by Jaida Jones
Einan snorted in reply, then crouched at Sil’s side. Took her hand, finger-combed Sil’s hair out of her face.
I think I can help with earning their trust. One’s voice, coming from far off. She hadn’t returned with Cab to the theater. The distance didn’t quiet her voice, simply colored it. He trusted her to make the right tactical decisions. Knew she wouldn’t linger somewhere unless she had good reason. I’ll check in with the others.
Others? Cab asked.
Some old friends, One replied.
Then she went silent, leaving Cab to rise to the occasion and figure things out.
Sleep didn’t come easily after Cab shared the news from Sil’s contact: that the Queensguard was patrolling more ruthlessly, that the excavation efforts had tripled, and—this last being a suspicion One had confirmed earlier—that Three of Many had been found and was currently at the castle.
Morien now had two pieces of the Great Paragon under his control to the Resistance’s one.
“Quit tossing and turning,” Einan hissed at Cab sometime near to dawn. “Is this how you plan on taking down the Resistance? By making sure we can’t get a decent night’s sleep?”
Cab was startled to find her so close. His old instincts should have measured better. He didn’t know how to apologize.
In the end, he remained on his back with his arms crossed over his chest to avoid bothering Einan again, listening to her breathing as it steadied and softened into sleep.
In the far corner of the dressing room, Hope’s open eyes glowed faintly through the night.
Come morning, Cab helped out around the Gilded Lily, hammering up a new piece of the set, while Einan took it on herself to check on the other members of the Resistance.
When she returned, her hands were shaking. Cab tried to steady her, and she didn’t shake him off. Instead she pulled him into a hidden spot below the stage where there was no chance of being overheard. Her cheeks and throat were red with anger and she still smelled of the wine-paste stage blood.
“Queensguard caught Malachy.” She slammed her hand into a wooden beam that didn’t look strong enough to withstand a second onslaught. Cab caught her arm, would stop her from breaking her hand if he had to. She stared at his fingers on her elbow. “I’m only telling you because telling Sil . . .”
“Malachy,” Cab repeated. “The boy from the tunnels?”
Einan nodded. Her head rested briefly on Cab’s shoulder. “He’s only fourteen. Young, but his father’s lands were taken by the Queen so she could search the grounds below. Found four fae buried there. Had to discredit Malachy’s family to do it. Ruined their name and reputation to seize their estates. His father killed himself.” She lifted her head and opened her eyes. They were burning. “Two years ago. Might’ve been you in the squad that served the papers.”
Two years ago, it might have been.
“Einan,” Cab said, because there was nothing else to say.
“Oh, don’t—” Einan began.
The doors of the theater blew open and a company of Her Majesty’s finest marched in, clanking down the aisles in perfect formation.
Cab’s heart stuttered. The Queensguard in the lead held the theater’s owner by the arm. Similar, but not similar at all, to the way Cab had gripped Einan’s just now.
“This is a raid, conducted in the name of Her Majesty, Queen Catriona Ever-Bright, Shining Star of the Silver Court.”
Legally, that was all they were required to say. The Queensguard captain shoved the theater owner to his knees.
Cab shifted his hammer in his hand, holding it not like a tool, but like a weapon. “Go,” he told Einan.
He didn’t need to elaborate. Get Sil and Hope.
Get what’s important out of here.
To her credit, Einan hesitated. Then she dragged Cab toward her and kissed him fiercely on the mouth.
Cab had never kissed anyone. He’d buried such thoughts beneath layers of survival and duty, what it took to put one foot in front of the other.
He found he didn’t mind the idea that Einan would be his first kiss and his last.
She’d appreciate the story. He wasn’t going to get a chance to share it.
“Go.” Cab picked up an awl in his other hand and strode out of the hidden stage compartment, came forward to meet the Queensguard. Seven of them. Impossible odds. But he might be able to make a difference if he acted quickly, might be able to slow them down long enough for Einan to lead the others to escape. “Remember what matters.”
