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Chapter 22

Morgana

I f I thought Elmere was overwhelming, nothing could have prepared me for Hallowbane.

We see it long before we arrive—a great, sleeping dragon squatting on the horizon, curls of smoke drifting into the sky beside thin, spindly towers. Even in Otscold the city is famous. It’s the place where virtue goes to die, swallowed up by the rogues and charlatans that make their home there.

Hallowbane is defined by its extremes. We pass through the slums first, filthy streets sticky with waste, the stench so bad I have to breathe through my mouth. Thin, smudged faces stare at us as we pass, their eyes too big while their bodies are too small.

The fae all slipped on their glamours as we approached the city, but that doesn’t stop people from watching us. Some with wariness or with curiosity. Others with the hunger of predators looking for an easy kill. One ragged woman gets too close to Hyllus, but he pulls back his cloak, showing her the blade strapped to his waist. She hisses at him but falls back, melting back into the streets with her companions.

It’s jarring when we hit a wealthier neighborhood, passing buildings swathed in colorful flags and banners, windows ablaze with light despite the gray sky. Women in low-cut gowns lean over gold-painted balconies, their red lips pulled into fixed smiles as they beckon to us. Stratton offers them a dazzling grin and wink. The ensuing giggles and cat calls echo after us as we turn the corner.

On the edge of the Temple’s territory, but technically on royal land, this place has never been properly claimed by either of Trova’s authorities. Instead, it’s a shadow realm, where businesses flourish that would be stamped out anywhere else. Maybe the theory is that if all the land’s sin congregates in one place, there’s less to infect everywhere else.

“Here,” Eryx grunts as we approach a large building. “This one’s got room for the horses.”

Gaudy columns line the entrance, but there’s an archway to one side which looks like it leads to stables. There’s no smell of hay and horse manure, of course. With the huge urns of burning incense positioned out front throwing up thick clouds of perfume, I doubt we could smell it if one of the horses took a crap right here at our feet.

“What is this place?” I ask Alastor as we dismount.

“An inn, of sorts,” he says as a young man in a tailored jacket with gold buttons quick steps toward us.

“Would you like me to stable your horses for you, sir?” he asks. I’ve never heard an accent like his before—thick and flat as a penny—but the fae understand him well enough, as Leon nods and tosses him some coins.

“Thank you, sir. The hostess inside will be more than happy to see to your needs.” He dips his head as he leads our horses away.

“I bet she would,” Damia snorts.

“An inn?” I repeat to Alastor pointedly.

He shrugs. “Of sorts, I said. People stay here too.”

As we push open the brass-handled doors, I’m hit by a wave of noise: clattering dice, clinking glasses, and the chatter of customers and waitresses taking orders. Not to mention the music—I spy a quartet of musicians on a low-set stage strumming out a lively harmony.

“Welcome.” A woman sweeps toward us in a yellow dress so tight her breasts are on the verge of escaping. That’s probably the desired effect, as she offers us a sultry smile. “And how can I help you ladies and gentlemen today?”

It’s still the afternoon, but the windows are covered in heavy curtains, and the room is lit in a reddish glow by incendi lights. Every customer in this place seems to have a drink in one hand and a set of cards in the other as they place bets and bluff over piles of coin.

“We’d like rooms,” Leon says. “Three will do. One night at least, maybe more.”

The woman smiles even wider. “Most of our rooms are rented on a more…short-term basis. Full nights will cost a little extra.”

“Fine,” Leon says, waving his hand. Hyllus produces a heavy bag and plants it in the woman’s hand. She weighs it, delighted.

“In that case, we have a lovely suite with three bedrooms I’m sure will suit you. Let me find someone to show you up.”

I expect another busty woman to appear, but we get a man instead, with pretty green eyes and a shirt just as tight as the hostess’s dress. He leads us upstairs, above the haze of pipe and cigar smoke, to a private parlor with three rooms leading off it.

Every surface is plush or polished to within an inch of its life. It’s garish, but at least it’s well kept—and of course, there are plenty of soft surfaces to lie down on.

“We’ll eat and wash up,” Leon says to his soldiers. “Then let’s find this name they gave you in Elmere. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

I think about making some sour quip about wasting my time, but there doesn’t seem to be any point. Leon has made his decisions, and I have to go along with them. He must notice something in my face though, because as the other soldiers dump their packs on the floor and order food from the green-eyed boy, he moves over to me.

We haven’t spoken since he glimpsed that mortifying scene in my head. Thinking about it still makes me shudder. It simply came out of nowhere. Well, not nowhere . Leon planted the seed, what with his antics in the barn and all his talk about what I’m most drawn to.

