Page 7 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

Marina. Gods, Marina, I want to make every single one of them pay for what they did to you.

But that would be suicide. And I haven’t survived this long just to die now.

“Do you want to bring the whole fucking Temple down on our heads?” I demand of the fae prince. “If you kill a bearer, we’re done for.”

Prince Leonidas barely glances at me, bringing his knife once more to the priest’s chest as Polis bucks against his bindings.

I summon my shadows, bringing a tide of them crawling down the walls and across the floor.

I doubt Prince Leonidas will be susceptible to their panic-inducing effects, but they can still obscure.

I figure the prince can’t keep torturing this man if he can’t see to do it.

Prince Leonidas realizes the same, pulling his knife back with a glare and stalking over to me.

“Enough, Wadestaff. Don’t get in my way, and you won’t end up like him.”

It’s beyond stupid to square off against the Nightmare Prince, but when I think of Vasily, unconscious, and the frightened faces of the women outside, I know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t take a stand.

It’s one thing to flow with the tide, to not waste my time and energy bucking up against powers that could crush me under their heels.

But this isn’t a situation I can push through by biting my tongue and forcing a smile.

This is my people at stake, and nothing will stop me from fighting for them.

“How dare you come into my house and attack my staff. You have no idea what you’re about to unleash. ”

“Forgive me if I don’t quake in my boots at the threats of a common criminal,” the prince sneers.

“I’m talking about the Temple. They won’t just come for me. They’ll punish the whole city for this. It’ll be a shitstorm of retribution dressed in scarlet robes.”

“He’s probably right, Leonidas,” the other man says. “If he and his people are going to suffer for this, he at least deserves to know the reason.”

The prince growls but lowers his knife.

“Morgana Angevire is missing,” the man continues. “We believe the Temple has her.”

The news hits like a slap to the face. I’ve seen how Leonidas is with the princess, and it’s been more than enough to show me I never want to see him without her.

But now that day has come. Damnation . No wonder he’s going off the deep end.

Taking a closer look at him, I notice it now.

The prince appears to be in control at first glance, but there’s a unique kind of wildness in his eyes—consuming rage, mixed with a dark, desperate fear.

I know that look; I’ve worn it myself. He’s standing on the verge of a world about to collapse because the person he values most in it might be lost to him.

Still, none of this explains who the other man is, or what his role is in all of this. But then I start putting two and two together. The last time I saw the princess, she was recruiting spies alongside the rebels.

“You’re with the Hand of Ralus,” I guess.

“Yes, you could say that.” Despite the situation, the man seems amused by my suggestion, which tells me he’s not just with the Hand—he’s someone important. My brain keeps calculating, reading the room like a book.

“So that information you were so desperate to get from my girls went and got the princess captured.” It’s just a guess, but from the way they both stiffen, it’s clear I’m right on the money.

“Well,” I drawl, “forgive me if I don’t faint with surprise.

Screwing over innocent people seems to be the Hand’s business these days, doesn’t it? ”

“No one regrets what happened to Morgana more than me,” the rebel says coldly. I realize with a spark of curiosity why he seems familiar. He looks a bit like the princess. A family resemblance, perhaps?

“Nevertheless,” the rebel continues. “Now we need answers.”

“There must be another way to go about this,” I say, still trying to come up with some way this can go that doesn’t end in my district getting burned to the ground. “What about that man of yours—the persuasive one?”

“He’s on his way,” Leonidas grunts. “But I don’t see why we should wait.”

My eyes fall on Polis. I know nothing will stop the prince from carving him down to the bone, because nothing would stop me if it meant I could get Marina back.

Letting him kill a bearer could be disastrous, but maybe if we play this right…

I’d have to burn through quite a few favors, but I think I could make this go away without too much blowback on me and mine.

And getting in his way would just make a bigger mess for me to have to clean up.

He’s going to go ahead with this, no matter what I say or do.

I might as well make sure no one else gets hurt in the process.

“Alright,” I say, reluctantly stepping back. “Do what you need to.”

Leon rounds on the bound bearer once more.

“So here’s the deal, Polis. You tell me where the Temple is hiding the princess, and I won’t add any more artwork to your skin. Harman?”

The rebel waves his hands, and the roots around Polis’s mouth withdraw.

The bearer gasps, his bloody chest heaving with panic.

“Why would I tell you anything? You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

“True,” Prince Leonidas agrees.

Tears of pain stream from the corners of Polis’s eyes. “But then I’ll go to the celestial realm, where the gods will reward me. I’m not afraid of death, fae scum.”

“Of death itself? Perhaps not. But of dying? If you’re not afraid, you’re a fool.

” Prince Leonidas’s voice is low as he spins the blade in his hands.

“Because I can make it quick. Or I can draw it out until it’s so slow and agonizing that even if you do go to the celestial realm, it will feel like you’ve spent an eternity here with me first. ”

He presses the knife point into one of the bearer’s open wounds. “Do you know how long a minute seems when you’re having your flesh peeled from your bones?”

And just like that, any defiance the bearer was clinging to crumbles before our eyes.

