Page 45 of The Howling (Monsters of the Yeavering #2)
I stare up at Reavely. His chin is held high, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. But he doesn’t get to be stressed. My blood is boiling after what I overheard.
I’m angry at him, but I’m more angry at myself for not asking the questions, for not demanding answers, for allowing him to tell me everything is fine and believing him because the thought of an easier, Faerie free life was too tempting.
And because I thought I loved him. I do love him.
But Reavely hasn’t told me the truth.
What he did to Lord Guyzance, in Faerie terms, is the worst possible insult. It’s supposed to only be Faerie who can remove each other’s wings. It’s the one and only way they bother to fight. Losing your wings is tantamount to a death sentence for any Faerie.
For Reavely to have done such a thing to Lord Guyzance…he has powerful friends who will want to avenge the insult, but also it will leave a power vacuum which needs to be filled.
All of this, he did in an instant, and he did it…for me?
I shake my head.
“No,” I say in a croak I can’t hide. “Tell me you didn’t do this.”
The pit of ice in my stomach is spreading out through my limbs.
“I did,” Reavely says, imperiously. “And I’d do it again.”
I pull in a breath which hitches into a sob. “What have you done?” I rasp. “They will never let us be.”
“I am a Barghest,” Reavely says, eyes burning. “I am the Barghest. I have as much power as them, and it’s about time the Faerie remembered the Yeavering doesn’t belong to them.”
“He started the war,” Linton says, his voice filled with a terrible glee. “Now we have to fight.”
Reavely turns to him.
“No one has to fight.”
Linton is shaking harder than ever. “ Everyone has to fight in this war, Barghest. Even you. Especially you.”
He has a dagger in each hand, but rather than being a threat, he looks positively unhinged and more of a danger to himself than anyone else, his blood red eyes darker than ever.
Reavely looks at me and over at Linton.
“If there is a war, it isn’t here yet,” he says, taking a step from me to the bristling Linton. “The fight isn’t here.”
For a moment I wonder if Reavely’s intervention has come too late.
The mothman strikes out blindly with one of his daggers.
Reavely grabs his wrist and narrowly avoids being stabbed in the side by the a dagger held in Linton’s other hand.
Reavely thumps his huge bulk into Linton’s not inconsiderable body, and it seems this is enough to bring his psyche out of whatever has a grip.
The daggers disappear and Linton shrugs Reavely off as if he’s nothing.
“No war,” he mutters, sitting back down again. “Not yet.”
There’s something about the not yet which tears at me inside. Linton is a creature who exists rather than lives.
“There was a time the Faerie had a hold on him,” Reavely says to me quietly. “Linton did things in the Night Lands which cannot be undone.”
“You all did,” Lilburn says quietly. “And you should have told Wynter what happened with Lord Guyzance.”
“You knew?” I round on her with unnecessary ire.
I should keep my anger for myself.
“I knew,” she says, unabashed. “It was for the Barghest to tell you.”
“That makes it easy for you,” I retort.
I want to run, but running doesn’t solve anything. I want to scream at them all, but screaming doesn’t get me anywhere. Instead I sit down in Reavely’s chair and stare at the table, not seeing anything on it.
There are voices, Reavely’s low rumble, Linton’s rasping tones, even the melodious flute of Lilburn, but I don’t want to listen. Not to them, not to anyone.
I thought I had my life together. I thought it might have been better.
Turns out things are as likely to go to shit as they would have if I’d stayed in the hands of the Faerie. The security I thought I had has been ripped away with the knowledge of what Reavely has done. In my name.
No wonder we have an assassin in our midst. One who seems hell bent on something departing the Yeavering today.
I know it’s not going to be Reavely, so who is going to fall to this red-eyed terror?