Death was a concept that Xenia, at eight years old, had learned of early. Chickens and pigs disappeared often. And then reappeared on the family dining table. Though it was a necessary part of life here on the farm, Xenia didn’t like to think about it.
Her mother grabbed a dish towel and laid the rabbit upon it, stroking its fur and cooing soft noises.
“What should we do?” Xenia asked, wiping at her nose.
Xenia dreamt of becoming a healer one day. Animals or humans, she didn’t yet have a preference. The thought of providing comfort, making living beings feel better, filled her with a sense of uncomplicated joy.
Her mother had already firmly, yet gently, quashed that dream. All of Ethyrios’s healers were Fae, the possession of magic being the number one job requirement.
Mama brushed her fingers through Xenia’s springy curls. “I’m sorry, my love. There’s nothing to be done for it now.”
Her mother returned to her dinner preparations and Xenia pulled out a chair, determined to watch over the dying baby in its final moments.
A helplessness gripped her as the baby rabbit’s blood-stained fur slowed, then stilled completely.
She let out a sob and buried her head on folded arms atop the table.
Her mother ambled over, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Bless your tender heart, my Xenia. I pray this world will not steal it from you.”
* * *
The dungeon door slammed open,waking Xenia from her nostalgic dream.
She glanced over her shoulder, not bothering to rise from her straw mattress as Alexei pushed her breakfast tray into the cell.
“I don’t want it,” she murmured.
Alexei said nothing, merely sniffed and then left the dungeon.
Leaving Xenia alone with nothing but her memories.
Her unflagging optimism had reached its limit, and despair like Xenia had never known had overtaken her mind—her soul—these past few days.
Even her cherished stories offered little comfort.
What was the point of eating, of breathing, even? She’d been left here to rot by everyone she’d ever thought she cared about. She honestly didn’t even know why Maksym was keeping her alive. There’d been no talk of any trips to Primarvia, no talk of snatching more Sisters.
Though Xenia was grateful for that. She wouldn’t have had the energy to perform even if Maksym had forced her to.
Her mother had said she had a tender heart, but she could feel it hardening.
She turned back to the wall, cold and numb and empty.
And wished for the predators of the world to end her.
* * *
Cael enteredhis father’s office, his wing tucked and his hands clasped behind his back, buzzing with restrained anticipation. Through the two-story window, mist crept down the sloping meadow, spreading across the edge of the forest like a ghostly army—the front line of Brachos’s ever-present dreariness.
It had been far too long since they’d left Maksym’s fortress. Since he’d left Xenia. He prayed to any God who would listen that Maksym hadn’t harmed her.
When Arran had refused to waste the opals Maksym had gifted him for their journey home, Cael had nearly blown his cover by protesting. What could have been a trip of mere hours instead took several days. While most of the party had flown back to Brachos, Cael had been forced to ride in the vehicles with the other non-winged Fae.
Cael had been beside himself with worry, but didn’t dare slip away and risk his father coming after him again. He’d have to play this carefully, ensure he had his father’s permission before leaving the territory again.
Permission he’d come to seek mere hours after his arrival in Diachre this morning. It was a bit ironic, really. How long he’d dreamed of returning to the continent, to Brachos, only to leave again immediately.
