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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

“ I was wondering why Mireille asked us to talk with you the other day,” Silas said, the rustle of his dove-soft wings the only sound in the midnight-cloaked streets.

Cassandra had just finished telling him her history.

And all he’d done when she’d finished was raise his thick, dark eyebrows and say, “Huh. Never met a Turned human before.”

Unflappable.

No wonder Mireille had suggested he help with training.

He offered her a wry smirk. “She did mention that you needed some additional motivation to take down the Koenig. I would’ve thought your own survival would have been enough.”

“I would have, too,” Cassandra offered with a weary laugh. “It’s been a rough few weeks.” She cringed. “I’m sorry, how thoughtless of me. When you’ve?—”

“Trauma’s not a competition. Feel however you need to feel, Cass. Can I call you Cass?” She nodded.

They walked a few more steps in silence, Cassandra contemplating the wisdom in his words. He had a graceful countenance and a quiet depth. She might have even appreciated how handsome he was if her chest wasn’t still tied up in knots over?—

“So what happened to the male who Turned you? He waiting for you outside the wards?” Nothing colored Silas’s questions but simple curiosity. There was no I’m interested in you subtext. She was grateful for that.

But she also didn’t feel like talking about it with a total stranger. Regardless of how calming his presence was.

“No comment,” she answered, as kindly as she could.

And Silas, bless him, didn’t push.

When they reached the Kennel, Cassandra adjusted the linen bag of healing tonics and the glass vials tinkled as she opened the door. “After you.”

Silas shook his head. “I’ll stay out here on watch. You distribute the tonics.”

“Why?”

“The Brethren don’t like us coming here. They claim we’re spoiling the humans by giving them extra food and additional care. Insist the humans need to know their place .”

Rage glowed fierce in Cassandra’s chest. “But that’s… High Gods, that’s absurd. They’re being kept in fucking cages .”

“I also think they don’t like to be reminded that so many of us share ancestry with them. That the main difference between our species is the gift of magic. Especially when none of us can wield it in here. In its absence, the Koenig and his Brethren find other ways to maintain their dominance.”

“And what will happen if they catch us?”

“They’ll find some clever way to punish us. Sometimes, it’s a week-long stay in the castle dungeons. Sometimes it’s…something else.”

He’s survived Harvest Night five times .

She rolled her shoulders, ruffling her feathers. “I’m not scared of them. I’ve got the protection of the blood vow.”

Silas grimaced. “Don’t fully depend on that. The Koenig and his steward are cleverer than they seem. If they wanted to do you harm, they’d find a way around it. Best to be safe. If anyone approaches, I’ll come in and fetch you.”

Cassandra’s nerves prickled, but she wouldn’t let fear stop her from doing even a tiny bit of good.

She walked into the Kennel, and Silas shut the heavy metal door behind her.

“Back again, eh, do-gooder?”

The old woman’s raspy laughter snaked out of the corner cell as Cassandra approached. She’d dispersed all but one of the healing tonics, her cheeks flushed with pride.

The old woman’s greeting took her down several notches.

Cassandra tucked her wings and settled cross-legged onto the floor. She held out the last vial of tonic, swirling the clear liquid within.

Tremors wracked the old woman’s body, and her pupils dilated. She wrung her hands in her lap, as if she were fighting against shoving an arm through the bars and snatching the vial.

The old woman wanted the tonic, needed the tonic. And it was abundantly clear she’d rather die than ask for it.

“Fresh batch,” Cassandra said, rolling the vial between her fingers. “The apothecarist just finished brewing it today.”

The old woman huffed, pulling her knees against her chest and wrapping her threadbare blanket around her shoulders. “I don’t need your fucking Fae potions coursing through my system.”

“You sure? It’d help ease your aches. Might help you get a good night’s sleep for once.”

“What makes you think I have trouble sleeping?”

“Because you look like the dog shit someone scraped off the bottom of their boot.”

The old woman blinked, the silence stretching between them for a long moment before she exploded into body-shaking, limb-trembling laughter.

It turned into a hacking cough so phlegmy that Cassandra fought an urge to run a soothing hand down her back.

The old woman composed herself, coughing lightly and rubbing at her wet eyes. “At least you’re honest. I’ll give you that. But like I told you the other night, I don’t need your fucking charity. Bugger off.”

Cassandra shrugged, trying to maintain her nonchalant facade while her insides were churning with guilt and shame and anger. There was nothing that separated her from this woman, other than the wings on her back that she hadn’t asked for. She could easily be looking at some alternate version of her own future.

“It’s not fucking charity if you pay me for it,” she said.

