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I cocked my head to the side. “Fae?”
He shrugged.
“And the one from today?” My eyes narrowed on his. His pupils were dilated so much that his eyes looked black. I could scent the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“Halfling, I think.” He coughed again. His eyes stared down at his hand and the blood dripping from his finger. “I only saw him once without a hood, but his ears were normal.” He leaned back on the crate, putting as much distance between us as possible.
I pushed my hand harder against his throat. “What else did you tell them?”
“Not much. Sometimes I give them papers. Contracts. Harvest records. Usually, they just want to know which lords are in the city and who calls on them.” There were many reasons the Dark Fae could target Cereliath. Most hinged on disrupting food distribution. Just as the king had worried.
“Did they say why they wanted to know?” I doubted either of them would have been dumb enough to reveal their plans, but it was worth asking all the same.
“No. I didn’t ask.” His voice quivered, but he lifted his chin.
“You didn’t wonder?” I pushed.
“I didn’t care,” he spat. I raised my brows, but he couldn’t see my surprise under the hood.
“People are hungry,” he continued. “Bodies line the city, so thin and frail that the birds don’t even come for them. They just lay there and rot.” His jaw pulsed against his ragged breaths.
“And the male tonight? He’s going to stop that, is he?” I crossed my arms, still holding the thick rope that bound the boy’s limbs at his sides. He knew better than to move.
“He is. Him and the Shadow.” He didn’t even try to mask the anger in his voice.
“The Shadow?” I echoed.
He gave a stiff nod.
“How do you know this male works with the Shadow?” I asked, pulling him closer. “Have you met him?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. They don’t use names. But the crates”—he kicked the box he sat on with his heel—“are full of food. Food to feed the hungry. Mortals. Halflings. They don’t care. Anyone with an empty belly.”
“And the Shadow has claimed to do this?” My mouth pinched. I had not heard of the Shadow’s charity.
“Not outright,” he said with a shrug. “Yet the people whisper his name all over the city. Every sack of goods that gets delivered is met with prayers of thanks to the Shadow. No one else has come forward to claim the deeds because no one else knows it’s happening.” His lips formed a soft smile.
“Curringham doesn’t know?” I asked.
The boy scoffed. “Curringham doesn’t care what happens to the poor. He spends all his time in Cereliath ignoring the people, locking himself in the manor pretending that everyone outside its walls is fed. His own city is even worse. There, half the people go without food each night. Babies die because their mothers don’t eat enough to make milk. Children as young as six work the fields outside of the lord’s house to feed their families.” His nose crinkled and he bit his lip.
I loosened my grip on the rigging. My stomach churned like the waves underneath the boat. I could smell the death of the city; its scent was burned into my nostrils. I closed my eyes and saw flashes of the bodies that lined the road into Cereliath, too weak even to beg. Too weak to hope.
I swallowed the memories back down. My hands clenched around the rigging as I opened my eyes to study the boy in front of me. It didn’t matter that I understood his anger. It didn’t matter that I agreed with it. I was still the Blade.
“You approached the Fae then?” I asked through clenched teeth.
He shook his head. “They came to me. After a few visits I realized they were the only ones trying to help. Who was I to judge them when my own lord turned his back on his people?” He turned his head toward the docks, toward the House of Harvest. I knew from the glare in his eyes that he would burn the whole manor down if he could.
“When did you start working for them?” I asked. His attention snapped back to me.
“I don’t work for them—” I pushed my blade against his throat again. “This spring,” he choked against the steel.
“Betraying your lord is betraying the Crown,” I reminded him. He nodded, his eyes lingering on the silver blade at my neck. When he looked back up at my hood, there was a hardness in them that had not been there before.
“My lord betrayed me when my baby brother starved in his bed last winter,” he snapped, thrashing against his bindings for the first time. I knocked him back and pressed the sharp edge harder against his throat. A thin line of red appeared along the steel.
“No matter your reasons, treason cannot go unpunished,” I said. The words tasted like acid in my throat. I swallowed the pain and tried to ignore what he had said about his brother.
