The smile slid from Lorcan’s face. “What my father has done is not your fault.”
“Anger is not often logical.”
Lorcan sighed. For several hours, his mind had been free from thoughts of his father. He’d been able to focus on the simple movements of a fight. On the slice of steel through air. On the legwork, and the weight of the sword in his hands. It had been blissful serenity. And now he’d tumbled right back into the new reality of his life. He was stuck in a strange land with strange fae and bound to a cruel father who would do anything to get what he wanted.
Nollaig suddenly dropped onto the bench across the table. As always, her face was hidden beneath a thick hood, her arms encased by a cloak just as dark. “I hear your training has gone well today.”
“As well as it could have gone,” Lorcan muttered. “When you’re a prince trapped by murderous threats.”
Nollaig ignored his insolence. “I come bearing a message. An invitation, in fact. How would you like to get out of the castle for a few days?”
Lorcan jerked up his head, suddenly interested. “It almost sounds too good to be true. What’s the catch?”
“The catch is that there may be fighting. The air fae are pushing forward at the border. Some of their warriors have left Findius to attack further south. We need to push them back.”
Lorcan’s hope dropped like a coin into a bucket. “You want me to fight against the air fae.”
“It’s that or stay here with your father.” She shrugged. “Your choice.”
5
The crimson sun shone through the thick, impenetrable mists that swirled around them like blankets of dust. A hot breeze rustled the parched ground, tossing up clouds of coral sand. The warriors had been travelling for days, from the gloom of Olc Fortress to the villages south of Findius, the former capital city of the Shadow Court.
The large stronghold rose up in the distance, surrounded by thick, impenetrable black stone walls. It had often been said that the Findius Stronghold could never be breached, and it never had been. Not until the Air Court decided to exile the shadow fae from Tir Na Nog.
The stronghold itself was nothing short of magnificent. Three towers rose from the rocky ledge that sat atop a dormant volcano. A multitude of shades of red splashed the sky behind them, like paint on a canvas. Every stone was black and gleaming, even in the gloom. If the fire pits were lit, the entire world would look ablaze.
Lorcan glanced at Nollaig, who stood silently beside him, her crow perched on her left shoulder. “You don’t plan for us to retake it, do you?”
They had only travelled at night and on foot so that the air fae would not see them coming.
“That castle is ours, as is the city,” Nollaig said in that strange grating voice of hers. “I want nothing more than for our people to reclaim it.” She sighed. “But no. We do not have the numbers for that.”
Lorcan nodded. They had only come with a couple dozen warriors, and the air fae were rumored to be ten thousand strong inside of Findius. He could not help but wonder why his father had sent so few. Did the shadow king truly have such a small army?
As if reading his mind, Nollaig said, “Our army is greater than what we have here. Most of our warriors remained behind to protect Olc Fortress. However, that would still not be enough to breach the city. We likely would not even reach the walls. Arrows would rain down upon us. Hundreds of them.” Nollaig shifted to the left and pointed at a glow on the distant horizon. “That is where we are headed. A village called Bilivik full of stubborn fae far too attached to their dead House of Cleas. Your father told them time and time again to move further from the border, and yet they have remained. Our scouts say they have finally been attacked.”
“And we’re here to rescue them?”
She patted his arm. “A noble thought, but no. I do not think there is any way to rescue the dead.”
Nollaig fell silent, letting her words sink in. The village had already been ransacked. There would be no saving the villagers now. His heart pounded as memories threatened to flood his mind. The vision of his own burning village loomed large, and the stench of death was as fresh as it had been ten years past. His chest twisted with a strange ache of loss.
But that was ridiculous. These were shadow fae. And despite that bloody mark on his arm, that did not make him one of them.
They are innocents, though, a voice whispered deep within his heart. His mother’s voice.They did not deserve to die.
The army resumed its trek across the fields of ash. They turned east, keeping to the thickest shadows so that the fae guarding the stronghold would not spot them passing by. As they grew closer to the village, Lorcan soon realized the glow was not light from within cottage walls but fire.
The air fae had burned the buildings to the ground. The only thing that remained was a large, stone-walled building in the very center of it, looming over everything.
His heart twisted again. He had the sudden urge to turn tail and run. It was far too familiar. Ten-year-old wounds felt ripped open wide, once again gushing with fresh blood that splashed onto the baked ground.
Nollaig saw him hesitate as the warriors stepped around him. She paused by his side. “Is something the matter? It’s the air fae, isn’t it? You do not want to fight them.”
“It isn’t that at all,” he said quietly.
“Then, what is it?”