The old woman sat up a little straighter, then she laughed again, a bitter hiss, as she swiveled her gaze around the cell. “Oh yes! Let me pay you with all the drachas I have laying around my palace.” She lifted her tattered bedroll, then smacked her palm against her forehead. “Darn, forgot I’m fresh out. Spent it all on these gorgeous rags. I’d offer to feed you some of my emotions, but I think you’ll find they’re a bit rotten.”

The old woman moved closer to the bars, grasping at her hem with knobby fingers and hitching up her filthy skirt. “Or maybe you’ve got another payment in mind. It’s drier than the fucking Desolation down there, but if you’ve a taste for some desiccated human flesh…”

The old woman stared Cassandra down, her rheumy eyes daring Cassandra to flinch, to show any sign of disgust, any small tell of anger.

But Cassandra wouldn’t do it.

This woman had been enslaved, locked up, malnourished, sleep-deprived, and the-High-Gods-only-knew what else during the time she’d been here.

A tear crawled down the woman’s face as she flicked her skirt down and turned away, folding herself into a fetal position.

“Like I said, do-gooder, kindly fuck off. Leave an old woman her dignity. It’s all I have left.”

“Your name,” Cassandra whispered.

“What?” the old woman said, not bothering to lift her head.

“That’s all I want. For the tonic. Just tell me your name.”

“This some kind of Fae trick? I give you my name and then you control me, make me do whatever you want?”

“Fae can’t do that.”

“Can’t they?” the old woman murmured.

She remained silent for what felt like hours. So long that Cassandra thought she’d fallen asleep.

Cassandra placed the vial through the bars, about to give up and leave, when a small croak came from the pile of blankets.

“Ana.”

“What?” Cassandra whispered, afraid of scaring the woman back to silence.

“Ana,” she repeated, slightly louder. “My name is Ana.”

Cassandra bit back a thousand responses. That’s a beautiful name. Thank you for sharing it with me. I’m so sorry that this has happened to you. I’m not terrible, not like them . Please don’t hate me.

But Cassandra’s guilty conscience was her own burden. Ana was already shouldering enough of her own.

So Cassandra pushed up off the floor, and left Ana to her peace.

As soon as Cassandra stepped outside, all the grief she’d held back in Ana’s presence spilled over.

Silas pinched closed the leather journal he’d been drawing in and slipped it into his bag. “Well? How did it—” His brows crashed together when he saw her face. “That bad, huh?”

Cassandra swiped her wrist under her nose. “Why has no one tried to get them out of there? To at least free them from these cages?”

“Where would they go?” Silas asked gently. “Back through the mists? Take their chances in the moat? Hide away in the houses of sympathetic prisoners? We’ve tried all of it. And when we’ve failed, who do you think suffers the most? Not the Fae, I assure you.”

Cassandra ran her fingers down her braid, trying to soothe her bleeding heart. She needed to calm down or she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. Would be a mess for training tomorrow.

“I just…” she breathed out. “I just don’t understand why the Brethren treat them like this.”

Silas let out a ragged sigh. “I don’t understand it either.” He reached out a hand and gripped her shoulder. “And I?—”

The cobbled street around them disappeared as the memory overtook Cassandra.

A lovely Windrider female in a soft peach dress sat in a cheery, sunlit kitchen. Auburn curls tumbled down her torso as she pitted cherries, singing softly toward her belly.

Cassandra, through Silas’s eyes, looked toward the bump and an arrow pierced her heart.

She was ripped through space and time, rainbow shards and strings of light swirling until she came to a jolting stop.

And was looking through a different pair of eyes.

Female eyes, though she didn’t quite understand how she knew that.

She was walking down a noisy, crowded avenue, arm-in-arm with another female.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a shop window—auburn waves, thick brows, dove gray wings—before pausing to examine a pair of shiny golden sandals.

Her friend tugged her arm. “Come on, Sofia. You do not need another pair of shoes.” She lowered her voice. “Rebels need more sensible ones, anyway.”

“Rebels wear whatever shoes they fucking want,” Sofia said with bubbling, infectious laughter.

“Let’s go, ” her friend cackled, pulling her away from the window. “The meeting started two minutes ago.”

As the memory faded, Cassandra struggled to ascertain what city she was in. Obviously somewhere on the continent, based on the cars whizzing past and the height of the buildings. Plus, it was warm enough for Sofia to wear a skirt and no jacket.

She jolted out of Sofia’s mind, and returned to Silas.

“—don’t really want to understand it,” he finished. “What’s wrong? You look extremely pale all of a sudden.”

She braced her hands on his forearms.

“Silas, I… I think I just saw your daughter.”