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Chapter 16

Morgana

S omething has put the Nightmare Prince in a foul mood.

Every question or comment I make is met with a few distant words or total silence. Even Alastor can’t coax a full sentence out of him. He gets the message quicker than I do, however, and stops trying to make conversation. It tells me he’s used to Leon’s surly behavior.

While his soldiers might have to put up with it, I don’t.

When we stop by a river to let the horses drink, I don’t return to Leon’s horse, instead waiting by Alastor’s. The blond-haired fae blinks at me, confused.

“Yes?” he asks.

“I want to ride with you,” I say.

He runs a hand through his hair, uncertain.

“You do?”

“Yes,” I say innocently. “Do you mind?”

“ I don’t,” he says. He glances at Leon, who is watching us quietly. “ He might.”

“I don’t see why,” I say more firmly, crossing my arms in front of me, making it clear I’m not going to change my mind.

Alastor starts to answer. “Well, because he?—”

“Do what you want,” Leon grunts, cutting his friend off with a glare. I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get to hear what Alastor was going to say, but I figure if I ride with him, I’ll have other opportunities to talk.

When Alastor goes to mount the horse, I put a hand on his arm.

“Do you mind if I sit in front? I never learned to ride, but I’ve been watching you two and would like to give it a go.”

I slide a look toward Leon and see that he’s still watching.

“Not knowing how to ride is pretty embarrassing,” Alastor agrees, his speech as cheerfully unfiltered as usual. “So I suppose it’s for the best if you can learn the basics.” I smile at him in thanks.

Leon’s gaze burns into my back as I accept Alastor’s hand, and he helps me up onto the horse. Moments later, he’s seated behind me, keeping a respectful distance even as he shows me how to handle the reins.

I’ve noticed that since my fever eased, the thought of being touched doesn’t make me flinch the way it did before. Maybe it’s something to do with being handled so much when I was half-conscious—moved on and off horses and carried into buildings and even changed. Perhaps because I had no choice but to rely on others helping me, I was able to relearn how not to fear it.

Or maybe it was that dream about ? —

I stop the thought before it fully forms.

Whatever the reason, it means I’m relaxed as we continue our journey, with Alastor offering little pieces of advice as we go.

“She’s a good animal,” he says. “Trust her to do most of the work for you.”

I nod, letting myself enjoy the journey. It certainly feels less tense than being stuck on the back of Leon’s horse. He’s started riding ahead of us, and I deliberately put him from my mind, focusing on what Alastor’s saying.

“And when we’re on rocky roads like this one, you’ve got to go slower—let the horse feel out the safest route.”

“Where does this road lead?” I ask, not bothering to hide my curiosity.

“The Wirstone Mountains—look, you can already see the tops of them up above that hill.”

Alastor points to rows of rust-colored ridges in the distance, their tips streaked white with snow.

I gape. “We’re at the Wirstones already?”

I’ve only ever seen them on a map, but it means we’re further south and east than I realized.

“Yes, we know some of the more convenient back roads, so even with you making us run late, we haven’t lost too much time,” Alastor explains.

“Late for what?”

Alastor doesn’t hesitate.

“For meeting the rest of our unit.”

So the other fae are still in the country. Even if it doesn’t change things for me, I feel a surge of triumph knowing I was right. Plus, we’re meeting up with them before the border. Interesting.

I squint at the peaks, realization dawning on me.

“Are we going to travel over the Wirstones?” I’m no expert, but I’m sure scaling and descending the range is meant to take several days. “Is there some kind of pass?”

“A pass? Not exactly. More like a shortcut,” Alastor says.

“What do you mean, a shortcut?”

“We’ll go under the mountains, not over them.”

It’s a struggle to keep from gaping. “You can do that?”

“Well, most people can’t, but if you know where to look, there’s a pretty useful set of tunnels that runs right through them. They’re mostly used by smugglers and the Hand of Ralus these days.”

I frown at his mention of the Hand and wonder if I should be worried. They’re a group of anti-religious fanatics who operate near the Temple’s territory, and even us yokels from up north know they’re dangerous. But when I turn my head to get a glimpse of Alastor’s face, he seems relaxed.

“So we’ll go under the mountains…” I say, encouraging him to continue.

