“Did he just…spit on you?”
I frantically rub my face and scramble even farther from the man. When I dare look at him next, he’s still on his back with his eyes closed, but his breathing has become more pronounced.
Podaxis taps my leg with a claw. “We really should go.”
“I think you’re right.” Now that he’s at least somewhat conscious, he can find his way home on his own. Unless…unless Faerwyvae isn’t his home.
My stomach bottoms out. That isn’t something I’ve allowed myself to consider until now. I’ve been focused on his survival, not what comes after.
So…what would my brothers do next?
After most rescues back home, survivors were escorted inside Bircharbor on planks. Rarely was anyone strong enough to walk on their own after almost drowning, and if they were, they were escorted by Father’s guards. Survivors were then imprisoned at the palace until they could be processed. Their identities, motives, and citizenship had to be confirmed before they could either be punished, released on the isle, or sent on their way home. Father was ruthless with those who harbored ill intent—poachers, foolish humans trying to trick us into letting them onto the isle—but he was kind and generous with everyone else.
How does that help me? I have no prison to hold this man in, no way to decipher where he belongs. Even if I wasn’t on the run, I have no legal authority, not even as a princess.
I glance at the towering stones that mark the invisible barrier. It stands behind me, taunting me with the indisputable fact that I escorted a man through the wall. Maybe illegally.
I shudder. No. I don’t know that yet. He might be a citizen. Besides, did I have a choice? I couldn’t have let him drown.
You’re not a killer, my child.
Where Father’s faith bolstered my confidence before, it now feels weak against the dreadful weight of possibility. Clenching my hands into fists, I march over to the man and nudge his shoulder with my foot. “Wake up. Where do you belong?”
He releases a soft groan but doesn’t open his eyes.
Podaxis looks up at me. “Now shall I pinch him?”
I glance from him to the man and cross my arms. “Yes.”
With far too much enthusiasm, Podaxis scuttles next to his face and clamps a pincher over the lobe of his ear.
The man’s eyes flutter open and he lets out a weak shout, his breaths faster and heavier now. His brow furrows as he looks up at me, but his lids seem too heavy. He mutters something under his breath, too quiet to hear, before he goes slack yet again.
“What did he say?” I ask Podaxis.
“I don’t know. Should I pinch him again? I can try somewhere more sensitive.”
“No,” I say with a sigh as I crouch down next to the man, careful to keep my face far enough out of range. I shake his shoulder, then slap his cheek a few times. “Wake up, sir. You’re on the isle of Faerwyvae. Do you live here?”
His lids lift slightly, and he speaks again. More garbled words.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Saint. Lazaro.” Each word comes out with a wheeze, but this time they’re clear as day.
“You belong to the Church of Saint Lazaro?” I shudder, recognizing the name of the human religion. It’s one of many faiths on the isle…but with the worst reputation. Twelve years ago, the Church of Saint Lazaro started a rebellion against the fae and organized attacks in a few of the westernmost courts on the isle. The rebellion was short lived, however, and the resistance was quelled. Many still died, though, and despite over a decade of peace, it’s hard not to associate the church with the violence it once spurred. It’s even harder to forget their rather offensive teachings. They claim the fae aren’t people but the progeny of demons. Ridiculous.
I study the man’s clothing, finding nothing to suggest he’s one of the church’s fae-hating brothers.
He repeats the two words, stronger now. Followed by a third. “Sanctuary.”
I put the three words together.Saint Lazaro sanctuary. What about the church’s sanctuary?
The truth hits me all at once, making my breath catch.
He doesn’t meanasanctuary. He’s asking for religious sanctuary.
I dart to my feet, my heart beating rapidly against my ribs. There’s only one reason a human would seek sanctuary after a shipwreck.
