Page 25

Morgana

S o that’s my “out.” I don’t know how Leon managed it, but in this—if nothing else—I believe he’s sincere. If I use that key, Tira and I could leave tonight; I wouldn’t even need to face Respen.

I pick up the key and fit it into the lock, slowly twisting it.

I hesitate when the mechanism turns with a loud click, positive that it will bring fae guards running.

But when no one comes, I push and find the deadbolt on the other side has been slid open.

I ease open the door, looking either way down an empty corridor.

It seems the fae thought their security on the door was enough, especially for a prisoner who technically agreed to be there.

I gently shut the door again and pull on my clothes. There doesn’t seem to be any point in waiting, running the risk of some patrolling guard finding me and hauling me in front of the king. Something tells me Respen isn’t used to not having his way.

And Leon? I think about the slim, blonde woman who swept into the throne room.

She was utterly beautiful—blue eyes so bright they didn’t look real, a gown that fit her stunning figure like a glove.

Before I was escorted away, she’d glided over to Leon and kissed him on the cheek. I felt like I’d been slapped.

How can I believe anything he said to me in my dream, after that?

It doesn’t matter. After tonight, I’ll be long gone, and I’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.

Pulling my shoes on last, I straighten and once again slide open the door.

When I see the coast still clear, I slip out, returning the way the guards escorted me earlier.

It’s not so hard to remember the way; I just have to keep looking for the spot where opulence gives way to starker military decor.

I know I’m on the right track when I pass through the large hall from before. In spite of myself, I find my eyes automatically drawn to the chamber with the pit in it.

It would only take a moment to find out exactly what I was up against. It would at least give me some idea of precisely how ruthless Respen was willing to be to protect his heir.

I creep through to the chamber with the pit.

The ceiling in here is lower than the other rooms, giving it a claustrophobic atmosphere.

My heart rate picks up further as I lean over a little to see beyond the edge.

Not too close, of course—the last thing I need is to accidentally feed myself to whatever’s down there right when I’m on the verge of escape.

The darkness is so complete, however, that even as I stare into the depths, I can’t make anything out. Maybe, just for a second, I think I see something moving down there, but I can’t know for sure. My eyes could just be playing tricks on me.

What I do get is a whiff of air rising up from the pit, stale and coppery, like a dusty room caked in old blood.

Now there’s a comforting thought.

I step back from the edge, thinking I should be on my way, when a soft, high whine hits my ears.

It’s definitely an animal, and it sounds close. I notice another chamber running off this one. There’s still no sign of any guards, so I give in to my curiosity and follow the noise.

The second chamber is filled with small cells—too small for a person. It smells of animal musk in there, but the cells are empty. Or so they seem, anyway, until the whine sounds again. It’s coming from the cell on the end. I walk down, and the sight inside instantly brings tears to my eyes.

I don’t cry a lot, but then I’m not often confronted with such an obvious display of needless savagery.

The animal inside must have been beautiful once.

It reminds me of a fox with its long snout and flat head, though it’s clearly a completely different creature altogether.

It has huge ears shaped like saucers and a matted tail that’s much thicker than it is long.

Though it’s much larger than any fox I’ve seen, it’s heart-breakingly thin.

I can count its ribs along its body through its gray fur, a coat that used to be, I suspect, a much brighter shade before it was dulled by neglect.

Its ears flatten against its skull as it looks at me, its dark eyes utterly defeated.

I bend down, closer to the bars, trying to get a better look.

There appears to be no food in the cage, only an almost empty bowl of water in the corner.

There’s a raw cut around the animal’s neck too, making me think at some point there was a chain around his throat that someone yanked too hard on.

“What have they done to you?” I whisper, outraged.

The animal looks like it’s trying to lift its head, but the energy required is too much, and its chin drops back down to the floor. I’m reminded vividly of Fairon—the same feeling permeates this space, of death hovering close by, and a weak, desperate soul trying to cling onto life.