“Under Mount Kalas specifically—the smallest peak. It shouldn’t take much more than an afternoon, and our unit will meet us on the other side.”

Ahead of us, Leon pulls his horse up short, turning around to glare at Alastor.

“That’s enough,” he bites out.

“Why?” Alastor asks, shrugging. “It’s not like she’s going to tell anyone.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Leon says. “She still doesn’t need to know every little detail of our plans. She’s supposed to be our hostage, remember?”

Alastor shuts up, but I sit up straighter in the saddle, matching Leon’s tone.

“Unless you’ve been lying to me, I’m only your hostage to the border, and then I’m free.”

Leon says nothing, only glares and then nudges his horse with his heels so that it trots back up ahead.

I no longer believe that Leon would kill me once he has no need of me. And it just so happens that seeing the fae to the border isn’t a terrible plan for me either. They’re soldiers, used to fighting and sneaking around—they can keep me safe and hidden until they return to Filusia, and then…

From the maps I studied in the library at Gallawing, I know there’s a fairly direct route to the coast from the border—free of mountain ranges and large cities. Once we part ways, it should take less than a week to travel to Gullert and find Will.

He’ll hide me, even after I tell him of my powers. I’m increasingly sure of it. I’ll get a new name and stay with him and work things out from there. I’ve just got to take it one step at a time, and right now that includes gathering any information that might be useful to me.

I try to figure out what I can ask Alastor about that won’t provoke Leon. He doesn’t want me probing into their plans, it seems, and that’s fine by me. Once we part ways, I’d rather not know what they’ll be doing next. But there’s still plenty I do want to know about our route.

“So how did you find out about these tunnels?” I ask Alastor.

“They were made during the war by your great-grandfather’s spy network. We used them to sneak up on the Temple loyalists.”

“You fought in the War of the Laurels?” The answer must be yes. There’s only been one war in the last century the fae fought in: the same civil war that the Nightmare Prince helped win, and which put my ancestor Palquir on the throne. Still, it’s hard to comprehend Alastor was there then, in the stories from my history books.

“Yes,” Alastor confirms. “Although I never really understood why you lot called it that. Bit of a boring name for an exciting war, if you ask me.”

“How old are you, exactly, Alastor?” I ask casually.

“A hundred and sixteen.”

I give myself a moment to process this. He looks no more than a few years older than me, maybe twenty-four or twenty-five, and Leon’s the same. Of course, I know it takes fae much longer to grow up, and eighty years ago must seem relatively recent to them, but it’s still surprising.

“Interesting,” I say, keeping my voice even. “You look good for a hundred and sixteen.”

“Thanks, I try to stay fit.”

I smirk at his response, but my mind is reeling, and I try not to get sidetracked by the strange way fae bodies age.

“So if the royal forces used these tunnels in the war, how do we know they won’t have soldiers using them now?” I ask. The tunnels were never mentioned in my history books.

“Palquir’s spies used them, so they were never common knowledge. Even after the war, the royalists didn’t trust the Temple faction enough to reveal their secrets. I mean, we remember, but of the humans we fought with, I doubt more than a handful are still alive. I guess they fell out of use. The only people who kept the knowledge of where exactly to find them were folk in the area looking to move around out of sight.”

He means criminals, which doesn’t sound much better than royal soldiers, even if I suppose right now, the latter are more of a threat to me.

But what snags for me more is how calm Alastor sounds while talking about my ancestor. When I asked Leon earlier about my parents, he was quick to shut me down. Maybe Alastor will be more forthcoming.

“You think it’s likely no one at my parents’ court knows about them then?” I ask him, steering the conversation in the right direction.

“They might have heard rumors of their existence, but I doubt they’d be able to locate them. The Wirstones are vast. You’d need to know where to look to find the route we’ll be taking.”

“You met them, didn’t you, my parents?” I ask lightly. The horses slow down as we climb a slope, the soft stomps of their hooves providing a backdrop to my question. “What were they like?” I try to sound casual, afraid Alastor might clam up like Leon.

“I can’t tell you much, Your Highness,” he says. “But only because I didn’t see them for very long.”

“Just give me your first impression then,” I say. I’m desperate for any shred of information about the people they really were, instead of the image I’ve constructed in my head.

