by Lily Archer
A boom rocks the city, and perhaps the very center of Arin. I lose my footing, but Gareth keeps a tight grip on me. The wall behind us begins to crack, a harsh zigzag cutting through the sandstone as tiles fall from the roof and crash all around us. The ground is still shaking, and Silmaran darts down from the table and out into the street.
“What is it?” I hold onto Gareth, the only thing that seems solid as the world continues to quake.
“I don’t know, but it isn’t good.” The cracks continue to snake across the ceiling, and with a loud snap, the back wall splits down the center. Gareth raises his voice and yells over my head. “Everyone into the streets! The house is going to fall. It’s not safe here.”
Some of the slaves rise, but others struggle to help the wounded from their makeshift cots.
Gareth pulls me toward the still-shattered door.
“I can help.” I dig in my heels.
He stops and looks at the rapidly-expanding crack in the wall. “No.”
I glance at the terrified high fae children in the back of the shattering house. “Gareth, let me help!” I try to yank my arm free.
“I need you safe.” He keeps pulling me.
Parnon grunts, curses, and then stomps over to the huddled children. They seem to collapse in on themselves, doing their best to survive and shrink away from the bloody sand man.
“Come.” He opens his huge arms, scoops them up between them like an ant with eggs between its pincers, and carries them toward me. “Now you can go, stubborn changeling.”
The children cry, but they aren’t hurt, just terrified of the hulking lesser fae who has them clasped in his grip.
Gareth shoves me out the door and holds up a finger. “Stay.”
“I’m not a dog.” I stomp my foot as another tremor hits, and a house three doors down crumbles into dust and splinters.
“Changeling, I don’t have time to argue.”
“Fine.” I throw up my hands. “I’m out of the house. Not going back in.”
“Thank you.” He runs back inside and starts carrying out the wounded, lining them up along the lane as Parnon corrals the children into the arms of their nanny.
Another boom rocks the ground beneath my feet, and I almost fall, but Gareth runs up and steadies me, then disappears inside again. How did I manage to land such a hero? It truly does defy all expectations. But that’s just who he is. Carrying the injured to safety is peak Gareth.
A roar of voices at the end of the street grabs my attention. Hundreds of slaves are amassing at the conjunction of the main roads—the slave market. Their chants join into one as Arin finally stops shaking.
“Silmaran.” Her name is repeated, each voice adding to it until it’s the only thought in Cranthum.
Slaves—some of them bloodied or battered—run past me and add to the multitude surrounding the slave market. The crowd quickly swells to thousands. Is she there? She must be.
Gareth brings out more wounded and heads back inside. Parnon turns toward the throng and starts a quick stomp in that direction. He feels the pull. So do I.
The rebellion rockets through my veins. The same excitement that lights up the crowd lives inside me. I’m one of them. And this is our moment. Standing here, doing nothing—I’m missing it. All of it.
But Gareth is still being a hero. He dashes out with another slave in his arms and lays him gently on one of the makeshift cots.
He won’t like it if I leave.
But he won’t let me go if I ask. I can already hear him now in his stern grr voice, “That’s dangerous. I can’t let you get hurt.”
And I only told him I’d stay out of the crumbling house. Down the street with the crowd? That’s out of the house. No problem.
I wait for him to jog out with another injured slave, then turn to go back inside. When he glances at me, I give him what I hope is a sweet smile. His eyebrows draw together, but he doesn’t stop his work. Once he’s out of sight, I turn and head toward the crowd. Excitement builds inside me with each step.
Hurrying my pace, I’m almost at the edge of the gathering when a strong hand clamps down on my shoulder and I’m pulled back against a broad, hard chest.
“Where are you going, my beloved?” His voice in my ear promises punishment. And when he thrusts his hips against my backside, I want every bit of discipline he has to offer. “My wicked Xalana.”
Just the way he says that name. Oh. My. Ancestors. My knees go weak.