It’s only natural my mind would go where it did. A girl shouldn’t be blamed for having an active imagination.

But it’s still hard to meet his eyes now.

“I appreciate that you weren’t expecting us to take this detour,” he says. “But I thought of a way we could make it worthwhile for you too.”

I’m surprised enough that I forget my embarrassment and look up at him.

“What could Hallowbane have to offer me?” I ask.

“We’re going to see a healer, a dryad with specialist knowledge. He can also be trusted to keep his mouth shut.”

He pulls a small vial from his pocket, a few drops of crimson liquid resting at the bottom.

My potion. I’d nearly forgotten about it, but Leon still has it after I gave it to him for safekeeping.

“I thought you could come with us and maybe get some answers of your own,” he says, handing me the vial.

I stare at it, thinking about how long I depended on this stuff—how sure I was that it was keeping me alive. I’m certain now it suppressed my magic. But was that all it did? I’m walking around now, healthy enough without having taken a dose for days. All the talk of me being weak at birth, of carrying some unnamed illness that made me fragile…That was all a lie.

But what if I’m wrong? The idea that Etusca simply deceived me my whole life is too painful to accept without question. The dryad was the only mother I ever knew even if we weren’t biologically related. Her concern for my health and safety was real, I was sure of it. Maybe there’s something else I haven’t considered, another angle for why this potion was so important beyond hiding what I truly am. I have to know—for better or for worse.

“Alright,” I say, slipping the vial into my pocket. “Thank?—”

The entire room disappears, so fast that for a moment I think I’ve gone blind. Then I hear shouts of warning from the others, and I realize we’ve just been plunged into sudden darkness. Large hands grab me, and I reach for the knife Stratton gave me before I hear Leon’s voice low in my ear.

“It’s me.”

There’s thudding and scraping—a hiss and a cry of pain. Then almost as swiftly as it arrived, the darkness retreats, withdrawing across the room in thick tendrils. I look around to see that Stratton and Phaia have blades held at their throats by a pair of huge humans, but Hyllus has another man pinned against the wall with one hand, and Damia has her foot on the neck of a fourth, who’s cradling his fist.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, but I do like to make an entrance.”

There’s a man standing in the middle of the room. His long black hair is tied back with a ribbon, and he wears a purple waistcoat and jacket that fit him to a tee. His tone is cordial, but his accent has a rough, Hallowbane twang to it.

Leon pushes me behind him, lifting his blade.

“I think you’ve gravely underestimated exactly how many men you’ll need to overwhelm us, my friend,” Leon growls.

The black-haired man flicks his eyes over Leon, and then to me.

“Well, it was a bit of guesswork, so there are six more waiting outside. But I wasn’t trying to overwhelm you. I just had to make sure we could have a chat without you trying to kill me on sight.”

Leon looks at Hyllus, who is listening for something, then nods. I guess he’s using magic to confirm that there are indeed more men waiting outside.

“And why would I want to kill you?” Leon asks, his blade still pointed at the man, who just shrugs.

“Who knows what’s on the cards when a group of strange fae come to stay at one of my establishments? Especially when I plan to blackmail them.”

His tone is mild, like he just told us he was going to invite us to dinner.

“What makes you think we’re fae?” Eryx asks.

“We get all sorts in the city. I make it my business to know exactly who is staying in my establishments and why. My employees are trained to spot deceptions like a fae glamour. It’s the shadows,” he says, and the tendrils of darkness creep a few feet back into the room. “No one knows shadows better than me.”

“So, you’re Corrin Wadestaff,” Leon says, and the man gives him an almost genuine smile.

“We’ve met?”

“No, but you meddle enough in the eastern trade routes for the fae to have heard of you.”

Corrin puts a hand to his chest. “What a shocking thing to say. I don’t meddle. My businesses are all located here in Hallowbane, and I never leave the city.” His smile widens, an impish gleam brightening his eyes. “Though I may have some friends who know a thing or two about the trade routes. And one other thing—” Corrin turns to Damia. “Would you mind letting my man tend to his injury?”

She’s been ignoring the whimpering coming from the human under her foot. Now she meets Corrin’s gaze with utter disdain before looking to Leon. Her captain nods. She lets out a put-upon sigh, then releases her foot, letting her victim scramble to his feet.

His hand is a bloody mess, covered in small puncture wounds that were no doubt inflicted by Barb.

Corrin tuts. “Overkill, surely,” he says to Damia, who is examining her nails as if this man could not possibly be further beneath her interest.

