Page 66 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion (Tales of a Monstrous Heart, #2)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Kat

No Kysillian bares a mark. For no being can best the Queen’s blood. Only the unworthy accept defeat and the unworthy shall never summon her flame.

The Rule of Kysillia – Unknown

I felt instantly uneasy and not just from the armed rebels in the ruins of the room, or the deadly sharpness of Emrys’s magic surrounding me.

I hadn’t interacted with many fey, especially not those of ancient blood.

Being locked in the Institute had stolen more from me than I’d first anticipated.

Had made me fear my own kind just as those mortals did.

The fury rippling from Emrys was little comfort, as the rage of my own magic from my small battle churned inside of me and made my palms sweat. That horrid cloying fear consuming me that the nymph had seen my Kysillian blade or witnessed me summon.

As if scenting the unease I was certain seeped from my pores, the nymph’s grin didn’t falter. Like a cat considering a lame mouse between its paws.

‘Aster,’ Emrys greeted with no warmth.

The slender nymph’s skin shifted between blue and green like oil catching sunlight. The pattern of scales faintly visible, dark blue hair braided severely back from his face, the plaits decorated with small silver beads. Sharp pointed ears – larger than my own – pierced with varying small rings.

‘You’ve injured my men,’ the nymph chided. ‘However, I am feeling generous enough to give you a merciful minute to explain yourselves.’

His companions shifted behind him as if to remind us we were surrounded. One with a bloody broken nose thanks to my fist.

Emrys would have a portal stone on him, but I doubted he could reach it, and one wouldn’t carry us far. Also, the rebels were too close. We might accidently port some of them with us.

‘I’ll explain myself to Callen,’ Emrys’s voice didn’t sound entirely his own.

The nymph straightened and so did I. My gaze darting to Emrys before I could think better of it.

Callen? Why would the Kysillian be here and why would Emrys know it? The nymph let out an unamused sound before sheathing his short blade.

‘Very well.’ The nymph’s smile was sly, those eyes moving to me as he stepped back with a mocking bow. ‘It’s your funeral, Blackthorn.’

Two rebels moved forward only for the bitter chill of Emrys’s magic to snap like a wyvern’s tail. Sending them stumbling back into the crumbling remains of the walls around us, their own summonings crackling in their palms in retaliation. Aster simply held up his hand to stop their retaliation.

‘Careful, Blackthorn,’ the nymph warned, the air suddenly damp with the threat of his own power. ‘Your pet wood imp and bastard brother are waiting.’

William and Gideon.

‘Lead the way,’ Emrys offered. Seeming to make some attempt at being civilised.

The nymph turned sharply to lead the way out of the ruined house.

The guards tugged at their jackets, muttering their displeasure before they moved outside.

The streets strangely quiet in the aftermath of the Hunters attack.

Or maybe it was just the ringing in my head dulling everything from hitting the wall.

The village’s roads were thin and winding, like that of a rabbit’s warren. A foreboding quiet had permeated the air in the absence of the chaos only moments before. Smoke curled and danced like thick fog before us.

Gideon and William did appear, guided by another small gang of rebels through the narrow cobbled street. Smoke curling in the air from where my fire had caught on the thatched roof.

William had his hands raised as if he was being taken on a death march, looking sickly pale. Gideon grabbed his wrist and yanked the boy’s hand down. Making William flush scarlet. Clearly this wasn’t Gideon’s first time being captured and he wasn’t about to be embarrassed while doing it.

Gideon gave Emrys a sharp warning look before he fell into step with us.

‘You all right, Kat?’ William asked out of the side of his mouth.

‘I’m fine,’ I answered trying to brush some of the hay dust off my leathers.

How long I’d be fine for was yet to be seen.

My eyes tracked over the rooftops and then the forest that bordered the village.

Turning to assess the space around us. Looking for a familiar pair of green eyes.

A flutter of wings or flash of scales. My panic rising, flame churning in my gut.

Alma.

‘Safe,’ Emrys’s answer came as soft as breath as it brushed my ear. I hadn’t even realised I’d spoken. I turned to see him, only for his deadly focus to be on the road ahead. On the rebels who were spread out across the streets, searching the remains of the village as if any hunters could remain.

The echoing thump of our footsteps matched the wild beating of my heart.

Until we were led into a small courtyard.

Hunters or the fiends they’d become lay sprawled on the ground.

Eyes glassy with death. Entrails scattered across the cobbles thanks to Alma, and the stench of burnt flesh from what limited damage I’d been able to do filled the air.