“Disobeying me only guarantees a harsh reprimand.” He starts pulling me backwards, drawing me away from the crowd even as facades crack and fall on the nearest buildings. And despite my need to be part of this new world, my desire for him far outweighs it. I gasp when his teeth graze my ear in a playful bite.
That gasp draws the eyes of the nearest slave. He freezes, then takes in a huge breath and yells, “Slaver! Kill him!” Raising his bloody cleaver, he starts towards us.
More slaves turn around. “He’s trying to take her!” “Save her!” “Kill the slaver!”
“No.” I try to step forward. “It’s not—”
Gareth’s grip tightens on me. Of course. He’s not going to let me walk toward angry, armed strangers.
They run at us, most of them wielding gory weapons and enraged expressions. Their yells for blood echo down the cracking streets as they bear down on us.
Gareth pushes me behind him and braces for battle against the slaves he just helped liberate. I would laugh if we weren’t about to die.
5
Gareth
The first slave swings his cleaver with murderous, yet sloppy, intent. I let him flail for a moment, then use his own momentum to kick him to the fractured road. The next one comes at me with bare knuckles. He’s faster, but he can’t connect when my fist is already making contact with his jaw. He stumbles back, seemingly startled from the blow. I’d hoped to knock him out. Am I losing my touch?
I try it again with the next assailant, and he goes down in a heap. Still got it.
Beth is yelling behind me, trying to explain that I’m not a slaver, but they don’t listen. Their blood is still up, and the fight inside them has been brewing their whole lives. I can’t blame them, but when the ring around me begins to grow, I don’t know if I can get us out of this situation without loss of life. They won’t take Beth from me. I don’t care who they think I am. They will not touch my mate.
Three rush me at once, I duck and sweep my leg across their ankles, dropping them in a tangle as I stand and back up a few paces.
The next group—at least a dozen lesser fae—approaches, murder in their eyes.
“He’s not bad. He’s not a slaver! Listen to me!” Beth’s voice is shrill to the point of panic.
They don’t stop, and they won’t—not until I’m dead. I crouch and wait for them to strike.
“I’m telling you he’s my mate!”
They stop.
I turn. My feral roars with delight, and I fill with warmth at her declaration. Another piece of our bond clicks into place. She is mine as I am hers. No one can utter those words without the seal of magic. I can feel it now, a gold thread tying us tighter. If she’d spoken false, she’d be burning right now, the mark of the liar etched over her heart by the most primal of all magic. But she doesn’t suffer. She spoke true. The feral roars again, and I join it, my yell rising into the night.
She points at me. “See? This one right here. He’s my mate. We’re mated, okay?”
The male nearest us moves closer, his bald pate marked with concentric black circles. Slave bands.
I pity him, but I do not underestimate him. A growl pours from me, the feral ready to rise and rip his throat out.
He doesn’t move again, though he stares at Beth with too direct a gaze. “You bear no claiming mark.”
She points to the starry sky. “It’s dark.”
He narrows his eyes.
She clears her throat and adds, “And he marked me in a very special area if you know what I mean, and I’m pretty sur
e you do given the fact you are now staring right at my lady bits this very second.”
“Don’t look at her.” I move to block his view.
“Mated to one of them?” Then he shifts his gaze to me with nothing short of malice. “You lord over us, abuse us, murder us, do as you will with us our whole lives, then take one of our own for yourself?” He spits.
“I don’t want to kill you.” My fangs lengthen, the feral begging to come out to play. “But I will do whatever I must to defend my mate.”
“Kill us?” He looks around at the mass of slaves. “You’re the one going to the Ancestors tonight.”
“No.” A gruff voice, followed by a familiar stomping, sounds from the back of the throng.
The slaves part for Parnon.
“I don’t like this high fae very much.” Parnon stops beside me and turns to face the slaves.
“Not helping,” Beth chirps.
He makes a hmph sound. “I don’t like him, but he is not an enemy. He is a friend of Silmaran. A friend of the rebellion.”