“Please,” his voice cracks. “All I know is that she’s being held in the holy city. Even I don’t know where. They moved her from the high temple. There’s a dozen places she could be.”

“That’s all you can tell me?” the prince snarls.

I don’t think I’m imagining the floor shaking a little, nor the walls around us groaning and creaking.

“I swear on Ethira. Gods save me,” Polis sobs. “That’s all I know.”

“The gods won’t save you, dog.” The prince raises his knife just as Harman steps forward.

“Wait,” the rebel says. “What if we take him prisoner instead? He could be a useful bargaining chip against the Temple.”

I say nothing, hoping the prince hears the rebel out.

If they take him away from here, then he’s not my problem anymore.

It’ll be clear to the Temple that the Hand are to blame, and Hallowbane won’t be implicated.

The bearer would certainly never say he was captured here—that would mean admitting he’s a whoring hypocrite.

“They’d never trade him for Ana,” the prince says. “She’s too useful to Caledon.”

“Maybe not for her, but there are other prisoners being held by the Temple. Our people, good people,” Harman persists. “Or if they won’t make a trade, we could still make use of him. He’s a bearer, he’ll have all kinds of useful information. Just wait until Alastor gets here and?—”

The prince drives his knife deep into the bearer’s chest, right into his heart. He twitches in shock for a moment, then stills.

Damn it.

At least the prince was true to his word , says a wry little voice in my head.

The bearer gave up all the information he had, and he got a swift death in return—where he’s hopefully learning firsthand that his fucked-up mockery of a faith does not give him a free pass to paradise in the afterlife after all. Good riddance.

“For gods’ sake, Leonidas,” Harman kicks the foot of the bed. “The Hand?—”

“Don’t talk to me about the Hand,” the prince barks, rounding on him. “I couldn’t give less of a damn about any of it. Not until I have Ana back.”

Harman sighs but stops arguing.

He really does blame himself for the princess’s capture , I think, filing away a little more information.

“At least we know for certain she’s in Qimorna now,” Harman says.

Judging from his face, the prince doesn’t consider this much of a victory. Bending, he wipes his knife on the edge of the bedsheets before sheathing it.

“Let’s go,” he says. “We need to discuss our next steps.” He strides out of the room, forcing the staff huddled by the door to scatter like frightened birds as he shoves past them.

“He’s got a bit of a temper, doesn’t he?” I say, watching him go. Then I turn back to the bearer and curse again. “What a fucking mess.”

“It’ll be hard to stay off Caledon’s list now, won’t it?” Harman says.

I narrow my eyes at him. I’d already calculated exactly what strings I could pull to make the body disappear in a way that wouldn’t cause any fingers to point back at me…

but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “Is that what you crusaders want? You don’t care what this might do to my businesses, my staff, or the innocent people who live in this city.

Just because you’re happy to throw your lives away fighting the Temple doesn’t mean you get to drag other people into it. ”

“Eventually, everyone becomes a victim of the Temple, Wadestaff. The sooner you wake up to that, the more innocent people you can help save.”

He looks at me pityingly, and it makes my hackles rise.

“I don’t need a lecture on victimhood from King Alaric’s son,” I snap .

His eyebrows shoot up, and I feel a flare of satisfaction.

“What makes you say that?” he asks.

“You look like him, and the princess. Plus, you talk like a noble. I once had a Godom lord share with me some gossip he heard of the king’s tawdry love affair and bastard son.

Gossip is its own currency, so I stored it away for the day it served me.

And here we are. So what is a king’s bastard doing running around with the rebels?

Couldn’t get daddy’s attention growing up, so this was what you did to make him notice you? ”

Harman laughs, but I can tell he doesn’t like my accusation.

“Like I haven’t heard that one before. No. I joined the Hand because, I, unlike you, believe in doing something that has meaning,” he says.

“Fuck meaning ,” I bite back. “I believe in survival. I have people who are depending on me?—”

“And so do I,” Harman cut in.

“Sure, but unlike you, I believe in giving people a chance to live—not in throwing them to the wolves so you can feel good about yourself.”

I’m so sick of these people’s disgusting self-righteousness.

They have no idea what it takes to claw your way out of the dirt, to build a solid and real life for others as well as yourself.

It might not be pretty or nice, but it’s something in a world that never wanted to give me a single damned thing.

Harman just shakes his head, moving toward the door to follow in the prince’s wake. On the way, he passes me a card with a symbol on one side—a hand with a sun at the center of the palm—and a name written on the other.

“For better or for worse, you have power and influence, Corrin Wadestaff. If you ever decide to put them to good use, contact that aesteri, and he’ll get a message to us.”

I flick the card onto the ground and step on it with the tip of my polished shoe.

“No thanks. I’ve seen firsthand where lofty ideals will get you.”

Marina lies in my arms as my tears wet her cold skin. The knees of my pants are soaked through with her blood .

Harman just nods, like he expected my response.

“You can’t play nice with the Temple forever, Wadestaff. Revolution is coming, and sooner or later you’re going to have to pick a side before the choice is made for you.”