Yet something strange happens as I look into the animal’s eyes.

I know, without doubt, that this creature is asking me for help.

That’s why it whined to catch my attention.

More than that, I feel…surprisingly clear-headed.

The dread and anger from the last few hours have faded away a little, leaving a bright clarity.

Leon said I needed to check my mental shields before.

The thought floats out of nowhere, but I see the sense in it right away.

Leon has shown me that practicing putting up the steel wall against sensic magic will strengthen my natural shields.

The more familiar I am with that wall, the readier I am to put it up, and the longer it will take for a fae to break it down and penetrate my mind, even if I’m not consciously thinking about an attack.

I test the wall now, calling it up and letting it drop again a few times. As I do so, the relief grows. It’s suddenly clear to me that someone’s been toying with my emotions for the last few hours, whipping me into a kind of panic.

I’d been questioning if there was any goodness in Leon at all—if he even cared about whether I survived as long as his brother did. I know that’s not true, but once the idea was in there, it burrowed deep, convincing me that everything that came out of his mouth was a lie.

Leon told me to be careful around Respen. Was this his doing? Along with tricking me in the throne room, who’s to say if he didn’t sprinkle in a little light paranoia too?

I look back down at the fox creature, still watching me with its black pupils, ringed with golden irises. I don’t know why, but I feel certain I have it to thank for clearing my head.

I also know I want nothing more right now than to help it in return. Nothing should live like this, in agony and squalor, hanging onto life by a thread.

Tentatively, I reach out with my magic, combining my powers to search out its celestial flame.

When I find it, I’m reminded even more of Fairon.

Like him, the animal’s flame is the smallest, smoldering ember.

I take a deep breath. I’m afraid of hurting the creature more, of making it worse like I did with Fairon, but if it is so close to death, shouldn’t I try to do whatever I can?

Surely, that’s better than letting it waste away in this cage until it finally gives up, alone and unmourned?

I start to feed my magic into it, opening up the connection so my power flows freely.

Just like before, the process starts to speed up, the power streaming from me in a rush I can’t quite control.

I close my eyes, inhaling in deep, even breaths to keep my anxiety at bay.

My instinct is to break the connection and pull away, but I ignore that compulsion, letting magic pass between us.

In my mind’s eye, I watch the animal’s celestial spark flare and grow, transforming from a tiny light blinking in and out to a bright, burning flame.

I open my eyes and see with awe that the creature is changing.

Rather than being overloaded by my magic, it’s soaking it up, like a flower blooming in sunlight.

Its skeletal frame thickens and fills out, its ribs disappearing beneath a layer of glossy fur.

The gray seeps out of its coat, replaced by a deep russet shade, and the tattered tail expands…

and splits. What looked like just a mass of matted fur I can now see is four individual tails, moving in tandem as the animal flicks and shakes them out, getting to its feet.

It experimentally licks its paw a few times, then pads over to me.

Speechless, I reach my hand through the bars, knowing instinctively that it’s safe.

The animal dips its nose to my palm, a kind of thanks, I think.

It’s grateful because I healed it—or mostly healed it, anyway.

I see then that while the cut around its neck is little less inflamed, the wound is still there.

It seems there are limits to my magic. I can’t make serious injuries disappear or close wounds; I’d need viatic power for that.

All the same, though, I did this—touched that dwindling flame and brought it fully to life again.

The creature was dying, and now it’s not.

I’m breathless at the idea of it, knowing that I could save something so precious with my power.

It was my fear getting in the way with Fairon. Looking back, I can see why I ended up destroying the plants at the Lyceum. They were just sunflowers, for gods’ sakes—with nothing more wrong with them than being slightly thirsty. Of course my magic was too much for them to bear.

But something large and complex is a different matter, especially an animal with such a weak celestial spark that it’s a matter of days before its flame goes out entirely.

A being like that can absorb my magic without being overwhelmed by it.

In fact, it was hungry for it—and my magic responded to that need, rushing in to fill the gap.