That’s the most I’ve heard him say all at one time. I keep my gaze on the slave with the bands on his head.
He seems to mull over the price of continuing with his plan, then says, “This high fae is no friend of mine.”
“I will kill you now.” Parnon says it so simply, as if stating a fact as banal as ‘the Red Plains are hot.’ He brings up his enormous fists.
“Here we go,” Beth groans.
“No.” Another voice erupts from the crowd. This one familiar, too.
Silmaran emerges, one eyebrow up as she surveys the scene. “I was about to give a speech but figured it might be more fun to see what captured the attention of half my audience.”
“Silmaran.” The lead instigator drops to a knee and bows his head. Then the rest of the slaves follow, all of them bowing to their leader.
“No, friends.” She shakes her head. “Please. We are all equals now. No kneeling, no bowing, no scraping.” She takes the hand of the slave nearest her and pulls him to his feet. “From now on, we only rise.”
The crowd gets to their feet, many of them with tears in their eyes. I can feel the temperature dropping, the fray averted. With a tug, I pull Beth to my side, though I keep a wary eye open for trouble. Things are still too volatile, too many emotions running high.
“I was going to speak at the top of the slave market—before we tear it down, but this seems like it will do. Parnon?” Silmaran steps toward him.
He grabs her waist and lifts her with ease until she stands on his shoulders, his hands around her ankles.
“Friends.” Her voice fans out over the crowd, someone using their magic to amplify it. “We are here because we have the heart of all those who came before us. The will to be free. And we are now at the time when we must make a choice. Do we act with vengeance?”
A good portion of the crowd yells in support.
“Do we commit the same atrocities that were visited upon us?”
More yells of agreement.
“Or do we show mercy? Do we give those who did harm to us a chance? Do we show them that this world belongs to everyone, and that only together can it work?” She clasps her hands, her plea loud and clear. “I have seen your suffering. I have felt it here.” She thumps her chest. “I know what it is to be hurt, to be whipped, to be beaten, to be raped.” The last word leaves her lips on a tremble, and Beth presses her cheek to my chest.
If I could slay every last fae who ever took from my mate without permission, I would. Such beings deserve the most vicious of deaths. I rub her back, a silent promise that no one will ever use her like that again.
Silmaran is saying the right words, calming the crowd, beginning this new world in the light of forgiveness and community. But if it were me? If I were the one who could deal out punishment against anyone who dared harm my Beth? Then this city would be drowning in blood until not one slaver was left.
Silmaran lifts her chin and continues. “All of you know me. You know what I believe in. You know who I fight for.”
A roar rolls over the gathered slaves.
“You.” She nods. “Yes. You are my heart. And I will always fight for you. But now, the fight is over. The masters are dead, hiding, or fleeing. This city is ours!”
Another cheer shakes the wrecked buildings, and a puff of dust goes up a few streets over as a home collapses.
She holds out her palms to quiet the fearful murmurs. “We have secured what’s left of the alchemy stores and the dark magic locked away beneath the sands. They are all within our control. No more quakes or explosions. The city will survive. We will rebuild. And we must all do it together. As one. If the masters want to stay here and try our new way, we must let them. If they, instead, choose to leave, we must let them.” Her voice lowers, iron in her words. “But if they choose violence, they choose their own destruction.”
I keep Beth tucked in close as the loudest roar yet rips through the gathered slaves.
Holding out her hands, she quiets the cheers. “As proof that this new world can work, I offer you Gareth of the winter realm.” She looks down at me.
I take a step back.
“Yes.” She points at me. “Gareth is King Gladion’s closest noble. He played a large part in starting this rebellion.”
The crowd cheers. Even the slave who only moments ago wanted my head claps in approval. I glance at Silmaran—does she have some sort of silver-tongued magic?
“Tell them, Gareth. Tell them of the winter realm where all are free.” She beams at me.
