Page 18 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

Morgana

“ W e need to go check on the others,” he says, quickly stowing the medical supplies. “We could be under attack.” I hurry after him as he runs back to the main cave.

“You’re sure it’s an intruder?” I ask as we go. “Couldn’t it just be someone from the Hand?”

“No, the alarm is geostri magic. It trips if someone tries any magic on the stoneface behind the tunnel. It means someone knows we’re here but doesn’t know the way in. The tunnel in the outhouse is glamoured too. Harman paid a fae traveler to do it; you can’t see it unless you know it’s there.”

Four more rebels are gathered around the entrance to the cave, staring up into the tunnel. A repetitive banging echoes down from the surface.

“Can we get eyes on what’s going on up there?” Mal asks them.

“Peler is trying now,” one of them mutters, nodding toward a young man with his eyes closed.

“Peler’s good with amphibians, frogs mostly,” Mal says to me. I nod, assuming he can use his magic to communicate with them like Damia does with snakes .

“I’ve got one up by the outhouse,” Peler explains. His brow furrows. “But it’s strange. The little guy can’t see anything out there. It’s like the sun’s set—it’s pitch black.”

A prickle runs its way up my spine as the banging gets louder. Something hits the stone above ground hard, making dust fall from the ceiling of the cave. Whoever it is is shouting too, a muffled voice carrying down the tunnel.

I take a step up the steep slope, closer to the source of the sound.

“What are you doing?” Mal asks, grabbing my wrist.

“I’m just listening,” I reassure him, straining my ears to make out the shouts.

“They’re calling for Harman,” I say, inching closer, trying to make out the other words. “And Leon.”

There’s something familiar about the voice, even muffled by the earth and the banging. Then it hits me.

“You said it’s like night out there?” I ask Peler.

“Yes,” he nods.

“Like someone’s covered the entrance in shadow,” I say to myself, striding up the tunnel.

“Morgana, it’s not safe!” Mal calls after me. He huffs and follows me, along with some of the other rebels.

“I know who this is,” I say to them. “I don’t think I’m in danger from him. But when we get out there, you need to run and get Leon and Harman. Do one of you have a light?”

A female rebel nods, holding up her palm to show me a small flame with a determined look on her face.

“You’re sure you’ll be safe?” Mal asks. “Even with…” he trails off, but we exchange a meaningful look. He’s thinking about my lack of power.

“Yes,” I say firmly.

By the time we reach the shack at the tunnel entrance, there’s no mistaking the voice—or the way the loose, Hallowbane accent quivers with rage .

“Prince Leonidas! Harman Sandale! Show yourselves, you cowards!”

“Now,” I whisper, and we slip out of the outhouse into the darkness.

I hear, rather than see, Mal and the rebels dart away into the streets of Tread, a pin prick of red flame guiding them.

I try to summon a spark of my own, but it takes huge effort.

In the end, I only manage enough to gauge the general direction of our visitors before it blinks out of existence.

“Hello, Mr. Wadestaff,” I call into the darkness. “Good to see you again—or it would be, if you lifted these damn shadows.”

Just like that, daylight floods the clearing, the darkness scuttling away, finding refuge under the trees and eaves of Tread’s buildings.

It’s a relief to be able to see again, and I level a calm stare at Corrin Wadestaff, who’s standing beside two huge men ramming a felled tree trunk into the stone.

The crime lord glares back.

“Your Highness.” It comes out more like a growl than a greeting as Corrin holds up a hand to halt the banging. I’ve seen Wadestaff irritated in the past, but he’s positively seething now. His eyes burn with fury, and there’s a general air of instability about him, like a man pushed to the edge.

Usually, he looks very dapper in a neat three-piece suit.

He’s still wearing gentlemen’s gloves, but beneath his coat, he’s wearing just a rumpled shirt, top buttons unfastened, and strands of his long black hair have fallen loose, hanging around his face.

Dark circles underscore his eyes, and suddenly I wonder if I really am safe with this man.

“Where are they?” he demands, his voice low with threat.

I raise my chin, focusing on not seeming intimidated. “Harman and the prince are on their way.”

This, at least, appears to calm him a little. He swallows and nods, properly taking in the sight of me for the first time.