“The balls on you,” Einan sniffed, already leaping onto the stage with an acrobat’s grace, “thinking you need to tell me what’s important!”
The Queensguard clattered along the aisle toward him, then descended on him. Cab pierced one in the throat, through the joint where helmet met gorget. He took the sword out of the wounded Queensguard’s hands as another elbowed him, knocking him down. That same Queensguard impaled himself as Cab thrust his stolen sword upward and lurched back to his feet.
Five against one.
The actors were screaming and fleeing. The theater owner had disappeared in the struggle. Cab hoped they’d make it out unscathed. In the background, Einan hollered something about how he had to survive this so she could give him what for, for overplaying the hero.
This wasn’t a play. And if it were, it would be a tragedy.
A third Queensguard lunged at him and Cab swung the hammer into his wrist, dove backward into the seats.
He was messing up Einan’s theater, but if he could lead the Queensguard out of the aisles and into the tighter, cramped audience quarters, he’d be able to use their numbers against them like he had in the sewers.
Another Queensguard swung at him, chunks of a wooden seat flying up from where his sword raked them loose.
“Go after the girl!” the captain bellowed. “We’ll deal with this one.”
“Not a chance.” Cab jumped onto the seat backs, leaping across two aisles, lunging for the Queensguard who’d managed to break away. Tackled him around the neck. Sent them both crashing to the floor.
Since the Queensguard was in armor and Cab wasn’t, it hurt Cab worse. He caught a steel elbow to the gut and sputtered, the wind knocked out of him. Another Queensguard rushed over while Cab was down, kicked him in the head and chest. Red blood sprayed from his nose. Cab saw stars.
Had he bought the others enough time?
Sorry, One, Cab thought. Was looking forward to getting to know you better. To forming something bigger than myself. The boot caught his cheek. Bone crunched. Instincts kicked in and Cab swung the hammer around, caught the Queensguard in the knee, metal plate smashed into his leg. The Queensguard howled and dropped, but another wrenched the hammer from Cab’s hand, lifted it high.
Cab watched it rise, swore to himself he wouldn’t shut his eyes against the blow when it fell.
It didn’t fall.
Instead, silver raked across steel. The Queensguard over Cab whipped around as claws batted him aside. He was thrown hard into the far wall, taking half a row of seats with him as he flew across the theater. In his place, One rose on her hind legs, opened her mouth, and screamed a grinding snarl.
You look terrible. Your pretty face, she told Cab.
New strength surged through his limbs, as though he was also made of unbreakable fae silver. She offered him her power, letting it flow between them. The agony in his beaten body faded to a hum.
Cab rose as Hope appeared, braced his hands on One’s back, launched himself over her head into the Queensguard’s midst.
There were only three Queensguard left fighting, but watching Hope move, a gold-and-black blur, Cab realized that if there’d been thirty, the outcome would have been the same. In a flash they were down, Hope pummeling them through their armor with his bare hands.
His knuckles left dents in the metal.
He broke bones through plate, crushed helmets into skulls. Cab caught his breath while leaning on One for support, thought he heard her whistle wi
th approval.
“That’s enough.” Cab’s voice came out sticky with blood and ragged with exertion. “They’re down. They won’t follow. And we have to get away before they send more.”
Hope froze, fist in midair. He wavered. Wanted to keep going until the metal before him was pounded flat, the bodies inside nothing but pulp.
Then he lowered his arm and stood. Raced back toward Cab and One, vaulted over both of them. “This way,” he said, “to Sil’s side.”
Hop on, One added.
She carried Cab out of the Gilded Lily—or what remained of it—his broken cheek pressed to her neck, his other wounds leaking blood over her silver shoulders and back.
He still had the Queensguard’s sword gripped in his swollen-knuckled hand.
78
Cab
Einan led them through back alleys. Kept them out of sight as best she could. She had cloaks for Sil and Hope and an extra one she draped over Cab. They didn’t dare use the sewers.
But they couldn’t stay on the streets forever. Twice One’s head perked up, agreeing with Hope and Sil that they needed to change their course. The Queensguard was out in full force. Busting down doors, kicking over tables, breaking bones.
