Page 14

Thraigg coughed, covering a laugh.

“I won’t break a man further for being beholden to an order he can’t disobey.”

Ignatius’s lips parted with the sharp intake of breath as Cedric drew a dagger from his thigh. But Cedric only swung around and knelt beside the man to slice through the rope binding him to his chair.

Sagging in his seat, Ignatius rubbed his wrists, astonishment naked on his battered face. “You . . . you would truly let us go?”

“I’m not in the business of adding more orphans to the world.” Cedric swallowed, tasting ash on his tongue. “But if what you say is true, if you never wanted a part of the Cult’s madness, you should take this for what it is—a sign, a chance. Take your brother, return to your children. And run.”

Ignatius’s face fell. “Our oaths would never allow it. He will find us.”

“Spells can be broken,” Nox said with a hum. “Even blood-made ones.”

Cedric gave a curt nod, sheathing the dagger before rising. “Varyth Malchior took everything from me. That’s what he does—did. What Malakar continues to do. He takes, and he takes, and he takes. But he also gives—purpose, a common goal, a common enemy. His promises may be empty and his platitudes false, but I understand why it was so easy to fall under his spell. It was not so long ago that I might have ended up the same as you.”

Zephyr stepped forward, the corners of her mouth turned down. “It is never too late to reverse course,” she said, hands glowing with warm green light. “To make up for the choices we may have made in the past.” She reached toward a stiffened Ignatius, cupping his chin, waving a hand over his face. The blood staining his skin disappeared. There was another crack, soft and muffled this time, and Ignatius shuddered as she set his broken nose.

“Th-thank you.” With a trembling hand, he touched the bridge of his nose, but the sylvan had already moved on to his brother, kneeling beside Tyrren and undoing the bindings keeping him tied to his chair.

Thraigg was there in an instant, catching the man before he slumped on top of her. Her palms still glowed green as her magic sank into him, and within moments his lashes were fluttering.

Thraigg ushered Zephyr back toward the wall, hands wrapped protectively around her shoulders, while Sid slunk up beside them both, tail swishing.

“Easy,” Tristan murmured, his sword drawn but pointed toward the floor as Tyrren blinked himself awake.

Tyrren’s head whipped toward Ignatius, who already had his hands raised placatingly,

“It’s all right, brother . . . I think.”

The two men exchanged bewildered looks, taking in the ring of faces surrounding them—fae and dwarf and nocterrian and human. Tyrren groaned, bending over with his head in his hands.

“Take a minute, get your bearings,” said Cedric, flexing his hand again. His knuckles were a mess of split skin and clotting blood. “Then get the fuck out of here.”

Tyrren lifted his head. His voice was hoarse when he said, “I don’t know what just happened, and I certainly don’t understand why you are helping”—he threw a questioning look to his brother, who shrugged—“us, but I feel as though I owe you my thanks.”

“If you really wanted to thank us,” said Kit, finally uncrossing her arms and coming forward, “then you can try again. Tell us something that can help us find him. Or, four hells, just help us find her. Surely there must be some loophole, some side view we aren’t seeing. You don’t need to reveal anything about his plans or his location, only about where he might be holding the Revenant. Please.”

Tyrren’s mouth opened and closed several times, giving him the impression of a gasping fish, but no words came out. Ignatius slapped his brother on the back, the expression on his face saying the words he didn’t actually voice: I told you so.

Thraigg huffed a breathy chuckle. “Not exactly how I would’ve thought a fae princess like yerself goes about rendering men speechless, but good on ye anyway, Kit.”

She rolled her mismatched blue and green eyes at the dwarf. “Not a princess.”

“It was worth a try—a valiant effort,” said Nox, approval resonating from their soft voice. Kit’s spine straightened, her shoulders rolling back in a way that looked suspiciously like preening, and Cedric found himself smothering the inclination to grin.

“Oh, fine then. I suppose they really are harmless enough.” Kit waved a dismissive hand at the two brothers, each checking the other over for any remaining sign of injury. “Even if this has been a massive waste of our time.”

A few silent seconds ticked by. Cedric pursed his lips. The pain in his knuckles was a tiny, stupid thing compared to the unyielding ache behind his ribs, but watching Zephyr work her healing touch on the two men had him wondering . . .

“Do you think I could mend these?” he asked, holding up his bloodied hand and shuffling over to the wall where Zephyr, Thraigg, and Sid still stood.

Zephyr blinked at him. “Y-you’re asking me?”

“He ain’t askin’ me, lass,” said Thraigg with a chortle.

“I would think so,” said the sylvan, her words slow, thoughtful. “It’s in your blood, after all.”

“Haven’t you ever tried healing before?” Kit sidled up to Cedric, her mismatched eyes narrowing on Zephyr for a split second. “Tenny’s quite adept at it, from what I understand.”