“It’s good to see you alive, Your Highness,” he says. “Last thing I heard, that didn’t seem very likely.”

CORRIN

I scan my eyes over Trova’s true queen, reading her.

It’s a skill I’ve honed to a knife’s point over the years—picking up the little clues and hints a person drops before they even open their mouths.

Morgana Angevire looks different from the last time I saw her—thinner, paler.

The obvious signs of many weeks spent locked away in a dark place.

But there’s more. Her shoulders are rounded inward, and there’s a new wariness in her expression, as if she feels more than ever that she must protect herself from the world.

And then there’s the eyes. I know that look. It’s the one you wear when you’ve seen things you shouldn’t, things you’ll never forget. Haunted. That’s the word for them. They look at me and also through me at the same time.

I’ve worn that look myself. And recent events have threatened to bring it back.

Footsteps thud against the grassy ground, and I raise an eyebrow at the princess.

“Sounds like the calvary’s coming.”

Sandale—I’ve learned his full name since we met last—and the fae prince don’t come alone.

They bring with them what must be a band of fellow rebels and…

a dog, of all things? I squint at it as it paces ahead of them.

The animal stops beside the princess and nuzzles the back of her hand. Its shadows are off. Is it glamoured ?

Whatever. It’s not my concern right now. I’m here to demand justice. I send my shadows creeping back across the earth. They stay low to the ground, not blocking anyone from seeing as they surround the group. The others draw their weapons, wary as they eye the black shapes dancing between them.

“If you want to speak with us, Wadestaff, there are politer ways to go about it,” Prince Leonidas says calmly, and I snort. The time for politeness has long passed. And they’re the reason why.

“I told you,” I say through gritted teeth. “I told you what murdering that bearer would do. ”

My plans to dispose of the body fell apart when I realized just how many bodies there were—how many clerics the prince had bled out on my streets.

None of the others were as high-level as the bearer, but there were still enough to have drawn too much attention.

I should have realized sooner, should have done more…

but by the time I learned the Temple had rallied to strike, it was already too late.

“They came in their hundreds to purge the city. They’re there now. Clerics setting up permanent residence so they can purify the place one neighborhood at a time. They used the cleavers for the first push, and they started with my businesses. Why do you think that is, gentlemen?”

One of the rebels, a man with a sour expression I suspect is permanently fixed to his face, sneers.

“So your precious crime ring got raided. Forgive us if we don’t weep.”

He squeaks as my darkness rises around him, moving from his feet up his legs and to his waist. Several of the rebels lift their weapons or reach out their palms to conjure some terrial magic.

But I’m more concerned by the rumbling beneath my feet as the earth starts to shake.

I meet the prince’s gaze, recognizing his magic.

I’d rather not find out what that rumbling leads to, so I reluctantly drop my shadows from around the man, and the earth beneath me stills.

“My life’s work has either been seized or razed to the ground. And it’s all because you had to make your point with Polis,” I say darkly. “Well, I’ve come to show you the fruits of your labor. Vasily.”

My man steps forward. He’s one of the fiercest of my security guards, but he hesitates when I gesture to the patch across his right eye.

“Please show them,” I say. It hurts me to wound his pride after everything he’s been through, but it’s important they understand. Vasily pushes the eyepatch up his head, revealing the pink, empty socket beneath.

“Vasily lost that eye stopping a cleaver’s ice shards trying to impale one of my door boys,” I hiss. “Warren here was almost buried alive by a geostri cleric. And as for me…”

I tug at the fingers of my gloves and slip my coat off to show the burns starting at my knuckles and running up my forearms .

“That’s what happens when you’re trying to stop a cleaver from setting your building on fire with fifty people still inside.”

There’s a ripple of reaction among the rebels. They recognize the Temple’s brutality, but in the end, they still look to Harman to see how he reacts. I’d grown increasingly suspicious that I’d met the Hand of Ralus’s secretive leader that day in Hallowbane, but now I’m certain.

“I’m sorry about what’s happened, Wadestaff,” Harman says. “But I did warn you. I’m not sure what you expected when you continued to cater to the Temple’s monsters.”

How dare he. My fury flares, and my shadows close in around the feet of Leon and the rebel leader.