“You mentioned something about blackmail?” Leon presses Corrin. He has an edge to his voice anyone with sense would be wary of. As I watch Corrin closely, I see he’s heard it. His tone might be relaxed, but his eyes are watchful, and he holds himself like he’s ready for a fight. He didn’t strike any blows in the scuffle earlier, but from the way he carries himself, I’d wager he knows how to hold his own. Even with his ability to gather shadows around him, you don’t gain power in a city like this without those kinds of skills.

“Ah yes. You see, we have several Temple officials who like to visit us in Hallowbane in their downtime—clerics, acolytes, even the occasional bearer. I’m sure they’d be very interested to hear about you. The Temple has never been a big fan of the fae. For my part, I’ve no problem with your kind—as long as I’m compensated for the trouble I’m risking by taking you in.”

“So this is about money?” Leon asks.

“Everything’s about money,” Corrin replied. “In one way or another. In this case, it’s about your room rate. It’s just gone up. Let’s call it insurance.”

I relax a little. When Corrin mentioned blackmail, I was sure he knew exactly who we were. I’ve no doubt he’s heard about Princess Morgana—he seems the sort to keep an ear to the ground—but he’s shown no signs of recognizing me. Maybe the number of us is throwing him off. I was only reported as traveling with Leon and Alastor, after all.

Which means we can just pay him the money and carry on with our business.

“No,” Leon says.

Damn it.

I give Leon a clear “what are you doing?” look, but he ignores me. There was a peaceful way out of this, and he’s throwing it out the window. Corrin must think the same, because his eyebrow twitches and his eyes slide to the door leading to the corridor, where the rest of his men are waiting.

“And why is that?” Corrin asks.

“Because it’s a privilege to host a Filusian prince under your roof,” Leon says, slipping off the ring that casts his glamour.

He becomes half a foot taller, his round ears reforming into points and his facial features sharpening.

“A prince?” Corrin repeats, his composure rattled for the first time as his eyes go wide. He soon gets himself back under control, his expression shifting from surprised to calculating. He glances at me, a knowing look on his face.

Double damn it.

Leon just had to show off.

The men with swords held to Stratton and Phaia’s throats have gone pale, and Corrin continues, but his voice is much more cautious than before.

“Of course, there have been stories of a certain prince traveling around Trova these last few weeks, but…”

Leon pulls a ring on a chain from beneath his shirt. It bears a combination of the Filusian and Claerwyn crests—something only a member of the royal family would be permitted to wear.

Now it’s Leon’s turn to grin. “And now you’ve seen for yourself that those rumors are true,” he says, dangling the ring before Corrin. Shadows collect around the feet of the crime lord, as if they can protect him from the Nightmare Prince. He snaps his fingers at his men, and they lower their swords.

“My apologies…” Corrin says slowly. He lowers himself into a bow but doesn’t take his eyes off Leon. “…Your Highness.”

I still don’t think we needed to tell this man who we are, but I can’t deny that the response is effective. Corrin seems begrudging, but it’s clear he’s very aware how stupid it would be to annoy Leon.

“I take it we’ll have no more trouble, Wadestaff?” Leon says.

Corrin shakes his head. “None at all. In fact, allow me to make your stay as comfortable as possible.” He snaps his fingers again, and the man in the tight shirt reappears. “Please put a rush on whatever refreshments these ladies and gentlemen might need. They are our extra special guests.”

The man nods and disappears. Corrin’s smile returns, a little more strained than before.

“Perhaps I can also organize some entertainment?”

I’m relieved when Leon shakes his head, even if I also catch a little sigh of disappointment from Stratton.

Corrin’s staff take his message to heart, and within minutes we’re inundated with food and drink. It looks delicious, but I’m not sure how much I trust our host, and none of the fae leap to touch the food either. Instead, Alastor sidles up to Corrin, a friendly look on his face.

“Tell me, Mr. Wadestaff. Is anything here poisoned or spiked? Do you have any intention of harming us during our stay?”

A line creases between the crime lord’s eyebrows as he tries to fight Alastor’s magic, but his mouth opens.

“None at all. Only a moron would try to attack Leonidas Claerwyn. Everyone knows the man’s a maniac.”

Damia laughs, but Corrin’s frown deepens as Alastor withdraws his spell.

“Neat trick,” he says. “Well, I hope you enjoy our delicious, unpoisoned food.”

The fae fall on the table hungrily, obviously satisfied. Corrin, meanwhile, pours a glass of wine, then slinks up to me where I hover in the corner.

