CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 24

SLADE

Finally, the storm has broken.

The sky is bruised, with clouds of black and blue clinging to the horizon as night starts to give way.

With it, the air has finally stopped blowing, and all that’s left of the blizzard from the past several days is what it dumped on the ground. A good six feet now borders all of Drollard, though the villagers were diligent and made sure to constantly clear off the paths and the fronts of houses, while the mountainside shelves helped to keep some of the snowfall from piling up in the pavilion. With the snow left to collect everywhere else, Drollard feels extra sheltered from the outside world.

I stride through the village with my hands buried in my pockets, and the only reason I don’t slip over the icy paths is because of the grains of salt and sand that have been scattered around like birdseed.

I pass the slant-roofed homes, though all is quiet and still since it’s not yet dawn. Smoke puffs up from the chimneys and breathes against the ceiling of the mountain’s overhang, dissipating into the sky.

The pavilion is empty, save for the parked carts that the villagers use to gather supplies whenever they get a shipment in. A few arthritic trees cling to the ground, their knobby limbs and bent branches holding up tufts of needles and snow.

Just beyond, the pavilion is covered beneath the lip of the mountain’s overhang, and it’s here, past piles of firewood, past the stone fire pit, where the door to the Cellar is located. I check there first, but aside from a large room stocked full of supplies and a single cold-weary guard, there’s no one there. He gives me a nod as I pass, and I then disappear into a split in the mountain just beyond, where the walls have been smoothed and filed back just enough to let a person through.

The cracked path is long and jagged, and for a while, I’m walking completely blind, no light afforded anywhere in the miserly fissure. When I finally make it to the end and squeeze out, the mountain is slightly more generous. There are a few blue lines spread through the cave’s anemic walls, casting off the palest of glows.

Despite being out of the elements, it’s colder inside here. The kind of cold that’s stagnant and inert, the kind that never leaves. Yet despite that, I find myself growing hot as I get closer to the iron door set into the shadowed rock. By the time my footsteps bring me to the barred window so that I can look in, the cold is only acknowledged by the clouds of exhale that leave my mouth.

“How long have you been back?” I don’t turn as I ask the question—I don’t need to. I sensed him in here as soon as I walked in.

Ryatt stretches out his legs from where he’s sitting. His shadowed form is blocking the firelight from the heat lantern hanging beside him, its orange flame fed from the oil in our very own mines.

“Couple of hours,” he says roughly, making me finally turn to him.

“There’s only one.” My tone is tilted with a question.

He scratches the back of his head, making his black hair stand on end in some places. He normally keeps his longer than mine, always grumbling when he has to stand-in as Rip and cut it shorter. “You said you needed one to question.”

“I said I needed at least one to question,” I correct.

He doesn’t look the least bit contrite. “If you wanted them all alive, you should’ve sent Judd. You knew I wasn’t going to let all of Midas’s rats come back here. You got what you wanted,” he tells me, tipping his head toward the cell. “I got what I wanted with the others. Especially since they made it so hard to fucking find them all.”

“How many were there?”

“Four. The lucky bit was my timberwing spotted theirs. That’s how I finally found them holed up against some hill not far from here. Once they heard you’d arrived, they took off, scampering like the rats they are, but the storm took them out and grounded them.”

At least the storm was good for something. Ryatt and I had been out searching for days, looking for them, and I was starting to worry we weren’t going to find them.

“You took satisfaction in killing the other three, I take it?”

Ryatt’s wicked grin flashes. “They made a much better adornment in the frozen wastelands dead than they did alive.”

Nodding, I once more look through the barred door, where I see a pitiful heap of a man slumped against the floor, shivering inside his gold-trimmed coat. I wonder how many days Auren spent gilding shit like this. How much of her energy and time and strength was spent on feeding Midas’s reputation and ego. Just thinking about that makes anger burn down my back.

“You’re up early,” Ryatt says, face pitched in my direction, half of it blue, the other half completely shadowed.

I say nothing, taking a seat on the barrel just across from him. The truth is, I’m still struggling to sleep. Auren won’t sleep at night, and I get barely a few hours tossing and turning before I give up before dawn, just as she slips in.

My brother makes a noise deep in his throat. “She’s still not getting up during the day?”

I cut a look over to him. “She’s adjusting.”

“Is she?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Ryatt shrugs a shoulder. “I see the look on her face anytime someone mentions the gold. She’s terrified of it.”

