Page 44

Njáll

I don’t know what time it is when the door opens again. Night still because I can’t feel the pull of the sun, but I don’t get to my feet. Next to me, Reijo was dozing, but now his body tenses, just like all the other fae around the room.

“Down you get,” someone says, and Reijo tenses further, his breaths going fast and shallow. He knows whoever that voice belongs to. He fears them.

That is forgotten, though, in the next instant. Because I know the figure making their way down the stairs, hands bound before them, every booted step slow and deliberate.

Maurice.

At first, I cannot bring myself to move. I cannot believe he is here.

What is he doing here?

He stands at the bottom of the stairs, casting his face upwards, and his expression stays even as the door closes, plunging us into darkness. The fae all stare at him, but they do not look scared in the same way they did upon my arrival.

“You’ve lost your blessing,” Reijo breathes, and my heart breaks, just a little.

“Yes,” Maurice says. He’s looking at me now, and I surge clumsily to my feet. I almost trip as I walk over to him and wrap my hands around the cuffs on his wrists.

“What are you doing here?”

“You were missing,” he says as though that serves as a suitable explanation.

“Did you come here on purpose?”

He fixes me with a look, and even if he’s harder to see with the lack of light, I can still read him. Yes, of course , he doesn’t say, and my cheeks burn, and I don’t know why.

“Why have they…?” I tug on one of the cuffs and he shrugs.

“Don’t know. I don’t have my magic, and they took everything. They took my knife. Carefully.”

I don’t think I can pull them off without injuring him, so instead I draw him over to where I’ve been sitting next to Reijo. Maurice frowns at the sight of him but sits down when I do, cross-legged on the ground.

I wince when I sit—everything still hurts, though it’s been hours since I was thrown back down here, and Maurice makes a questioning sound.

“I’m fine.”

“Njáll…”

“I am.” I don’t like that he’s here, but strangely, I feel better for it. Magic or not, he’s good with a plan and he might know a better way of dealing with these fae and getting away.

“No, you’re not,” Reijo says. “They’re trying to get him to feed from us.”

Maurice growls. His hands move up my arm, shove it aside, and then travel down my side. I wince when he presses on my ribs. They’re not broken anymore, but the dull pain tells me they’re still cracked.

“What happened?” Maurice demands. He feels across my chest, finding more cracked ribs on the other side. I didn’t fall well; stupidly, I hadn’t been expecting it.

“Augustine shoved me down the stairs.”

“He was here ?”

“Yes, he… Do you know where he is now?”

“With the hunters.” Maurice’s hands move down to my hip, and there’s a dull ache there, too, but nothing is broken. He’s warm, even through my shirt. “He’s going to get his challenge, I think.”

I sigh. It’s hardly surprising, but with all I know now, I want Deacon to be unreasonable and put up more of a fight. “What happened to you?” I ask.

Maurice doesn’t ask me to clarify, though I think he’s leaving a lot out when he shrugs and says, “The Huntsman took back what’s his.”

“Why?”

He tips his head back against the exposed brick wall. Reijo peers around at him, interested despite himself. I imagine all the fae are.

“Who’s running things here?” Maurice asks, but I shake my head.

“Tell me what happened.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Maurice…”

“It doesn’t matter!” His eyes are wild, chest heaving with the effort of his breaths. He hasn’t moved his hands away, but I reach for him all the same, soothing over his shoulders and down his arms.

If these fae didn’t know before that there’s something between us, then they definitely know now.

I cup the side of his neck gently and he exhales a heavy breath. I’ve never seen him vulnerable like this, and it’s hardly the best place for it; nevertheless, there is a thrill in my stomach that he is sharing this with me. “Maurice,” I murmur, “tell me.”

“I searched for you yesterday,” he says, then, more earnestly, “as soon as I found out you were gone. I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t know where to start. So I didn’t find you.”

“And the Huntsman?”

“When I got back to the base, he was there. He’d warned me to stay away from you already, after—” A flush darkens his cheeks; his eyes skitter away. “He warned me. I knew what the consequences would be. It’s all right.”

It isn’t all right. I can’t see a mark on him, and his clothes don’t bear evidence of the fae who captured him having hurt him, but he’s holding himself stiffly all the same.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” I ask.

He presses his lips into a thin line, eyes darting around at the fae shamelessly watching us, and doesn’t nod.

