“The kids were all asleep and Gen had gone to check on our littlest. She is . . . was . . . teething and I guess needed a cuddle or something. So Gen heard her crying and got up to go rock her. I smelled the smoke coming through the windows from the crops on fire and rushed to the room Gen was in. She told me to get the other kids. I went and woke them up and got them outside, but Gen never followed. My oldest got away from my grip and ran back inside to get his mom and baby sister. I heard . . . screams. Gen was screaming and wailing. They had gotten into the house through the back. They killed the babies in front of her before gutting her.”
My stomach revolted and threatened to upend everything that I ate last night.
Fucking monsters.Murdering babies and pregnant women? And they say the Warlord is the evil one.
“She was so excited to be a mom again. She loved those babies, you know? Loved them so much. What am I supposed to do now, Fay? What do I do? I can’t take care of these kids. I-I don’t know how.” Tears started falling down his face and his kids huddled into him. I had no words of comfort, no words to guide him, so I simply wrapped them all in a hug.
“I took the kids and ran. I got here just as Holt took out the fires. We wouldn’t have made it without him. When I see him, I need to thank him.”
We pulled out of the hug and Mr. Henshaw rubbed his cheeks.
“I haven’t seen him yet,” I said quietly. “But I’ll send him your way once I do.”
He nodded his head once, and I took that as my cue to leave.
“Ben got out, by the way.”
I turned back around.
“What?”
“Ben got out. He took his family’s horse and rode for Vespera. He’s going to get help.”
I nodded my head. “Thank you.” I was relieved Ben had gotten away in time, but even more worries cascaded through my mind.
How long will it take them to bring a force here? Is that really the best option? Just yesterday they killed the Librarian for being a Keeper. Is that really the type of help we want?
My hands shook slightly as I continued to check in with other families and patients, my mind simultaneously checking out from the situation and whirling a mile a minute.
“Faylinn,” I heard my name called from across the room. Sharol stood near the side of the bar, close to the window. “I found Holt.”
The whole common room fell silent.
I slowly rose to my feet, the woman I was tending to squeezed my hand once before releasing it, and I strode over to where Sharol was standing. My vision started tunneling and the walk felt like an eternity.
Somehow, I made it to her in less than a dozen steps. She gripped both of my upper arms and stared directly into my eyes. “I need you to be brave. These people need you to be brave. Whatever happens, whatever they say, you need to stay within the runes. You must stay within my wards. They cannot get ahold of you. Do you understand me?” Her tone was fervent, and I found myself nodding numbly. She searched my eyes for another minute and seemed satisfied with what she saw because she nodded once before releasing me. Sharol guided me forward to the windows, a hand placed protectively on my back.
Once I reached the windows, I pushed my face as close to the glass as I could get, my hands pressing against the pane. There, just outside, right where the Librarian was tortured and killed, was Holt. The man who raised me, the man who loved me, the man who, for all intents and purposes, was my father. Three rebel Mages had him tied between them. One stood behind him—an older, larger man with a wild look in his eyes—a smaller woman with closed-cropped blonde hair held his left arm, and a willowy male teenager held his right. They all wore trousers that billowed about their legs before cuffing tight to their ankles and loose tunic shirts in light sand colors. They had clearly come from the southern tip of Elyria where the heat was relentless all year.
What a motley bunch of people.
A fourth man, tall and lithe with sandy-blond hair and enchanting hazel eyes, paced off to the side. His hands were clenched at his sides and a muscle continually ticked in his jaw as he watched the group of rebels hold Holt. Every so often, he would pace back and forth, like a wild cat that was caged. The whole effect was predatory and lethal, and I found myself shivering when his gaze met mine through the window.
He waspowerful.
But I quickly shook off the feeling and focused back on Holt. He was kneeling, his hands tied behind his back, and his face turned toward the ground. I could see his back heave with each breath, and I knew that he was in pain. Blood and grime marred his clothing, and I couldn’t tell if it washisblood, or blood from the fight last night.
“People of Isrun! We have your leader!”
Leader? Holt’s not our leader. The mayor is . . .
“Or at least the one with the balls to actually defend his people. The other one has been removed of the appendage that he clearly doesn’t use and the one that he did, which caused him to cower in fear in his home while you all died out here!” the one in the back spoke, his voice loud with a slight manic tinge.
That man is unwell.
As soon as he was done speaking, a body dropped from the roof of The Corner before a rope tied around its waist pulled taught. The body banged against the second floor of the bar with athud, and it took a minute to realize what I was seeing. The body was naked and missing its head and penis. The only defining feature of the corpse was its protruding white belly.
The mayor.