“She’s not,” I snap, anger making my teeth clench.

“If you say so.”

“Why are you so fucking concerned?”

“Why aren’t you?” Ryatt counters. “We all saw her that night. She might look like a mountain on the surface, but she’s a volcano ready to erupt. And when she does, it’s not some small thing.”

“She’s fine.”

Ryatt doesn’t let it drop though. Not that I would expect him to. Half of his personality is arguing with me.

“She’s scared of her own power—and rightfully so. But fear is a dangerous thing when it comes to magic. You should know that better than anyone.”

We stare at each other across the narrow path, on opposite sides of the cracked corridor. Blue streaks spread out from behind him, smearing him in their light, while the flickering lamps counter their glow.

“It’s going to take time.”

“And how much time can you afford?”

I rake a hand through my hair, tugging at the ends. “As long as she fucking needs.”

He shakes his head, disgruntled and contrary. “You might be a king, but even you can’t sustain that. Besides, you hate it here.”

“I don’t hate it here.”

Ryatt rolls his eyes. “Sure you don’t. That’s why you only visit when you absolutely have to.”

My back teeth feel like they might crack from how hard I’m grinding them. “I have a kingdom to run.”

He scoffs. “Right. But before you had that, you had this village to protect.”

I snap forward, elbows dug into my knees. “I do protect this village. You don’t know even half of what I do to protect it. Of what I’ve sacrificed.”

Ryatt levels me with a stare that probably rivals my own. “Do you really want to talk of sacrifices, brother? Because I’ve given up my whole identity to serve yours.”

Sometimes, the chasm between us feels insurmountable. Like now, when we’re so at odds, the distance from his side to mine can’t be crossed.

“Have you even gone to visit?” he demands.

My spine locks up tight. “Don’t ask questions that you already know the answers to. The sound of your voice isn’t that soothing.”

He ignores my jab. “Should’ve known.”

“I’ve been a little busy, Ryatt.”

“Right.” Disdain drips down as he heaves to his feet. “Well, perhaps try to fit it into your schedule, Your Majesty.” He bends at the waist into a mocking bow before striding off.

With ugliness buried in my chest, I watch him walk away, back stiff, steps carrying the weight of his anger.

It’s hard to correlate the sight of him like this when my eyes also hold another time—of when he was more than a foot shorter than me, a scrawny little thing with wild black hair and jam smeared on his lips.

There was no walking away then. He always followed behind me or tried to clutch onto my arm, tethering us together with a mischievous smile. There were no angry glares aimed my way. We sought games and adventure instead of avoiding each other as we do now.

My anger expels with my exhale, dissipating in the cold air.

I lean back against the cave wall, feeling the threat of my spikes pushing against the inside of my arms.

Like my memories are too close to the surface, an old condemning voice rings clear in my head. “Control, Slade. Are you some common fae to lose it so easily? Or are you going to be worthy of the blood in your rotted veins? Pull those spikes back, or I’ll pin them to the estate wall and let you hang there till you learn.”

Maybe it’s muscle memory of the countless days I spent under commands like that, but my spikes sink back below, the skin on my arms no longer bulging with the threat of their presence.

Control.

It was the first thing drilled in my head since the moment I started to change. Most fae are around fifteen or sixteen when their magic comes in.

I wasn’t afforded that much time.

I still remember the itch. The way I raked my nails over the backs of my forearms, or tried to reach along my spine. I felt like a bear in the woods needing to scratch against the bark of a tree. Every time my spikes stabbed out of me, they ripped my skin to shreds, blood gaping from the gashes they cut.

For a year, they would bleed every time they came out—until crimson soaked every sleeve, the back of every shirt dotted with a perfect row, while more drops of blood dripped down into my eyebrows.

Worse still was the look I got—and that cutting voice. I learned how to suppress my spikes, learned how to only draw them out when I wanted them to come. I even stopped flinching when they stabbed through my skin. And soon, I even stopped bleeding. As if even my blood was afraid to show itself to my father.

“There you are.”

I glance up at Lu as she flits inside, though she’s not alone. There’s a messenger hawk gripping her shoulder, and neither of them look very pleased about it.

“This asshole just showed up. Flew right to the front door and started beating on it like its beak was a knocker.” She tips her head at it, but when it pecks at her head, she bats it away. “She won’t let anyone get the message. Wouldn’t even trade for it,” Lu says, holding out her palm where a handful of dried jerky waits. The hawk makes a noise of scorn, the hoarse sound accompanying a sharp dig of its talons into Lu’s shoulder.