“Well, you look like your mother—a bit like your aunt, too. There’s a similarity in the face and eyes, but you have your father’s hair.”

I know that already from having seen portraits of them. I want more.

“What about how they seemed? Were they cold, or warm? Did they—” I hesitate, wondering whether to ask the question. “Did they seem in love?”

It’s a childish concern, but I can’t help myself. I want to understand how they felt about each other, like that might give me a clue to how they felt about me.

Alastor clears his throat.

“I can’t speak to that, but I’ll tell you what I can. Your mother was impressive. In control. You could tell she was the source of the royal line—a queen through and through. Your father was maybe not so serious, more friendly. He told a joke to break the ice. They were gracious enough hosts. Your mother focused more on her guests being comfortable than worrying about formality—her servant told me that.” He exhales, like he’s searching for more to say. The two horses have moved closer together as we climb the slope, and I wonder if Leon is listening. Probably best to wrap the conversation up, just in case.

“Thank you,” I say. “I know you’ve given me all you can.”

“He left something out,” Leon says, making us turn our heads toward him.

“Leon.” There’s a warning note in Alastor’s voice I don’t understand.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“He left out the part where they brought their sniveling Temple lackey along to the meeting just to insult us.”

“We don’t know that—” Alastor begins, but Leon cuts him off.

“You think that was an accident? Her parents showed they were happy to disrespect the fae more than once, and to neglect their duties, just as they neglected her all those years.” He throws a stormy look in my direction. “I wouldn’t call that impressive.”

He turns to face forward again, and we fall into a heavy silence.

It’s clear now Leon thought very little of my parents. But I’m still confused about why. It can’t just be about the one meeting Alastor described. Maybe bringing the cleric was an intended insult and maybe it wasn’t, but either way, it doesn’t seem all that serious. I can tell Leon’s bitterness goes deeper, the emotion profound and scathing. Whatever the reason for his hate—and that’s what it sounds like—it feels rooted in something very personal.

A few minutes later, he nudges his horse, putting distance between him and us. I wait as long as I can stand, but finally, I have to let the burning question out.

“What was that about? What’s his problem with my parents?”

Alastor sighs. “He’s hated them for a while. He never even wanted to meet them, but King Respen didn’t give him much of a choice.”

“But why?”

I don’t really expect him to answer, but he surprises me. I’m starting to realize Alastor only holds things back on pain of death.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know that Leon’s parents were killed about fifteen years ago.”

I count the years back. I would’ve been a child, still completely confined to Gallawing since I hadn’t yet found the passage to sneak out to Otscold. My knowledge of the outside world was very limited back then. I certainly can’t think of a reason why anyone would tell me about the deaths of a fae prince or princess.

“No, I didn’t. So it’s just him and his grandfather?”

“And his older brother, Fairon—now the crown prince,” Alastor says, though he moves swiftly on. “Prince Keleus and Princess Helena were visiting Trova at the time they died.”

This story isn’t going where I thought it would at all.

“They were murdered by a rebel group—one of the early ones from before the Hand of Ralus was formed. Leon’s parents weren’t traveling with a big entourage like usual. In fact, I don’t think many people knew they were in the country at all, so it’s possible the rebels had no idea who they were targeting. Whatever happened, the Hand killed them.”

“And he blames my parents for that?” I glance at Leon, his back still resolutely to us. If he can hear our conversation, he’s giving no sign of it. “Why?”

“The rebels had been around for decades at that point. But they were still a relatively small force. The Angevires had their chance to quash them, and they didn’t. Rumor has it they were even helping the rebels behind the scenes. It makes sense. I doubt the crown liked how powerful the Temple was becoming, and the rebels’ sole goal is to undermine it.”

“So their choices as rulers led to the murder of his parents,” I say. “He sees them as responsible.”

“Yes. Now imagine you have to go look in the eye the people you blame for your parents’ deaths,” Alastor says.

I can imagine it all too well, because not so long ago I believed I was having to face my parents’ murderer too. In my case, though, I wasn’t there to be diplomatic. How concerned was Leon with that? Were his orders from his grandfather enough to keep him from taking his revenge when he got his chance?

I stare at the back of Leon’s head, wondering.

Did he take my parents’ lives, just as they took Leon’s parents from him?