Sheet-covered bodies lay there too – fey. Cut down so pointlessly. The brutality of my magic turned within me, forcing my hands into fists.

We weren’t quick enough. Would we ever be?

The hunters these rebels had managed to catch knelt against a remaining charred stone wall.

Hands bound behind their backs, faces bloody.

Eyes red from the venom they’d drunk. Half mad with it.

Crazed enough to follow any order. One’s lips moving in quick succession, eyes rolling back in their skull in devotion to their saint.

Others snapped their teeth, frothing at the mouth as if they’d taken poison.

Evidence of the madness that had torn this world apart too many times in human form. Hatred.

Our guard slowed as a striking figure observed the same carnage before us. My magic flared with curiosity, recognizing such flame in another.

Callen. The Countess’s Kysillian. Those sharp lavender eyes met my own as he turned from his consideration of the hunters.

He was still wearing the same leathers as he wore in Lady Ramsey’s fighting pit, his cheeks flushed from battle and splattered with horrid dark blood.

Dark hair tied back from his face as he glowered down at us all.

‘You’re in the middle of my rebellion, Blackthorn,’ Callen greeted, folding his arms, making his leathers creak. ‘Catching too much attention once again.’

‘Last I heard, it was the Countess’s rebellion,’ Gideon countered, hand resting on his weapons belt with ease. ‘You’re also beyond your bounds.’

I saw the slight flex of Emrys’s fingers as darkness rippled across his knuckles. Close to summoning.

‘Montagor is moving his hunters too quickly for us to dawdle in the north,’ the Kysillian countered, exhaustion clinging to his stoic features.

‘You followed them,’ I spoke before I could think. How else would they have known to be here?

Unless they’d spotted the same pattern that William had in what was catching Montagor’s attention.

‘They’ve decimated two fey settlements further south.’ Callen chewed over the words with displeasure.

‘Survivors?’ Emrys asked.

‘Those who survived fled east.’ Callen rubbed his jaw, his eyes moving over Aster. As if assessing he was all in one piece, before those piercing lavender eyes returned to us. ‘I suspect that’s where your little imp sent the villagers. Your Reaver loyalties are showing, Blackthorn.’

‘It’ll be interesting to know how long you’ve had a wrywing in your arsenal?’ Aster added, his smile sly.

Dread curled in my gut. The rebels couldn’t know anything about Alma. That was a danger that had chased us for long enough.

The nymph’s focus dropped oddly to Emrys’s hand. ‘I also didn’t know you were taken, Blackthorn.’

Then I saw exactly where my father’s hilt had gone. A gold ring glinted on Emrys’s ring finger. Standing out so prominently against that dark summoning staining his skin. Like a mortal wedding band. My cheeks flushed at the insinuation.

My eyes shot to Callen’s, watching a stillness come over him. Wondering if he knew. If he could sense what it was.

‘I suppose your master doesn’t know you’re both free of your leash,’ Gideon huffed, folding his arms with ease, thankfully offering another distraction and ignoring how William’s knees practically knocked together next to him.

‘From the stories you’re supposed to be dead, Gideon. Or fucking your way west,’ Aster’s reply was terse.

‘Interested?’ Gideon raised a brow in challenge.

Callen, to my surprise, laughed. A sudden ease in his bulky form that hadn’t been present in Lady Ramsey’s fighting den. No, this creature seemed so different to the one held so tightly on the cruel blood-witch’s leash.

‘ Ancestors guard you ,’ he greeted me in Kysillian, inclining his head. Some great distant pain moved through my chest hearing the warm greeting I last heard come from my father’s lips.

‘ And guard you ,’ I replied, struggling to keep my voice steady.

The nymph shifted with irritation, a sharpness to their eyes on my lips, understanding. Making me wonder how they could know Kysillian.

‘Why would Montagor care about settlements south of here?’ Gideon interjected.

‘They’re after fey ruins. The bastard remains in hiding, sending his rats out to forage,’ Aster answered, but from his curled lip I could tell he didn’t wish to offer us anything.

‘The real question is what are you after, Blackthorn? I don’t suppose it’s good luck that has drawn you across our path.

Maybe the work of the dark fates. To seek a position of power in this coming war? ’

‘The Reavers wish to get the fey to safety. I offered my assistance in their plight. As I always have,’ Emrys replied, unbothered by how his words might incriminate him in the rebellion’s eyes.

‘She doesn’t like excuses,’ Aster countered, dampness in the air intensifying with the nymph’s power.

‘She doesn’t like the truth either,’ Gideon retorted.