She winces, giving it a glare. “See what I mean?”

I stand up and walk over, and the bird immediately jumps from her shoulder to land on my arm, and holds out its leg. “Good girl,” I croon, drawing a finger down the side of her neck. She clicks her beak together, eyes blinking at me as I take hold of the silver vial attached to her leg and remove the rolled parchment within.

My eyes flick over the words, and I’ve only made it halfway through when my fingers start to tighten over the paper. By the time I get to the end, I’m crumpling it, my entire body gone taut.

“What’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, I pass Lu the letter, and I watch as her expression goes through the same emotions as my own. “Son of a bitch.”

Her hand drops, crinkled letter still clutched as she looks at me. “Queen Kaila certainly didn’t waste any time.”

“No. She didn’t.”

Lu regards me silently for a moment. “What should we do?”

It’s not exactly a surprise, but I thought we’d have a little more time. Because that’s what Auren needs. Time.

Time to stand on her feet. To acclimate to the loss of her ribbons. To gain confidence. To be ready to face the world and her magic. She just killed her manipulative captor, discovered a new facet of her power, almost died in the process, and left everything she knows. She needs a fucking breather.

“Nothing,” I finally answer.

Lu’s black brows jump up. “Nothing?”

I shake my head. “It’s an intimidation tactic meant to bully us. It’s not going to work.”

“But what if they come to Fourth?”

“Queen Kaila has two empty kingdoms to contend with and a frozen Barrens between us.”

“But the other monarchs...”

“Can suck my dick.”

She rolls her eyes. “As much as I’m sure they’d enjoy the invitation, they’re still an issue.”

“And an ocean away,” I point out. “We have time.”

“If you say so.”

My skin twinges, and it’s not because of the hawk’s talons still clutching my arm. “I have it under control.”

I always do.

“Alright.” She nods before glancing over my shoulder to the cell door. “I take it Ryatt finally found them?”

“He did.” Holding my hand out, I take the jerky from Lu, feeding it to the hawk with another stroke. The bird tucks its head against my neck in thanks before she turns and takes flight, zooming out of the cave and letting off a distant screech as she takes to the air.

Lu shakes her head. “You have every damn bird and timberwing under your spell.”

“What can I say? I’m just likable.”

She snorts, both of our attention catching on the cough that sounds from the cell.

“Looks like he’s awake,” she says, and anticipation has already begun to wind its way around my limbs like silken ropes. “You want me to stay?”

I shake my head, removing my coat and rolling up my sleeves. “No. I’m going to have a nice little chat with Midas’s spy.”

Lu nods and then leaves me to it. As soon as she’s gone, I step up to the door, peering inside where the pitiful heap is now a man sitting up, eyes wide with fear when he sees my face.

I let myself in using the key tucked into the iron lock, and the door slams shut behind me so loud that the man flinches.

And everything, the tiredness, the contention between Ryatt, the worry of Auren, the news from the letter, it all coalesces into something clotted and acidic, ready to bubble over and burn. Lucky for me, I have the perfect candidate to take it out on.

I flash the man a wicked grin, feeling the way my rot twists against my chest, reaching down my arms. He trembles all over, face slack, eyes wild.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m King Rot, and you’re in my territory.”

The man pissing his pants isn’t going to be the worst scent by the time I’m done with him.

I walk around closer, letting rot creep from my steps and crawl up the walls like strings threatening to knot him a noose. “Now, I want to know everything you reported to Midas, and everything he ordered from you.”

The man gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing in undulating fear. “And...and if I do, you’ll l-let me go?”

I laugh. The noise makes him flinch, but then his mouth opens wide in shock as I lash my magic into him, rotting the bottom row of his teeth from his gums. Letting the enamel brown and crumble till they slip from their places and disintegrate to the ground.

“Oh, no. You won’t be leaving this room alive. But it’s up to you how I let my rot toy with you.”

It’s funny how quickly he sings. Or rather, lisps.

He doesn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already figured out, but doling out punishment helps my dark mood. Only a little. But it helps.

When I walk away a couple hours later, with the sun in the sky and the taste of sweet rot and cold ash in the back of my throat, I should be relieved that we were able to get all of Midas’s spies and send them to a frozen grave.

But relief is the furthest thing I can feel, and Midas’s people no longer matter.

It’s the rest of Orea I have to worry about now.