He seems to think his words are some form of apology.
I don’t even look in his direction, and say, “Some things are too complex for dimwit minds. Now excuse me, but I have a complex diplomatic situation to fix.”
Through the bars, I take a better look at the city. My goal was to talk to the lower fae, but I realize there’s a line of guards on the inside, swords drawn, facing the multitude trying to leave. That and the archers on top of the turrets, and who knows what else. My stomach sinks. Conflict is brewing, and it’s just a matter of minutes before it erupts.
“Let us go!” a fae man yells.
“They aren’t fighting,” I whisper mostly to myself.
“Their magic,” Ferer says. “I can’t sense it.”
I’ve never heard of any fae who could sense other people’s magic, but considering his sister could sense the keep’s wards from miles away, I don’t doubt anything. “It’s blocked?”
He narrows his eyes. “Something to do with the city walls, I suppose. I don’t know. It explains why they haven’t escaped.”
The human prince stands close to us and whispers, “We’re almost by the sea.”
Another obvious piece of information. “And?”
He points at Ferer. “We’re both water wielders. I say we break the gate and make a run for it. How’s that for adiplomatic solution?” He then wiggles his eyebrows like a ten-year-old who thinks he’s invincible.
The fae knight looks up at the archers on the turrets. “We’d need to neutralize them first.”
He’s calculating the odds, not grimacing at the preposterous suggestion.
“Them as well,” the human looks at the guards in front of the gates.
What is wrong with them?
“I’m—” I was going to sayhere for a diplomatic solution, but the words sound hollow and pointless before I even utter them, considering nobody’s listening to me.
“Attention, lower fae citizens,” a loud voice comes from an inner turret by the wall, interrupting my thoughts. “Submit for detention peacefully, and you won’t be killed.”
Peacefully. But without freedom—under the threat of death. Past me would think it would be a decent compromise, that if they save themselves now, at least they’ll have some hope, have a chance.
Chance for what?The question comes in Azur’s voice, full of venom and hatred. He thinks a life without freedom is pointless.
I’m not sure which of us is right, and yet looking at the lower fae beyond the gate, I can’t expect them to wait for a future chance when this is the closest they might ever be to escaping.There isa solution—one that I dread.
I’ll have to bury all my pride, give away the tiny bit of power I still have. And yet it can free these people. Tarlia comes to my mind, and I swallow. If I do this, how will I be able to save her? And if I don’t, what will she think of me?
“Ferer,” I mutter. “I need a favor.”
My insides are squirming in protest, hating what I’m about to ask, and yet, is there another option?
ASTRA
This cave was indeed meant to be a Tiurian sanctuary, except that they never got to carve up the ceiling or polish the walls or even floor. Still, by one of the side walls, it has a platform that looks like it was made to accommodatethose seats or beds like the ones in that other sanctuary. While it doesn’t have cushions or any soft surface, it’s enough for now, as a place to rest—even if resting is the last thing I want, despite my exhaustion.
I don’t know where the Witch King is, but I’m glad for some respite from his harrowing presence.
Azur sits beside me, his head leaning on the wall, jotting something down on a strange, dark paper, with some kind of magical quill.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He glares at me, then scoffs as if the answer was obvious. “Writing poetry.”
I don’t ask anything anymore and leave him to his business, until eventually he places the paper back in his pocket.