If the Queensguard didn’t find them first, someone else would take note of their odd-looking group and turn them in, seeking a reward.
For Cab, strategizing through the haze of pain that had returned in his throbbing head was a challenge. One could only numb his pain and bolster his strength for so long.
The bleeding had mostly dried up. He was damp with sweat and sore to the point of total collapse when Einan finally held up a hand. Cab took stock of their surroundings. He’d been concentrating so hard on not falling off One’s back that he’d lost track of where Einan was leading them. Through one swollen eye and one good, he saw that they’d come around a back alley and into a garden, a sparse wooden fence separating it from the house behind it and the neighbors on either side. Glowbugs bobbed in the air around tall hollyhocks. Einan rapped twice on the back door.
Am I going to die? Cab asked One.
Not while I still live, One replied. I’d never attach myself to someone so rude.
Cab’s arm trembled where he held on to One for support. He flinched when the door opened and golden light spilled out onto him.
Uaine stood in the open doorway, gray hair tied back with a red rag.
She surveyed the group. Cab, broken and bleeding; his silver lizard, who still looked like a dog in company; two short fae draped in black cloaks; and Einan. Without a word, Uaine stood aside, holding the door open to let them in.
Cab murmured his thanks, tasting blood on his teeth. Einan took him by the arm, more gentle than he’d thought her capable of, and steered him toward the kitchen sink.
“Sit.” She pointed to a three-legged footstool. Cab sank onto it gratefully. One curled up at his feet. Sil and Hope were led to the table. Uaine went about the business of closing her shutters, putting out the lights one by one, until only three candles on the table remained lit, flickering.
By that bare light, Einan tipped Cab’s face up toward hers and began to clean it, dabbing his cheeks with a wet rag that smelled of lemon soap. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, too focused on the task at hand. Cab stared at her pursed lips, the bow curve soothing, distracting.
“I heard about Malachy,” Uaine said. “Thought the safest thing might be to lie low. If anyone was watching and I led them to you . . .”
“No. You thought right. It was the sensible thing to do.” Einan swiped the rag over the broken skin on the bridge of Cab’s nose. It hurt. So did the rest of him. So much that he didn’t think he’d be able to hold it together if it weren’t for One at his feet. “Sadly, we’ve had a change of plans.”
“I can see that.” Uaine turned her attention to Hope. “I’m honored to welcome another of your kind into my home.”
“They raided the Lily.” Einan continued to work at Cab’s wounds while she spoke. “Chin up, soldier, I didn’t bring you here to die on Uaine’s floor.”
“Are you sure?” Cab winced, the words more painful than they were worth.
Einan met his eyes at last, and for a moment he wanted to smile. Even if he couldn’t.
“I apologize for losing control of my fury.” Hope stood, then knelt at Sil’s feet. “Forgive me. In my rage, I may have cost us valuable time.”
Sil rested a slim hand on Hope’s head. Her expression was sorrowful, but at peace.
“Rise, Second Hope for Windsworn Glory,” she said. “You have done nothing wrong.”
“Saved my life,” Cab agreed. “Ow.”
“Hold still,” Einan commanded.
Tell her that if she ruins your handsome face, I’ll return the favor in kind. One’s tail lashed over the floor.
“One says to be careful with me.” Cab let Einan guide his hand to his face, holding the rag to his lip. The soap on it stung, which meant it was doing its job, but that didn’t make the experience any less unpleasant.
“One should tell you to be careful with your own damn self.” Einan went for a cupboard like she owned the place. She fished out a few jars and returned to work. The first jar’s jellied contents smelled of honey and the second’s of cinnamon as she spread them on Cab’s face, including over his split lip. He soon discovered they didn’t taste as good as honey and cinnamon, but he weathered the treatment.