I look out at the sea of faces lit by the crescent moon. They are starved. For food, yes. But for something greater—hope. They need it now more than ever. Now that their world has fractured and fallen apart. Hope is the only thing that will stop the bloodbath that Silmaran fears. I fear it, too. But that hope? I can’t give it. I’m a high fae, not one of them, not a slave. But I know someone whose hope never falters, someone who can speak of the winter realm and the feel of equality.
I gently pull Beth from under my arm. “My beloved.” I stroke her face.
“What?” Her eyes go wide. “Sorry, I kind of zoned out. Speeches, you know? They’re always boring. I mean, this one is good and everything, but I was thinking about—”
“Beth?”
She bites her lips together. “Mmmhmmm.”
“I need you to tell them about the winter realm. About how you were treated there. What it means to be free.”
“Me?” She shakes her head. “I can’t—”
“Up you go.” I lift her to my shoulders as she tries to smack my head and protest.
But once she’s standing on my shoulders, she stops and straightens.
“Tell them, Beth.” Silmaran reaches out and takes her hand.
“Tell them what?” Beth’s voice is loud and beautiful, melodic against Silmaran’s lower tones.
Silmaran smiles. “Everything.”
6
Beth
“Look, I’m not trying to brag or anything, but I gave a damn good speech, right? I mean, who knew I would be the best speaker at that whole thing? Silmaran was great and all, but I brought down the house! Talking about how I used to serve cruel masters, got nabbed by the Catcher—curse him to the Spires—and how the winter realm is everything I’d ever dreamed of. Equality? Yes. Good food? Yes. Even better desserts? Also, yes. I mean, I could have gone on for hours, and they would’ve let me. They were eating out of my hand, hanging on every word, listening with bated—”
Gareth presses a finger to my lips.
I frown. “What?”
“Chastain has been trying to get a word in for the past fifteen minutes.”
I turn toward the golden fae. “Really?”
“As much as I’ve enjoyed this third, or maybe fourth, retelling of your speech, I’d like to speak with you.”
I lean back on the uncomfortable sofa and yawn. We’d taken a new, mostly intact villa for our base of operations. Silmaran was
out making sure the city was fully secured, Parnon was searching for Eldra and Nemar, and the rest of Chastain’s close associates were tending to the wounded—slave and high fae alike.
Chastain sits on the ornate coffee table in front of us. “Look, I’ll get right to the point. I know you want to travel south to the mines, but we could really use the two of you here. The city is reeling, the slaves need guidance, and the high fae need reassurances that they won’t be slaughtered in the middle of the night.” He gestures to Gareth. “Given your bloodline, you’d be the perfect person to quell the high fae fears. And, you—” He turns his gaze back to me. “You can help me anchor Silmaran, serve as an advisor on all the plans she has to start and maintain equality. More importantly, we’re going to need allies when Queen Aurentia learns that Cranthum has fallen.”
I stifle another yawn. “You forgot to include the part where Sil wants to march on Byrn Varyndr and free all the slaves there.”
He runs a hand through his light hair. “Yes. And that. See? We need you.”
“You’re right. You need help.” I nod.
Gareth turns to me, his green eyes curious. “You’re saying you want to stay?”
“I might want to, but we can’t.” I hate the disappointment on Chastain’s face. “I want to help. I do. But I’ve made a promise, and I can’t break it. Saving one is just as important to me as saving all. And through all of this, I’ve never wavered on why I’m here. I’m going to the mines. I’m getting Clotty out of that hole, and I’m taking her somewhere safe. I owe it to her, and I owe it to myself.” I’m tired and blunt, but he needs to know my truth. Clotty is the reason I started down this road, and she’s the reason I’m going to finish it. “Anyway, so yeah, sorry, but we’re off to the mines first thing in the morning.”
I expect more arguments from Chastain, more well-thought-out points of why we should stay. Instead, he leans back a little and looks up at the cracked ceiling in this ridiculously ornate sitting room. “The mines,” he murmurs.
“Right. That’s what I said like five times. We’re going to the mines.” I lean over to Gareth and whisper in his ear. “He going deaf?”