“Some high fae has us here,” I say because he needs to know the truth. “Meilyr. From the Unseelie queen’s court. He wants to stake a claim here before other powerful fae make it through.”

“Fuck.” Maurice hisses. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“No,” Maurice says and pulls a face as he settles back against the wall. “But I can imagine. The queen keeps the most powerful and power-hungry fae in her court. Makes sense one of them would end up here.”

“He asked about the Hunt.”

Maurice snorts. “I know better than to give up information like that.”

“Maurice.”

“Njáll.”

I scowl. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

He looks at me, considering something. “You need to feed.”

“From who?” I wave a hand, indicating the fae around the room, and all but Reijo shrink back in fear. “That’s what they want.”

“From me.”

Disappointment swirls in my gut. “That won’t help. You’re…” If he were my sire, it might; some turns feed from their sire for a while after so they can learn to control their bloodlust on sturdier prey.

But Maurice is not that, and he no longer has any fae magic in his blood. He needs it, the same way I need to keep what’s inside me firmly there.

“You could feed from me,” Reijo says, his voice only shaking a little.

The growl that tears itself from Maurice’s throat is dangerous and possessive, and I’m gripped by the sudden desire to haul him up against me.

“No.”

“He might have to,” Reijo hisses, just as I hear footsteps above.

Maurice gets to his feet hurriedly and shakes his head when I go to do the same. Reijo looks almost as stern when I turn to him for help. He’s scared as well, and that is what truly keeps me in place. I want to offer him some small comfort, even if we all know there is nothing I can do to help.

The two fae who make their way down the stairs are ones I recognise—the selkies who sneaked up on me when I was taken. Maurice clearly recognises them too. He growls, and it is low enough that one of them stumbles, eyes going wide.

The other shakes their head, a smirk tugging at the corners of their mouth. “You’re no more powerful than he is,” they say, indicating me with a jerk of their head. “Less so, even. You’re bound.”

Maurice growls again, shoulders high and rigid. It’s true, I suppose, though I don’t like it. I’m sure neither does he.

“Come on,” the selkie says and grabs Maurice’s arm, tugging him over to the stairs.

The other remains, staring at me. “Get up.”

Maurice comes to a sudden stop. The selkie looking at me grimaces but doesn’t avert their gaze.

“Why do you need him?” Maurice asks.

“You know why,” the selkie holding his arm says. They shove Maurice harder, and Reijo shakes a little next to me. “Fucking grab him already.”

I get to my feet as the selkie approaches. They come to a sudden stop again, clearly the more nervous of the two of them. Is there something I can do with that? Unlikely.

Besides, they have Maurice, and they might be insinuating that Maurice will behave if I’m present and threatened, but I know I’ll behave for what they might do to him. He’s already cuffed, and from the way they’ve hurt me, I’m sure they’ll only be worse with him.

“I’m coming,” I say, and the selkie still grabs my arm roughly, shoving me over to the stairs.

We’re rushed through the house and to the same living room I met Meilyr in last night. Maurice is pushed into the armchair, and I am left standing awkwardly to one side, though when Meilyr waves a hand, the selkie pushes me closer, putting me and Maurice side by side.

Maurice eyes Meilyr with no little suspicion. It’s unfortunate Maurice doesn’t recognise him. It would be useful if we had some idea of him, some idea of what might get us out of here.

“Do you know who I am?” Meilyr asks.

“No,” Maurice scoffs. I think the sound is more a reflex than anything else, but it doesn’t stop Meilyr from nodding to one of the selkies—the one who brought Maurice up here, not me.

A blow hits me across the shoulders so hard that I stagger, almost falling to my knees.

Maurice growls again, entire body rigid in the chair.

“What the fuck ?”

“You should show me some respect.”

“I don’t know who you are.”

Meilyr studies Maurice for a moment. “Your ignorance is not necessarily your own failure, I suppose. My name is Meilyr. I am a cousin of the royal family, a fae of the Unseelie royal court.”

Maurice doesn’t look away from him. He doesn’t look at me at all. “Why are you here, Meilyr?”

“Why do you think? I will never sit on the throne.”

“The queen still lives.”

Meilyr shrugs. He is wearing a silky, shimmery robe over a regular shirt and trousers, and the fabric shines in the light. “For now. But even when she passes, I will not be the one to replace her.”

“Why’s that, then?” Maurice asks. “You seem powerful enough to take it.”