“Used to be a healer,” Uaine explained as she fished beneath a loose floorboard for something. “That was before the digging started—and before the Queen wrote laws against us. Too dangerous to have anyone practicing the old ways. Only sorcerers allowed to practice magic. Try to heal a friend, and suddenly you’re in Coward’s Silence for five years, a menace to the crown. When I got out, everything I’d built, my business, my home—gone. And more of us common folk dying every day because healers can’t do other than stitch and patch them and send them on their way.”
Uaine found whatever she’d been looking for and popped it into an apron pocket. Einan finished tending to Cab’s face with more of Uaine’s salves. Wiped the muck off her hands with another rag. He had to admit that the throbbing and swelling in his face had eased. It was manageable now.
One yawned. We can’t stay.
Yes. I won’t bring any more trouble to innocent people, Cab agreed.
That’s not what I meant, handsome, but it’s sweet of you to care. Queensguard are already executing a full sweep of the city. There’s nowhere safe for us here.
“What is it?” Einan squinted into Cab’s face. Her hand was big and rough against his cheek. “You haven’t lost that much blood. Aren’t you as strong as you look? Weren’t you trained by the bastards in black? Don’t pass out on me.”
“He isn’t fading,” Sil said. “The masters can commune with their fragments mind to mind. It is a connection only they can understand, though the fae are able to hear and share a little with all the fragments. It is the deepest of bonds.”
“She gossiping about me?” Einan asked, nodding in One’s direction.
Conceited little actress, One said. Anyway, don’t you think it’s time for a plan?
They need one. Badly, Cab agreed. There aren’t enough of them and they haven’t been trained. They’re barely holding it together.
So are you. One rose, stretched, and flicked her tail, eyes locked on Einan. Teasing her, Cab realized. Here’s the news, master. I’ve been talking with Two and Three, and there are a few things you should know.
79
Inis
After Somhairle explained, with Inis supplying any details he didn’t know, why they’d come to the castle, what the owl really was, and who Inis really was, Laisrean put his head in his hands, sat down heavily on the floor.
He didn’t look up for a long time.
At last, pushing his hair out of his broad, dark face, he met Inis’s eyes. “I recognized you. I knew I did. Morien must be stretched thin to let his glamour flicker so carelessly
. But then, he’s planning something, and it’s taking most of his attention. If you’ve got the mirror treatment, he must figure he doesn’t have to worry about keeping too tight a rein on you.” Laisrean swallowed, touched the leather cords around his wrist absently. He clearly wanted to say more.
Didn’t.
Instead he faced Somhairle again. “The bastard didn’t hurt you, though?”
Somhairle shook his head. “Not any more than I’m already hurt. No one looks at me and sees a threat.”
“Right.” Laisrean drew himself to his feet and rolled out his shoulders. “Better go back to your rooms, put that thing”—a dark look at the blindfold on Inis’s chest—“away. I’ll meet you there, and your friends. I have contacts. I might be able to get you to them, if—”
Three began to shriek, a high, heartrending sound.
Somhairle’s face drained horror white, contorted with fear. Inis had never seen him so affected, and it pierced her like Morien’s shard of mirrorglass. She froze in the center of the room. Laisrean moved before she could clear her mind, before she could ask Two what was happening, slung one arm around her shoulders and hoisted Somhairle nearly off his feet with the other. He pushed aside the velvet curtains next to his bed to reveal a narrow stone balcony shuttered behind glass doors, then dragged the red cover off his mirror while Inis opened the balcony doors.
Laisrean threw the red blanket around them like a cloak and pushed them outside, Three circling above their heads.
“Lais—” Somhairle began.
“Sorry.” Laisrean snapped the doors shut between them. The snick of a lock followed. “Looks like I won’t have time to introduce you to my friends.”
Inis pounded the glass with her palm. Laisrean held a finger to his lips, touching the door on the other side.
Then he turned away, drawing the velvet curtains and hiding them from the room and the room from them.
Inside echoed a mighty splintering crash. Inis reached for Somhairle’s hand. The glass wasn’t so thick that they couldn’t hear everything happening beyond. Footsteps—a group of Queensguard—and a voice that Inis knew well.
