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Chapter 19

Morgana

“B e honest—are we lost?”

I’ve watched Leon carefully scan the landscape several times as we descend Mount Kalas. At first, I thought he was just calculating the safest route down, but now I’m starting to think he’s not sure where we’re going.

“Try not visiting a spot for eighty years and see how sharp it stays in your memory, princess,” he snarks in reply.

He’s back to calling me princess, which I suppose is fair considering how I told him very clearly I didn’t want him calling me Ana. Still, part of me thinks it sounds wrong now—at least, when he’s not deliberately ticking me off, like he’s so good at doing. Right now, after the truce we made on the mountain, I think I’d prefer something friendlier.

And then there was that moment.

I examine Leon as he walks ahead of me. He’s built so beautifully—broad shoulders tapering into a toned torso and narrow waist. Thighs thick enough that he shouldn’t be nearly as graceful as he is. I’m not going to pretend I haven’t noticed the fae is as handsome as he is deadly.

Is that the only reason why part of me hoped he’d kiss me when we sat so close together in the sun? There was something between us. It felt mutual . But maybe I was seeing things that weren’t there. I’m inclined to blame that dream from back at the inn. It planted lurid ideas in my mind, and now I’m struggling to shake them.

But there was the concern on his face as I woke up. I didn’t imagine that, did I? Or the way he sounded when he talked about what I did to the cleavers. He seemed proud, as if he was invested in my success.

I continue to scrutinize him, pointlessly searching for some detail that will reveal the truth to me. Because I have no idea what he wants. With me, with Trova, with anything at all. At the same time, though, I have to accept that I’ve trusted him with my life several times over, and he’s come through. That’s why I took his hand on the mountain—not because there was a moment between us that I thought might turn into more. But because I knew if I took it, I could rely on it—on him. He wouldn’t let go when I needed his support.

We’re off the mountain now and moving through brush a few yards from a dirt track. Eventually, Leon stops beside a dark stone deliberately driven into the earth: a marker.

“Here,” he says, and whistles.

It’s a low sound, but it carries, and within moments there’s rustling in the undergrowth. For a few seconds, my eyes can’t make out anything other than movement among the plants, then six fae appear.

They look familiar but not, now that I’m seeing them all without their glamours. Four men, including Alastor, and two women. I recall the silver-haired lady from the tavern, but there’s also a green-eyed woman wearing fighting leathers as black as her hair. Like all fae, they’re taller than an average human. Seeing them all together, their sharp fae eyes fixed on me, makes me feel unusually small.

“Captain, good to see you made it out of the capital with your head still attached,” says one of the men, stepping forward to clasp Leon’s hand in greeting. Whereas Alastor’s blond locks are practically white, this man’s hair is golden. His blue eyes are unnaturally bright as they shift from Leon to me. He’s got a smile that would make the girls of Otscold weak at the knees, but I don’t miss the calculating glint in his gaze.

“Stratton,” Leon says, returning the greeting. “The real question is whether you made it out of Elmere without adding to your list of paramours.” I can’t help marveling at how much more relaxed Leon is now that he’s reunited with his friends. It’s there in the lightness in his eyes, the easy way he’s standing. He’s glad to be back among these people.

“Don’t worry, we kept a close eye on him,” says the silver-haired woman. “No hearts were broken or wild oats sown.”

Stratton shrugs, cheerfully resigned to everyone spoiling his fun.

“Not for want of trying,” he says, then his eyes slide back toward me. “Although maybe I should be leaving all that to you, captain.” He winks.

These fae are strong and dangerous, I have no doubt about that, but if I’m going to be traveling with them, I figure I should take a stand early. I want to make it clear I’m not a piece of luggage to be talked about like I’m not here.

I move my eyes over Stratton, sizing him up.

“Princess Morgana Angevire,” I say, holding out my hand. “And you are?”

Stratton takes the hand and offers me a bow as he presses a kiss to my knuckles, though he can’t resist throwing me one of those mischievous smiles again.

“Lord Stratton Mureln, Your Highness,” he says. Somehow, he makes the last two words sound like an invitation. I glance at Leon in time to catch his eyes flashing with warning in Stratton’s direction. Then I lift my head, addressing them all.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m trying to decide whether these are better circumstances than the last. I might be a wanted criminal now, but at least guards aren’t dragging me out the door this time.”

It does what I intended, breaking the ice. One of the men chuckles quietly, and the silver-haired woman smiles. But the dark-haired woman and the man with the red beard are less impressed. I remember him from the tavern—he’s the one who tried to bully Kit—and decide I don’t care for his approval either way. I wonder about the woman with black hair and search for clues as to why she seems more suspicious about me than the others.

“We can talk more once we’ve eaten,” Alastor says, unsurprisingly. He’s not one to miss a meal if he can help it. “They’ve found a decent place for shelter a few miles from here,” he tells Leon.

