“Yes, I can see that.” Rhain’s hand shot out. He gripped her wrist before she could blink, and squeezed so tight that her bones felt as if they might shatter from the strength of him. The dagger slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the timber floor.
“Now,” he said, swooping down to collect her dagger. He quickly pocketed it in his leathers. “Why don’t we go over there to my table, and you can tell me exactly what you’re doing here.”
Reyna flicked her eyes to the door.
“And don’t even think about trying to run. You do, and I won’t even hesitate to chop off your head.”
8
Lorcan
The dungeons were something straight out of his father’s nightmare mind. The cells beneath the castle had been built straight into the bedrock of the tunnels that twisted beneath the city. Several cells were nothing more than stone ledges suspended above the river of molten iron that ran beneath the earth.
Lorcan ground his teeth as he stood several feet back from the path, watching the flickering flames of the river. Several of the platforms were empty, but these cells had once been full. Not a single one of the prisoners had been freed before now, so that only meant one thing. They had either fallen into the iron river, or they had chosen to jump.
“There are approximately one hundred air fae prisoners left,” Nollaig said quietly, her hands tucked into her cloak pockets. Even with the orange glow flashing onto her hooded face, her features were obscured by shadows. Holas, her familiar, perched on her shoulder, staring at Lorcan with quiet menace.
“They appear to all be female,” Lorcan said through gritted teeth as he surveyed the forms curled up on the stone ledges, their long hair hanging into their gaunt faces. If the fae of the city were starved, these prisoners were practically living skeletons.
Nollaig flinched. “Yes, well. Your father did not really care to keep male prisoners. They were killed on the spot. He thought there would be some other…uses for the ones here.”
A low growl spilled through Lorcan’s lips. He knew all about his father’s lurid needs. He’d kept the female prisoners alive so they could join him in his bed. Bile rose in the back of Lorcan’s throat. How could he be the spawn of such a cruel creature? Bolg Rothach had been a monster, and Lorcan had his blood running through his veins.
Did that mean his own blood was tainted? Did the sins of the father pass to the son? Or could Lorcan be a better king than that?
He hoped he could.
“I want to release them all.” He gazed across the platforms, his stomach twisting. He did not know how they would feed so many more mouths when he scarcely had enough to feed half a dozen, but he could not leave them down here to die either.
Nollaig sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you certain, Your Highness? These fae were our enemies. They were protecting Findius from…well, us. Some of these will be the same fae who took the castle from us in the first place.”
“We’ll move them to a secure area inside the castle. There’s plenty of room. With no royal family and visiting courtiers, there are more empty rooms than not. We’ll have some guards stand watch outside of their rooms to ensure they don’t go on a killing spree.”
Bolg Rothach might have been the High King of the Shadow Court, but none of the nobility had been quick to rush to Findius after his coronation. He had called upon the lords and ladies scattered across the dying landscape, but they had chosen to stay inside their own towns and cities rather than bend the knee.
Lorcan imagined his father had been none too pleased.
“Nollaig, I have a question,” he said after they turned back toward the stairwell that led out of the dungeons. He’d given the guards orders to find empty rooms for the prisoners and secure any open windows or doors. Soon, the fae trapped inside their molten lava cells would have beds and what little food could be found.
“Anything, Your Grace.”
“Why did my father allow the coastal lords to refuse him?”
“Ah.” She chuckled. “Got himself into a tricky situation there, didn’t he? With the wood fae to the north, he couldn’t spare any warriors to send south. He’d lose one battle to win another. Which one did he think was more important?”
“Getting back into Tir Na Nog,” Lorcan muttered. His father had been obsessed with it. So obsessed he’d turned to dark magic.
“Aye,” Nollaig said. “So, he made a vow. If the lords did not heed his call and bend the knee, he would turn his brutal force upon them once he’d taken the Air Court throne as his. They would remain exiled in the barren shadow lands.”
“And so they just ignored him,” Lorcan said with a nod.
“I’m sure they didn’t believe he would ever succeed. And they were right.” Nollaig shrugged. “Not all shadow fae serve Unseelie, Your Highness, but you know that. After our exile, many shadow fae turned their backs on their god, wanting a different life, a different way. Illusions and darkness, blood and bones. It leads to nothing good. The coastal lords did not want another king dedicated to that.”
“And that’s why they didn’t come?” Lorcan asked, slowing to a stop. “Because my father worshipped Unseelie?”
Nollaig nodded, her cloak rustling around her face. “Rumor has it they have turned to the Dagda now.”
They had turned to the Dagda, just like Lorcan had. For the first time since agreeing to take the throne, Lorcan felt some hope. Perhaps the shadow fae were not doomed. Not fully. He did not quite know how to use their new faith to his advantage, but perhaps he could.
