Page 39

It took us another hour to reach it on horseback before I gestured for her to stop. Prisca looked at the vast empty space near the Solith River. Slowly, she turned her head, her eyes promising murder.

I wanted to pull her off her horse, tumble her to the ground, and—

She scowled. “Lorian.”

I sighed, angling my horse until I was next to her. “Come here.”

She allowed me to take her face between my hands. I ached to take her mouth with mine. “Close your eyes,” I whispered.

Surprisingly, she did that too. Perhaps she was finally beginning to trust me once more. I murmured in the old fae language. “Open.”

Her eyes were more gold today, luring me closer. I lowered my head.

She yelped, drawing back, and I sighed as her mouth fell open, her gaze on the camp behind me. “This is…this…”

“It’s hidden by the ward,” I confirmed. “Those who wish to send and receive messages from this camp must travel closer to the border to meet with messengers.”

I turned my head reluctantly, far more interested in Prisca’s reaction than the camp that had suddenly appeared in front of us. But it had been years since I’d visited the area, so I surveyed the tents of every size and scale, the cooking fires billowing smoke into the air, the large arena where hybrids and fae trained—currently under Galon’s command, and the hybrids using the rope and pulley system to collect water from the river and transport it to the cooking tents. That system was a last resort if hybrids or fae with an affinity for water had drained their powers.

Prisca’s attention had turned to the tents, which stretched into the distance—significantly more than the last time I’d visited.

“How many?” Prisca asked, her voice low.

“With the three hundred you freed, the numbers will be around ten thousand or so. Of course, that doesn’t count any children who have been born. Your people are much more fertile than mine.”

“How?” she asked. “And why?” Her horse shuffled beneath her, clearly picking up on her roiling emotions.

I knew she wasn’t talking about fertility. “Once…once my father learned of the attack—and how your people had been forced to flee—he convinced his council to open our borders. It was too late. Thousands had died attempting to get here, assuming we would help.” My gut twisted at the words. And at the horror in Prisca’s eyes. But I wouldn’t lie to her.

“After Crawyth, they had few options available to them. Most disappeared, hiding among the villages. They were so good at hiding, in fact, that Regner began requiring the priestesses to use the blue mark.” I tapped the skin between my temple and my eye.

“But the fae helped.”

I sighed. “It took too long. By the time the fae learned of what had happened and ceased arguing about the correct action…by the time they lowered their wards and managed to provide a place for some of the hybrids to find safety, most hybrids no longer trusted us. Our people had already split once before—the hybrids becoming increasingly insular. And they saw this as another reason to distrust us. To hate us.”

She swallowed, still gazing at the camp in front of us. “This is one of the places Vicer was helping smuggle the hybrids to, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know your friend’s plans, but it’s likely. There are hidden hybrid camps across Eprotha and Gromalia, but Regner makes an example of them each time he learns of one.”

And if our wards ever failed…if we lost the war to come, and Regner managed to find this place…

Prisca was silent for a long moment. When she turned her head, I caught the despair in her eyes. “They truly have nowhere to go. I knew it, but it took seeing this camp to make me understand.”

I nodded. “The hybrids are proud. They don’t want to be here, and yet they have no way of crossing to their kingdom without drawing Regner’s attention. And even if they made it across the Sleeping Sea, they have no idea what’s waiting for them on the barren continent.”

“It’s not barren,” she reminded me.

“No,” I said softly. “But there are other things that live there. Vicious, wild things.”

“How do you know?”

I opened my mouth, but someone had broken away from the camp and was running toward us.

Asinia. The friend Prisca had risked everything for. The reason she’d never gotten on to a ship and had instead walked into Regner’s castle.

Prisca leaped from her horse, and the two women threw their arms around each other, embracing as they rocked. I couldn’t tell if they were laughing or crying. Wasn’t sure if they even knew themselves.

I sometimes forgot. That for Prisca, all of it had been for this woman—her sister by choice, if not by birth.