They lead us to a spot where the undergrowth thins out beside a river, where a small herd of horses waits for us. The others give Alastor and Leon new steeds, and one of the fae—a huge, long-haired man who hasn’t yet spoken, quietly hands me the reins to a pony.

“We managed to find her when we heard you were coming. We figured a smaller horse would do for you. But you’re taller than I expected. My apologies, Your Highness.”

I look at the pony with gratitude, relieved I won’t have to navigate one of their big beasts on my own.

“No, this is perfect. Thank you…?” I put a question at the end of my words, asking for his name.

“Hyllus Dawellir, Your Highness.”

I nod and mount the horse. As we begin to ride, Alastor passes by me.

“Wow, you got Hyllus to say something,” he says cheerfully. “He must like you.” My only answer is to smile and hope he’s right.

I listen carefully to the soldiers as we travel, and they banter and tease each other, clearly old friends. I’m not just curious to understand the people Leon surrounds himself with, I’m thinking about self-preservation too. I assume Alastor has filled them in while they were waiting for Leon and me to arrive from the mountain. These fae are now part of the handful of people who know what I really am. Which means I’m bound to them before I even know most of their names.

It’s a weird feeling, having to put my trust in strangers. But then most of the people I’ve been close to ended up keeping secrets from me, so maybe strangers actually are the ones I can trust.

We arrive at the shelter they talked about—an abandoned farmstead with overgrown fields and a collection of boarded-up buildings.

“Why would someone leave all this land?” I ask as we dismount.

“This place is too close to Godom,” Alastor says, like that’s explanation enough. Godom is the Temple’s territory. Palquir gave them a city after the war, Qimorna, but they expanded beyond that over the years, into what the people once called “the gods’ domain,” or Godom now, for short. And while I, as a solari, certainly have good reason to avoid the area, I still don’t understand why a farmer would have any problem with it. Alastor sees my confusion.

“I suppose they wouldn’t have taught you about it,” he says. I hate the sympathy in his tone less than I hate my own ignorance. This is the country I’m supposed to be ruling, for gods’ sake, yet there’s so much about it I don’t know.

Leon overhears our conversation and offers an explanation in blunt tones.

“The Temple has its own farms and suppliers. They make it impossible around here to trade with anyone not in their pocket. Any business they don’t profit from is run into the ground. It’s affecting Filusian trade too, and yet no one with any power here seems to care.”

I can tell exactly who he’s blaming for that: my parents. He thinks they just let bad people run amok in Trova without a thought to the consequences. The rebels, the Temple—is there anyone he doesn’t think they gave in to? Maybe I shouldn’t want to defend them, given how little I know about all this, but the instinct is there, and his attitude doesn’t sit right with me.

But I’m soon distracted. The moment I’m down from my pony, a throbbing pain seizes my foot. I inhale sharply, unable to take another step without limping. The silver-haired fae is nearest me, and she notices my discomfort right away.

“You’re injured?” she asks.

“I got burned by some kind of aquari acid in the tunnels. It wasn’t really bothering me before, but now…”

She nods. “Your magic replenished on the mountain; that would have dulled the pain for a while, but now the effects of the sun have worn off, it’ll be worse.”

“You’re hurt?” Leon appears at her elbow. Obviously, he overheard and is now looking me over with a serious expression. Not wanting to talk to him right now, I downplay it.

“I’m fine,” I say, but I see the two fae exchange a look.

“It’s just a burn,” the woman says. “I’ll get her something for it.”

Clever. I notice she managed to stay on both our sides. She got Leon off my back but promised him she’d deal with it. She goes to the pack on her horse, returning with a small leather pouch, and guides me to one of the buildings’ porches where I can sit down.

“I’m Lady Phaia Callacal,” she says, kneeling in front of me. “But please just call me Phaia. Would you show me the wound, please?”

“I’m Ana,” I say, reintroducing myself, then wincing as I pull off my boot. I figure if I’m going to trust this woman with my skin, I can trust her with the name reserved for my friends. Looking down now, I can see where the acid has eaten straight through my stocking, leaving a gross patch of raw pink flesh, weeping clear liquid.

Phaia pulls some herbs from the pouch and hands them to me. “Chew these,” she says. “But don’t swallow.”

I hesitate. I’m more reluctant these days to just consume anything people give me without question. Phaia doesn’t seem upset by my suspicion, a small smile playing about her lips.

“I could chew them for you if you’d like, but seeing as they’ll be going on your wound, I figured you’d rather do the job.”

“Ah,” I say with understanding and get to work. She nods after I’ve mushed the herbs to a pulp, gesturing for me to spit them out and spread them on my foot. The plant is unpleasant to taste, but instantly soothing on my skin. Phaia takes a bandage from her pocket and starts to bind it all up.

“I think I have most of your names,” I say, using this moment as an opportunity. “But who’s the dark-haired woman, and the man with red hair?”

