Page 177 of A Thief Among Fae

“The guild’s traitor?” I blurt out. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because if they’re here, then the fomorians aren’t far behind,” Desmond answers. “The fomorians didn’t want us to raid Olin’s tomb. Until we know why, we can’t let our guards down.”

Auri glares at me, then Min, and her fury darkens when she looks at Rune. “I’m still not discounting the three of you.”

“But we all planned this together,” I argue. “We’re all risking our lives to get you out. Why would any of us have betrayed you?”

“Time to go!” Brandur yells down the stairwell.

Shit. We’ve been idling down here too long. Everyone stands, Finnian wobbling as his face pales. The other fae grab their confiscated weapons from a table as Min gently pats Finnian’s shoulder. “You do not need to fight,” she says. “Hide and rest. I will protect you.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but nods and retreats down one of the rows of cells.

Two guards rush down the staircase, both bruised and bleeding from blows Brandur already landed on them. Rune raises his sword to fight, but Desmond cracks his knuckles, and the three dead guards twitch. Their hands spasm as they push themselves onto their feet, the look in their eyes distant and murky.

The two newly arrived guards stare. One guard’s lip quivers as he takes a step back. The other’s face turns green as her cheeks puff out from barely withheld bile.

“Kill them,” Desmond commands. It’s the voice the fomorians feared—the voice of Death.

Chapter 52

Ipress my hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp as the necrotized revenants draw their swords and advance. It’s horrific. Their movements are erratic. Blood still leaks from their bodies. The air crackles with necrotic energy as they slash and hack into the two petrified guards.

I’m too shocked to look away, too brutally transfixed by Desmond controlling the dead guards. This is different from the skeletons in the chasm and the draugr. These are Avedorans who held life only minutes before, stumbling about like puppets.

All necromancers must be executed.

It takes every ounce of my control not to vomit.

Another guard thunders down the stairs, and at the sight of the massacre, he turns around and sprints back up. One of the revenants follows, and a scream echoes down.

“It’s clear, so let’s go!” Brandur yells down.

The revenants collapse. Desmond stares at their lifeless husks. His chest heaves, and his face pales. Even as Auri, Rune, and Finnian pass him, he doesn’t move. Min looks back at us once before following the others.

“We have to go,” I quietly say.

I can tell that using his powers burdens him, as though every body he raises stains his soul. I don’t want him to feel that way. He can’t help what Gift he was born with, and he only uses it to save the people he loves. In his memory, when he ran through the Hollowlands’ forests and forced his undead allies to help him escape, I saw how guilty he felt saving himself. I heard him beg for their forgiveness, and his anguished cry still haunts me. Auri told me that afterward, he drowned his guilt in alcohol for months.

How could a man so kind hate himself so much?

“I didn’t hesitate.” Desmond’s jaw clenches. “I was angry, seeing what they did to Finnian, imagining what they’d do to you if we were caught. All that rage called to me and I just. . . used them. You were scared.”

I reach for his hand. “You wanted to protect us. I’m not afraid.” That’s who he is at his core—someone who wants to protect the world. He was willing to sacrifice himself to end the war instead of using his magic to win it by force. No matter how unsettling his Gift is, I will never let it change how I feel about him.

He doesn’t believe me. His expression is full of shame and self-loathing as he intertwines his fingers with mine and squeezes. “Do you remember when I told you that only fools have no fear?”

I frown at him. Of course I remember.

He smiles. It’s shy, barely curving his lips, but a smile all the same. “I’m grateful for your courage today.”

“So I’m normally just a fool, then,” I retort, arching a brow.

His eyes widen. “No! I meant I’m glad you aren’t afraid of me—you should be—but it doesn’t make you a fool that you’re not, because—” He cuts himself off and groans. “I wanted to tell you⁠—”

“Desmond.” I smirk at him. “You really know how to charm a woman.”

The flush of his cheeks is all the reward I need. “Perhaps I’m in need of practice.”