Page 53

Leon

“ M al! We need you in the med room!”

The desperate cry comes just ahead of a tall man cradling a woman in his arms. His face is smeared with blood, and several deep gashes have been sliced across his forearms, but the state of the woman he’s holding is much worse.

Her neck is a deep, malignant purple, as if a great pressure has squeezed it, and the hollow of her throat where her neck meets her chest looks crushed inward.

Her eyes are open, but staring straight out, burst blood vessels blooming in their corners.

Her breath comes in quick, frantic rasps, but her chest isn’t inflating properly.

“I can’t do anything,” Mal says, panicked. “The problem isn’t in her blood, Deedus. It looks like her windpipe’s been crushed.”

“I don’t fucking care. Fix her!”

“Deedus, look at her, she’s already dead.”

Ana strides toward the woman, grabbing her wrist and closing her eyes for a moment.

“She doesn’t have long, but she’ll hold on for about an hour yet, if you can get her a decent healer in that time.”

Deedus stares at her. “You’re sure?”

“I grew up with a dryad. I picked up a few things,” she says, sliding me a look. I’m not sure using her celestial power to boost the woman’s flame was wise, but I’m at least pleased she realizes now is not the time to reveal her powers to these people.

“Esther, ride to Ferrous, fast as you can,” says Harman. “Word is they had a dryad passing through yesterday. He might still be there.”

Esther sprints out of the cellar.

“Mal won’t be enough anyway,” gasps another rebel as she stumbles into the cellar. She’s blinking through the blood streaming from a cut on her head. “We’ve got four more—burned, stabbed, the lot.”

Harman rounds his desk and reaches for the woman in Deedus’s arms. She groans, a deep noise echoing from within her struggling lungs.

“I’ll take her,” Harman says. “You go fetch Heda at the Crossed Keys. She can help with the burns.”

“What can we do?” Morgana asks Harman.

He scans the fae quickly. “You’ve strong men and women here; they can help carry the injured down,” he says before sweeping off with Mal to deposit the injured woman somewhere in the complex of cellars.

My soldiers look to me. I nod, and they spring into action, forming a line to pass the bodies along.

It’s a parade of horror: a man with his shirt scorched clean off, his chest a patchwork of red-raw skin and exposed flesh.

Another with a wound to his stomach, so deep and wide it’s formed a gleaming well of blood.

One woman looks like she’s almost been scalped.

Ana’s growing increasingly gray at the sight of them. She’s seen fights before, but not this—this is war. These injuries are the result of one side trying to utterly annihilate another.

As the wounded rebels reach the end of the line, my soldiers peel off, following the woman with the head injury to the med room Harman and Mal have already disappeared into.

“Can you do anything?” I murmur to Ana. “I mean, without them realizing what you are.”

She raises her eyebrows at me, clearly surprised to see me showing any sympathy toward this group.

But circumstances have changed. I’m not saying I believe Harman’s claim the rebels are innocent of my parents’ murder, but until I know for certain, we might as well do what we can to keep these people alive.

“I can’t bring them back from wounds like this,” she whispers to me. “Not when their injuries haven’t been caused by celestial power. I could maybe do what I did for that woman and buy them some time.”

“Do it,” I say. “But be subtle about it.”

She nods, slipping away after the soldiers.

Deedus is back with a thin, serious-looking woman behind him. She’s wearing an apron and carrying a basket of bottles and sealed jars. Harman comes through just in time to meet them.

“Ah, Heda, you know the way, don’t you? Prepare yourself. It’s not pretty.”

Heda looks like she’s up for a challenge, pushing her sleeves back and disappearing deeper into the cellar. Once she’s gone, Deedus starts to speak rapidly to Harman.

“We got to the warehouse and—” But Harman holds up his hand, hushing him. The rebel leader glances in my direction, and I feel a flare of irritation. He’s okay with expecting us to trust every word he says, but that same trust doesn’t go both ways?

A fizzing noise tickles my ear, then Hyllus’s voice comes to me as if he’s just a few inches away.

“ Captain, it’s Alastor, he’s awake. ”

“Excuse me,” I say to the two men, ducking out of the cellar and climbing the stairs.

Out in the tent, I dodge the trails of blood left by the injured rebels, moving to the pile of furs in the corner. Hyllus has propped Alastor up with some cushions. His eyes are still closed, but his eyelids flutter as I approach.

“He’s still struggling to stay conscious, but he definitely spoke a moment ago,” Hyllus says.

“Were you listening to all that?” I ask as I drop down to examine Alastor.

“Yes. Very interesting,” Hyllus says, understated as ever.