Phaia glances over at where the rest of the group are carrying their things into the farmhouse.

“The man is Eryx Frinlail. The oldest of our group. You may remember him from his argument with your friend at the tavern.”

“I do,” I say, which is why I’ve already decided to steer clear of him.

“The woman is Damia Rhymis.”

“And are you all lords and ladies?” I ask.

“Most of us,” she answers. “But we don’t stand on ceremony out here in the field. Unless, of course, a foreign princess might ask us to,” she smiles that soft smile of hers. At first glance, this woman seems gentle. But there’s a wicked blade at her belt, and I can easily see how her musical voice could act as a trap, lulling the listener into a false sense of ease. I’m sure she’s as deadly as the rest of them.

Once I have my boot back on, she points to the rear of the building.

“There’s a water trough out back if you want to clean up before dinner. It won’t have occurred to the captain, but I figure you’re not feeling your freshest after the tunnels.”

I leap at the chance to wash, thanking her. After some quick scrubbing, I join the others in the farmhouse. It’s mostly empty of furniture, but the fae have scared up a few broken chairs and boxes to sit on and lit a fire in the grate, over which they’re cooking some meat.

Eryx, the red-headed man, crouches by the flames, adding new sparks where the wood isn’t burning well. An incendi then—at least for his terrial power. I won’t know his—or anyone else’s—sensic powers unless I see them in action.

When the meat is cooked, it’s passed around. Alastor brings me mine, and I perch on a wobbly stool, observing. I get the impression the soldiers are less chatty than usual, and that’s probably my fault. Still, they seem relaxed enough.

Leon sits in the corner, listening to Stratton speak. I think the golden-haired fae is telling a joke, because he slaps his knee and laughs as Leon smiles along. Even if he is their captain, it’s clear Leon doesn’t rule by fear, as I once imagined the Nightmare Prince might.

The dark-haired woman, Damia, is to my right, and my eyes go to her as she tears a piece of meat from a bone and holds it up to her neck. It’s an odd move, and it’s even weirder when I notice something moving beneath her tunic. I squint, trying to understand what I’m seeing, as a small, scaled head emerges from beneath her collar.

A serpent, small enough to curl up around her neck unnoticed. That must be her terrial power. The animal is far too comfortable with her to simply be tamed. It snaps its head forward, retrieving the meat from between Damia’s fingers with elegant precision.

Her green eyes turn slowly toward me, like she knows I’ve been watching this whole time.

“She likes human meat best, but that’s been a little scarce lately,” she says, her eyes shining in the firelight. She wants to unnerve me, but I keep my face blank, as if this is just a mildly interesting piece of information.

“Does she have a name?” I ask.

“Barb,” Damia says, holding up another piece of flesh for the snake to swallow down.

I tilt my head in surprise, feeling a smile coming. “Barb as in short for Barbara?”

Damia grins, though it looks more like she’s baring her teeth.

“No, Barb as in once she pierces you, you’ll have a bitch of a time getting her to let go.”

Now that, I have no answer to.

We’re not long done eating when Leon stands and approaches me.

“Come, we need to keep training.”

My heart sinks as I think of the last time we attempted his “training”—the horrible dream and argument that followed.

“Really?” I ask. “Now?” I don’t bother mentioning how much I’d like to spend my sleeping hours getting actual rest after a full day of revelations and fighting for our lives. My foot is hurting much less now, but even if I played up the pain, I doubt it would sway him.

“Yes, now,” he says gruffly. “The magic you used today was entirely different to the sun power you conjured before. Obviously, you have multiple celestial abilities. Who knows, you might even be more than twin-blessed. There are rumors of that being possible with solari. But we won’t know until we test what you’re capable of.”

I know I need to control my power if I’m going to keep myself safe. I won’t be protected by the fae forever, and if I’m going to make it to Gullert and Will safely, I need to get stronger.

I rise, indicating my agreement. But as we move toward the door, a gravelly voice cuts through the soldiers’ chatter.

“Do you think that’s wise, captain? Messing around with a volatile solari?” It’s Eryx, still crouched by the fire.

Damia snorts. “I think he can handle one little human.”

“She killed five soldiers without lifting a finger,” Leon replies sharply to Damia, then addresses me rather than Eryx. “We need to make sure you can do that—or not—exactly when you choose to.”

As he turns again to leave, Eryx stands.

“Captain,” he says, looking like he’s about to argue.

Leon gives him a long, cold stare.

“I’ve considered it, Eryx. Now stand down.”

The older fae still isn’t happy about it, but he says nothing further as he returns to his position by the fire.

I follow Leon out of the farmhouse. He leads me toward the collection of other buildings.

“Where are we going?” I ask. He points toward a barn.

“Somewhere you can fall asleep,” he says. “And then I’m going to kick your ass.”