Chapter Twenty-Four
Valyris was silent as he led Florian and Kade through the downward spiral of the cave, the droning of beetles drowning out the sound of his hooves. Kade walked just behind him, the tunnel too narrow for them to walk side by side; as nervous as Florian felt, Kade was doing a good job of appearing calm. His breathing was slow and even, but when they brushed against each other, Florian could feel how tense he was. Several times Florian opened his mouth to speak; but the words died away before he could get them out, uncertain of what to say. So they walked in silence until they reached the end of the tunnel, where the centaur’s living space was set up.
Nothing had really changed since Florian and Rune had snuck down here the day before, though Florian noticed that some papers on the table had been moved into a more orderly pile. The discrepancy between the ferocious, angry man who had fled from them and this cold, restrained persona was unsettling. Though if he’d had an arrow sticking out of his eye socket fornearly two hundred years, Florian supposed that violent mood swings might be the least of his idiosyncrasies.
Valyris stopped in the center of the small chamber, then turned to look over his shoulder at Florian and Kade.
“You said you have memories of a summer fae,” Valyris said abruptly, picking up the conversation exactly where it had ended. “Show them to me.”
Florian blinked, taken aback. “…Show you?”
He wasn’t sure if hecould—it would be similar to how Elodie had helped him, but he didn’t know how much of the memories had been visible to her, or if there was something else that he could do to share them. But even if he did, something in him balked at the thought of sharing memories with this stranger. What if other memories leaked through? Or what if learning about Thaddeus, or the truth of the Blight, only made the centaur more angry and volatile?
“Show me,” Valyris repeated. “And I’ll show you what I remember.”
For a moment, Florian was at a loss for words. This was sounding more and more impossible. When he had been silent for an uncomfortable moment, he felt Kade gently nudge his side, prompting him to sputter out,
“I don’t—I don’t know how. How to do that.”
Valyris’ eyes narrowed. “Your fae magic cannot do this?”
“I don’t think so,” Florian said, shaking his head. “I mean, maybe, but I don’t know how. Can’t I just tell you what you want to know?”
The centaur’s expression immediately became disinterested. “This is not what I wanted.”
“What do you want?”
“Answers!” the centaur exclaimed, his face twisting in anger suddenly. His hooves stamped hard on the ground as he rounded on Florian. “I want to know what made this happen. Iwant to know what the rest of the world has been doing all this time—why no one’s come to help me. I want to know what we did wrong!”
Kade gripped his wrist and pulled him back a few steps, but Valyris only growled in frustration and turned away again, pressing a hand to his injured eye socket with a groan.
Florian glanced uncertainly at Kade while the centaur was turned away, wishing they could somehow communicate without speaking. Kade’s lips were pressed together in a tight line, and he looked between Florian and the centaur with an equally uncertain expression. When he looked at Florian, he gave a tiny shrug, then mouthed silently, “You decide.”
Florian bit back a groan and looked back at Valyris. Itwashis call to make, but he didn’t know what would be safe to share, and what the creature might be better off not knowing.
“I can answer some of that,” Florian replied gingerly, while Valyris was still turned away from him. “Some of it, I probably don’t know any more than you do. But I can answer some of it—even if I can’t show you my memories.”
“Fine,” the centaur snapped, still facing away from him. “Explain.”
“The Blight—that’s what we call it, the burning light,” Florian started. “I don’t know if you had a name for it when it... when it happened for you. But it’s spread to almost the whole world. Only a few kingdoms are left. That’s why no one came. There’s basically no one left. If we don’t do this, I don’t think anyone else will ever come.”
He paused, watching Valyris for any hint of a reaction; but the centaur remained facing away from him, head at a downward angle.
“As far as what made this happen in the first place,” he continued slowly, still watching Valyris closely. “It was oldmagic. Queen Soleil, she... attempted forbidden magic, and this happened.”
Valyris flinched at that.
“That’s why?” he said, his voice low. “All this suffering, because of her?”
“Yes,” Florian said softly, waiting. Valyris seemed to consider for a long moment, still turned away from Florian; when he finally turned to face him, his expression was twisted with anger.
“Of course it would be her,” he growled. “It all comes back to her.”
“What did you know about her?” Florian asked. Valyris scowled again, lips curling in disgust.
“She would rather let our people starve than try to work with us,” he spat, shaking his head. “Her Summer Court flourished, while the shifters that lived just beyond her borders barely had enough to get by.”
Florian wanted to protest, could feel it bubbling up his chest into his throat—but he bit his tongue and remained silent. He wouldn’t even know what to say, anyway; and if Valyris hated her so much, then the scrap of trust that he seemed to have developed with Florian would surely be destroyed if he tried to speak up for her. Besides, all this had stopped being relevant two hundred years ago.