“Indeed. Do me a favor and listen in on what that man is talking to his leader about,” I say, touching my hand to Alastor’s forehead. He’s still warm, but not burning up. As I remove my fingers, he opens his eyes.

“Cap’n…” he slurs. “Why…are we in a tent?”

“He asked me that too,” Hyllus says, not looking down, instead keeping his eyes focused on something far away.

“We thought some fresh air would be good for you,” I say to Alastor. “How are you feeling?”

“Like one of Mariste’s giant sharks chewed me up and spat me back out,” he says before closing his eyes again.

At least he sounds like himself. I look up at Hyllus expectantly, but he’s still listening to whatever discussion is going on below. Five minutes later, the tent flap opens, and Esther leads a blindfolded dryad through. She gives us a suspicious look before helping him down the stairs.

I’m starting to wonder about the logistics of the Hand operating out of this town when Hyllus clears his throat.

“They were on a mission to sabotage one of the Temple properties,” he says.

“And? Give me everything.”

“It wasn’t meant to be a major target, just a warehouse where the Temple stores some of the assets they’ve claimed from estates on the Godom border.

‘Stolen goods,’ Harman called it. No one was meant to be there except a few low-level clerics.

But instead, they were met with a band of cleavers, sent to guard the transport of some goods.

Harman feels he should’ve seen it coming.

The Hand has been attacking Temple transports on the roads lately but were worried they were getting too predictable.

The Temple has started putting up checkpoints and spies on their major travel routes.

The warehouse attack was supposed to change things up and catch them by surprise. ”

I nod. It wasn’t a bad plan in principle. Smart of Harman to not get complacent. But the Temple has plenty of resources to spare. It isn’t that surprising that they’d assign a gang of cleavers to make sure the Hand didn’t pick its pockets.

“Cap’n?” Alastor stirs again.

“Yes, Alastor?”

“Why…”

“Why are we in a tent?” I finish for him.

“Yes’m,” he mumbles.

“The princess is looking for you,” Hyllus says before I can answer Alastor.

I stand swiftly. Perhaps I’ve left Ana alone with the rebels too long.

She’s with my soldiers, but it’s likely she’s let her guard down after Harman’s announcement.

I saw the look on her face when he called her sister—this is something she wants deep within her soul.

“Don’t rush,” Hyllus says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “They’re coming to you.”

One by one, my unit and Morgana emerge from the trapdoor, followed by Mal and the apron-clad woman Deedus fetched.

“This is Heda, she owns an inn down the road,” Mal says.

Heda draws herself up, taking us in with a sharp eye.

“Harman’s asked me to give you rooms for the night,” she says. “Now, normally I’m more than happy to help the Hand—and I’m not prejudiced, you understand; after all, we get all sorts in these parts—but I’ll just say I don’t want any trouble, do you hear?”

“You won’t even know we’re there,” I say smoothly.

She seems satisfied with my answer. “And this dog, is he housetrained?”

Dots, unlike the rest of us, is still wearing his glamour. He stretches and sits up, seeming to know he’s being talked about.

“Completely,” Ana answers.

“Alright then,” Heda nods.

Alastor stirs again, and Mal looks to Heda, who hands him a vial from her basket.

“Look, I know I fucked up with the infection,” Mal says, looking morosely down at Alastor, who’s blinking his eyes open sleepily. “But Heda’s a herbalist, and this should help get him through the fever quicker. I can’t guarantee he’ll be back to full strength after today, but he’ll be well enough.”

Alastor’s eyes are fully open now, and fixed on Mal.

“I’m sorry,” Mal says slowly to Alastor.

Alastor tries to say something.

“What’s that?” Stratton bends down as Alastor mumbles something in his ear. A smile spreads slowly across Stratton’s face.

“He says you can go kiss Winnivus’s windy asshole.”

Mal’s face falls. “Just make him take the damn potion,” he says, shoving it into Stratton’s hands.

We don our glamours, and Heda escorts us to her inn, the Crossed Keys.

There’s the usual debate about rooms, as Heda only spares us three.

In the end, Phaia and Damia claim the best one, with Hyllus promising to keep an eye on Alastor with Stratton and Eryx.

Tira and Ana exchange a series of looks I can’t read, and Tira promptly announces she and Dots will be bunking with the women soldiers.

Which leaves Ana and me standing outside the third door.

“Let’s talk,” she says, pushing her way inside and leaving me no choice but to follow.

The room is clean and warm, if a little old-fashioned. It makes a pleasant respite from those dark cellars and the images of the wounded still rattling around my head.