Something in Meilyr’s gaze sharpens. His smile grows even wider, is almost manic in its intensity, and I brace myself for another blow.

When it doesn’t come, I try not to let the relief show on my face.

“It is interesting, the facts your Huntsman reveals to you,” Meilyr says.

“You know he is not my Huntsman any longer.”

“Your blessing, yes.” Meilyr tilts his head to one side. “Unfortunate, but irrelevant.”

“Why did you come here?”

“As I said. I will not be the one to take the throne, so why not take power here?” He crosses one leg over the other, and he and the fae around the room seem entirely at ease with this train of thought.

“If I wipe out the Wild Hunt, then I can establish myself. Once the queen finally dies, the Guardians will fall apart. Who is left to stop me then? The scattered, powerless fae who’ve been hiding in this realm for centuries?

Or maybe the handful of mages our prince did not destroy? ”

“Humans are stronger than you think.”

“That matters very little. The remaining princes will not save the Otherworld, and they will not save this realm, either. Who is left, then? You?”

Maurice doesn’t answer. My gaze flicks between the two of them. I am not certain I understand everything, but I can get the gist. The mages wiped each other out, I thought, but if they were manipulated by the fae…

It would make sense why it seemed to happen so quickly.

Not that it matters much to me now. I cannot see a way out of this room.

Though Maurice and I are fast, I do not know if vampires are faster than fae, and I do not know, either, if the house is warded, or how strong the doors are, or if there are other fae lying in wait…

“What do you want?” Maurice asks sullenly, drawing me back into the conversation again.

“I want all the information you have about the Hunt,” Meilyr says. “Every single scrap, no matter how insignificant you think it may be.”

Maurice looks vaguely queasy, and an unsettling chill goes down my spine.

“I can’t,” Maurice says. I don’t think he’s saying that to Meilyr, not really, because we both know what’s going to happen next. “I can’t .”

“On the contrary,” Meilyr replies, tone silky and cruel, “I think you very much can tell me everything I want to know about the Hunt and what you know of its Huntsman. You’ve been a hunter for so long, after all.”

“That’s why—No.”

Meilyr’s expression hardens, and he looks at one of the fae behind me. Hands grab me—more than one pair—and I keep my lips firmly pressed shut as I’m forced to my knees.

“Of course I know the Huntsman will have prepared you to withstand a great many things. But him?” Meilyr huffs, his smile mean. “What will his screams do to you, hunter?”

“Don’t,” Maurice breathes, horrified.

“I’m sure he can take it,” Meilyr replies.

It’s all the warning I get. These fae are strong, stronger than any vampire I’ve met, and it’s hardly difficult with how many there are for them to grab one of my arms and extend it away from my body. When they start to pull, I swallow down the impotent sound I want to make. It will not help.

“I can’t ,” Maurice says. He’s looking at me now, begging me to understand, and I do, I do , because I have that responsibility too; a responsibility bigger than either of us.

Meilyr’s smile is humourless. He gets to his feet, and for a moment, the pressure stops as the fae holding me react with what I assume is surprise. I cannot make a sound. I cannot allow this to hurt Maurice more than it clearly already is.

He does his best to lunge at Meilyr as he passes by, but another fae is there, hands on his shoulders, pressing him back into the chair. I stare up at Meilyr. What does he see in my face?

Whatever it is, it is not enough to stop him. The fae hold my arm fast again. I do not struggle. I already know I cannot escape them.

It is slow because he wants this to hurt, wants me to suffer, and I am certain I feel the bone bend before it breaks. Maurice’s scream of rage covers my own pained cry, nausea rushing over me in an urgent wave.

“I’ll kill you,” Maurice snarls. The fae still have hold of my arm and Meilyr has not looked away from my face, not for a second.

“You may well try,” Meilyr says eventually. “Think about that, and the answer you want to give me to the question I asked you earlier.”

He waves a hand, and I stumble as the fae drag me up and away, back to the cellar. They do not throw me down the stairs this time, and I am grateful for small mercies. Reijo hisses through his teeth when I fall against the wall, cradling my broken arm in the other, and sink to the floor.

It is not healing, and I don’t know if that is down to my own weakness or something Meilyr did to me.

I blink, and Maurice is crouched before me, looking as though he has been there for longer than the second or so I believe has passed.

“Njáll,” he murmurs, hands still bound but hovering above my body, like he doesn’t know where to touch. “Njáll, I’m so sorry. I don’t think you’re healing.”