“A drink, Your Highness?” he murmurs.

My gaze falls on the cup he’s offering. Do I really want to have a foggy head in a viper’s nest like this?

Corrin chuckles, clearly guessing the direction of my thoughts.

“Of course, you’re wise to be cautious,” he says, taking a mouthful of the wine himself. “It must be hard to tell who your friends are these days.”

“And should I count you among them?” I ask him, trying to look unfazed. “My friends, that is?”

“Seems to me like you could use all the friends you can find,” Corrin says, his voice low. “Especially as your family has had such a run of bad luck recently. First, of course, there was that terrible business with your parents.” His eyes flick to Leon. The Nightmare Prince isn’t facing us, but I get the distinct impression he’s listening.

“And then all kinds of rumors flying around about your absence from the capital,” Corrin continues.

“And do you believe them?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.

Corrin smiles. “I know better than to take things at face value, Your Highness. And I trust my gut and my instincts over any rumor that might happen to come my way. But you’re not doing yourself any favors with your choice of traveling companions…” He looks around at the fae. “Some might jump to the conclusion that you actually had something to do with the death of the king and queen, or that nasty attempt on the regent’s life last week.”

I blink at him. “The regent? You mean my aunt?” I ask.

“The late queen’s sister, yes. Apparently, an assassin tried to attack her in the night.” His eyes glint, like he’s just discovered something interesting. “But it doesn’t seem you knew anything about that.”

“No,” I say. The news is disturbing in more ways than one. Leon was right about someone there wanting me dead—wanting all the Angevires out of the picture.

I look over to Leon now, and he turns to meet my gaze. But Corrin is still talking.

“Of course, if there was any way I could help Your Highness, friend to friend, you’d need only ask.”

I pull my eyes from Leon to turn toward the crime lord, taking in his shrewd eyes and the way shadows still dance about his feet.

“You’re obviously a savvy man, Mr. Wadestaff,” I say. “So I can’t help but ask what’s in it for you?”

He smiles. “A connection to the future queen, of course. That could be useful in many ways.”

“I’m not queen yet,” I remind him. If I ever will be .

He doesn’t seem bothered. “Like I told you, Your Highness, I trust my gut and my instincts. And they tell me a smart man wouldn’t bet against you.”

It occurs to me that this man probably knows exactly what the odds against me are, quite literally. He’s probably taking bets from everyone in town on what will happen next. What are the odds on me ever being crowned queen? Three to one? Ten to one? How bad would those odds get if they knew about my power? I shake the thought away. It won’t do me any good here. Instead, I focus on what good this new friendship might do for me.

I was going to find Will sooner or later, and Corrin likely has people on his payroll who could get me to Gullert without running into any clerics or royal soldiers. I could leave now and be there in a week, without having to waste another thought on Leon and whether he’ll keep his word.

I can still feel the fae prince watching me, like a tingling on my skin, and I suddenly wish I’d accepted the wine. It might make this decision easier.

Leon may be holding information back from me. He may be a smug, arrogant bastard with an unnerving penchant for violence. But he’s saved my life several times over and taught me things about myself I never imagined possible.

Corrin’s still smiling at me like a wolf baring its teeth. I might have doubts about Leon, but I have far more about this man. He’s a criminal by trade and could easily betray me to the people queuing up to get their hands on Trova’s heir.

No, I’m safer sticking with the fae for now.

“Thank you, Mr. Wadestaff,” I say sweetly. “If I think of anything you can assist me with, I’ll let you know.”

I see a touch of disappointment in Corrin’s eyes, but he bows and takes his leave. I eat before I’m tempted again by the wine, and I’m heading toward the food when I sense a familiar presence at my side.

“Did you have a nice discussion with our host?” Leon asks.

“Yes,” I say, still filling my plate. “Most enlightening.”

“Be careful, princess,” he says.

“A little late for that, don’t you think?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning the time’s passed to warn me about trusting the promises of strange men,” I say, raising an eyebrow at him as I walk away from the table. He catches my elbow before I can sit down, lowering his head to murmur in my ear.

“Not that strange. You knew me well enough to moan my name last night.”

I feel myself blush as I yank my arm away, searching his face. Is he out to humiliate me? But no…I see the heat burning in his eyes now. This is about me talking to Corrin. But why would that bother him? He heard me shut the man down.

I smile, understanding dawning on me, and when he steps back, confused by my reaction, I glide away to a seat to enjoy my food in silence.

He wasn’t bringing the barn up to embarrass me.

Leon is jealous.