primitive tools that were used to build this dungeon in the first place, and I often find my attention pulled to the deep, systematic grooves.
“I suppose you spent a lot of time in the Sol Army giving out tinctures for headaches, did you? I'm sure that helped greatly against the Ureen.”
I don't like hearing those words out of his mouth, the way that he trivializes the horrors I endured for almost two hundred years, but I’ve had enough time to recover from the Fate War and the devastation of the Ureen to keep my face carefully blank. “You'd be surprised at the things I learned in the Northern Lands. A lot of things you wouldn’t think were useful saved countless lives.”
There’s a booming sound above us, voices thumping. His gaze darts to the stairs, and he frowns. The noises are loud enough that even my hearing can pick them up.
I wonder what extra information he’s getting right now.
When the thuds ease a bit, he speaks again. “Describe the Ureen to me. If I'm going to be stuck watching you for the rest of my goddamn life, I might as well get a story or two out of it. Tell me what it was like to see one of those creatures.”
I would rather strip myself naked and sun myself on the decks of the castle in front of the entire Unseelie Court than have that conversation with this man. He’s the only one who will speak to me though, the only one who giving a little information to might get me some in return.
His eyes are sharp and calculating as he watches me, seeing far too much of me even as I work to keep my face blank. I suppose the numb feeling within my chest is helpful, because it's easy to say the words clinically, as though I'm reciting from a history book and not from the worst memories I have ever had the displeasure of making for myself.
“The Ureen are monsters that guard the Fates themselves. The Seelie Court had no idea what was coming for them. When the Fates tore an opening in the sky above Sol City, they thought it was a warning.”
I keep the details to myself, the things that only someone who was in the Northern Lands during the Fate Wars could truly know. The Sol King had been desperately trying to fix his fate; he hadn't meant to break it in the first place, though no one outside of the Seelie Court believes that.
I know it better than most.
Tyton motions at me to continue and, for some reason, I do. “The Northern Lands are bigger than our kingdom, with a larger population than the Southern Lands has ever held, and their castles are surrounded by cities that were bursting with life. By all accounts, the Northern Lands were flourishing before the war started.
“The first night that the Ureen came out of the tear in the sky, there was nothing that the Sol King or anyone else could do to stop them. They killed hundreds of thousands in a single night. They’re creatures made of shadow and light, so unnatural that your eyes don’t want to focus on them. Your mind falters at the prospect of describing what they look like…they're everything and nothing all at once, and they reach into the deepest recesses of your mind and pull out your nightmares andbecomethem. They consumeeverything—they’re unstoppable, insatiable, and the chaos of war is a glut to them.”
I stop just to take a breath, to rein myself back in, because I can feel the panic and hysteria creeping up my chest at the memory. Two centuries of war did nothing to numb me of my fear of them.
I found out in the hardest way what would befall me and my home if I didn’t return to face my fate.
Once I’ve collected myself, I finish with, “They can’t be killed or defeated the way that normal creatures can. They have to be unmade, like a promise unraveled. It took dozens of soldiers to kill even one of them, and the death toll in the Northern Lands was catastrophic.”
Tyton stares at me for a moment, looking shocked at the tumble of words that streamed out of me, and his head is cocked as if he’s reading the truth in my voice. I’ve met other high fae with the power to read the truth and intentions, and even witches with the ability, and there’s a curiously vacant sort of sheen to their eyes as they do it that’s reflected into Tyton’s expression now that prods at the back of my mind.
I can’t be sure that’s what he’s doing, but he nods slowly, regardless. “You've seen one with your own eyes, I can tell. The stories we’ve heard down here have always been second- or thirdhand. People have described them, but they're not afraid of them like you are. You saw one up close.”
I saw thousands.
