Page 57 of A Divided Duty

“We were prisoners together,” I said. “I never got her name. There wasn’t a lot of time for small talk when we were waiting for Michael to show up and punish us for breathing his precious air.”

It hadn’t been exactly like that. But it had been years before I could tolerate the flickering light of a candle without feeling my chest getting tight, and longer still before I’d been able to sleep in a dark room. I didn’t want to remember what it had actually been like in the Children’s Hall, or how terrified I’d been that it was all going to collapse at any moment.

The Satyr-Griffin girl—older now, in her late teens if not her early twenties, and very nearly an adult—came walking slowly across the space toward us. She kept her hands open and down by her sides, making sure I could see them at all times, and she didn’t take her eyes off mine as she approached, watching me with every step. I got the distinct feeling that if I looked away, she would retreat. She might not have asked with words if she could approach, but she was giving me time to rescind my invitation all the same.

I waved again, leaning slightly forward so that my elbows rested on my knees. This had the small side effect of planting my candle squarely between us. I wasn’t mad about that.

“I didn’t think you’d come back here of your own accord,” she said, once she was close enough to be heard without needing to shout above either the fire or the various other ongoing conversations. “Not after what you did. Not after what was done to you.”

“I go where I’m needed,” I said. “It’s sort of my job.”

“They named you a Hero, didn’t they?” she asked, tone almost pleasant. “Was it for killing our Master?”

“Not entirely, but I’m sure killing a monster who’d been preying on the children of the kingdom for centuries tilted the scales in my favor,” I said, matching pleasantness with pleasantness. Two of us could play at this game. “I don’t believe we were ever properly introduced.”

“Not as such,” she agreed. “Rider or ridden, we asked you, and it seems you’ve found a third option.”

“I mean, so did you,” I said, gesturing to her lower body with the hand that held the candle. “You’re no horse, but I don’t see you sitting easily on one, either. Did Michael intend for you to run alongside the Hunt and play both roles at the same time?”

Startled, she laughed. “I was never sure of that myself,” she admitted. “There was a Centaur in the Hall with us, and he was becoming part-Dragon, we all thought to be able to carry a Piskie girl whose legs had gone limp as eels. I’m sure the Rider who initially snatched him—and me—got scolded for taking someone so impractical, and then I was His, and what’s His was not allowed to leave. I changed for the service of my Master. I know He would have figured out how to use me best.”

“He wasn’t a god,” I said uncomfortably, glancing down.

“He might as well have been, to us,” said the Satyr. “I know you. Sir October Daye, who could have been our Lady, but chose to be our savior instead. Even those of us who loved Him know what you did for us. Even those of us who weren’t able to go home are grateful.” And she bowed, something that, with her anatomy, meant sinking into a kneeling position, weight resting on her front legs.

When Michael’s final Ride had been broken, there had been other people there, the parents and loved ones of some of his victims. The ones who’d been able to pull their missing children from the Ride had been able to take them home again, restored to their original forms and free of Michael’s distorting magic. The ones who hadn’t been on that Ride, or whose families had been outside the Luidaeg’s reach, well … they’d stayed here. Forever.

“Oh, please, don’t,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to be anyone’s savior. I just wanted to get the kids I’d come here to protect safe home to their parents, and that meant saving everyone else as a side effect.”

“Just what everyone loves to hear, that they were a side effect,” said the Satyr, wryly. She looked to Tybalt. “Who’s this?”

“Her husband,” said Tybalt, dryly. “I remain quite glad that she chose not to become another man’s ‘lady,’ however glorious he may have been. I quite prefer her at home with me.”

“Makes sense,” said the Satyr, rising. Her wings half-opened, flapping to maintain her balance as she sat heavily, a small cloud of dust resulting from the impact of her rump against the ground. “I’m Eutychia. I was taken from the Kingdom on the Golden Shore. My parents are Spiridon and Voula. I’m sure they wonder what happened to me.”

I paused, sudden regret filling me from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. Every resident of Blind Michael’s lands, with the exception of Acacia, had been stolen from their parents and swept away here like their lives were just toys to be collected. Their families of the ones the Luidaeg didn’t find in time for the last Ride didn’t know whether their loved ones were alive or dead; they had no closure. “Do you … do you want me to find them and tell them that you’re all right?” I asked.

“What I want is to go home, but since that’s not possible, yes, that would be a great gift from you to me,” she said. “I would be eternally in your debt.”

She couldn’t bow while seated, but she inclined her head, following all the proper rules of courtly behavior. It was remarkably smooth, given how long it had likely been since she’d needed any of those skills. Blind Michael’s skerry wasn’t total anarchy, especially with Acacia keeping things in order, but it wasn’t a place that put much weight on manners, either.

“I … I’m sort of in the middle of trying to find my friend Raysel and get her home right now, but as soon as that’s done, I’ll be happy to help,” I said. “I know the King and Queen on the Golden Shore. I’m sure they’ll assist me in finding your parents.”

Assuming Spiridon and Voula hadn’t moved away after their daughter vanished from her room and never came home. While he’d been active, Blind Michael had been single-handedly responsible for a whole lot of relocations among the adult population of the Westlands. People don’t normally want to remain where they were living when their children were stolen from them. Funny, that. So there was every chance I’d go to the Golden Shore and discover that Eutychia’s parents were long, long gone.

Which reminded me … “Do you know what year it was when you were brought here? Time doesn’t always work the same way in the skerries as it does in the Summerlands.”

“That, and none of us got any older until our Lord stopped his dancing,” said Eutychia. “I was taken from my home in 1973, and I lingered in the Children’s Hall exactly as I was until you came before us and broke the chains. I’ve been growing since then.”

Sounding bewildered, Tybalt said, “But the Riders are adults, or the size of such.”

“Yes, and when you were chosen to Ride, you would very quickly grow to the age and size our Lord required,” said Eutychia. “He only took children, but children didn’t make the kind of Riders he wanted, so He remade us in the image of His desire. I Rode with Him three times. Only the first was astride a horse. I thought He might straighten my legs, make me better suited to equestrian activities. Instead, He made me a steed in my own right, while leaving me the potential to claim the status of Rider one day. I still can’t decide whether that was a kindness, or whether it was just another game that never saw its proper end. Either way, this is what I am now, and this is where I’ll stay.”

1973 … “That was a long time ago,” I said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you any sooner. But I’ll look for your parents, and I’ll tell them what happened to you.”

“That’s all we can ask,” she said, softly. For the first time, I saw the deep sorrow etched into the circles under her eyes, the dullness in her feathers.

“We?” echoed Tybalt.