CHAPTER 40

AUREN TURLEY

What I've quickly learned about Lydia is that this city is very fond of tunnels. Both water and walking ones. Wick leads us into the cellar of the blue-roofed building, and inside of it is a hidden tunnel. The walkway is dark and damp, the stone crevices speckled with fluorescent moss, and lit up with the familiar blue bulbs of flameless light.

The tunnel is nothing more than a short corridor, and then Wick, Slade, and I are crossing through a stone threshold and looking through a glass door. On the other side is the space that the Vulmin are using as a prison.

The room is large and long. There are no cells or bars in sight, but it does have wide benches nailed to the walls and hooks attached to the floor. Those hooks could pass as something innocent, like a way to secure stacks of supplies. Yet right now, they're used to connect to the shackles worn around the prisoners' ankles.

The scent of blood is far stronger here, and through the glass, I can see that it's coming from one of the Stone Swords. He has a vicious slice against his neck that's wrapped but still appears to be bleeding.

Wick notices my line of sight. "Tried to end himself with his own sword. We intervened before he could."

Aside from that self-inflicted wound, neither him nor the other soldier have any other injuries. I glance at Wick in question, and he seems to pick up on my thoughts, because he shakes his head. "Vulmin have had to be ruthless, it's true. But like I said in the square. We fae also have to be better. And since we have taken the city, that starts now, even with our prisoners."

Something like pride wells up in my chest.

"Well, that explains why your prisoners won't talk," Slade drawls. When I shoot him a look, he shrugs. "I'm not saying it's not noble. It is. But when people are put to pain, their tongues loosen."

"But then we'd only be perpetuating the very same things we hope to erase from Annwyn," Wick argues. "The Vulmin have always had a plan. We grow, we fight, we kill if we must, but then once we take control, we implement a new way. A better way. If Annwyn has any hope of ushering in true peace, it has to start with our opponents, or it isn't really peace. Isn't really change. We can't pick and choose between friend and enemy."

"You also can't confuse friend for enemy."

"And we won't," Wick replies firmly. "But we have to make Annwyn realize that fae against fae is no way of life. We need to become united. We can't do that by killing and hating half the population."

Slade doesn't reply, though it's obvious he doesn't necessarily agree with Wick's ideology. But coming from someone who was recently in a dungeon and having seen others who endured beatings and torture, I have to say, Wick's plan for a peaceful Annwyn is a welcome one.

"Speaking of being imprisoned…are the Oreans okay? The ones I got out from the dungeons?" I ask.

"They're all here, staying in the city and being taken care of."

I exchange a look with Slade. "We should speak to them. See if they have any information about your mother."

He nods, and although he keeps the rest of his expression unreadable, I can see the flash of worry in his eyes.

I look back through the glass, past the sleeping Stone Swords, and my gaze lands on the figure at the other end of the room. He's lying on a bench facing the bricked wall. From here, I can see his shoulder-length hair, brown but streaked with gray.

Brennur.

"Ready?" Wick asks me.

I nod, and the three of us walk into the dim room. It's drafty, thanks to the vents in the ceiling that look more like gutters, sending wisps of wind inside. Four Vulmin sit around the table right next to the door. One of them is reading, and the other three are playing some sort of dice game while the lanterns in front of them flicker.

When they see us, they immediately jump to their feet.

"We'd like the room," Wick tells them.

The males hurry out, shutting the door behind them.

"Bring him over here," I say.

With a nod, Wick heads across the room, slipping a key from his pocket. I sit down at the vacated table, and Slade leans against the wall by the door with his arms crossed in front of him.

Wick unlocks the chain from the hook, and then goes over and nudges the sleeping fae with the toe of his boot. "Get up."

Brennur jolts awake.

I watch him try to gain his wits as he sloughs off sleep, but Wick is already tugging on the chain connected to his ankle. He's halfway across the room before he actually spots me, clay-colored eyes appearing more reddish from how bloodshot they are.

"Have a seat," Wick orders before pushing him into the chair across the table from me.

Brennur steals a look over his shoulder at Slade, clearly not comfortable having him at his back.

"Don't look at me. Look at her." The chill in Slade's voice is so frigid I nearly shiver.

Brennur audibly gulps and turns around to face me. His beard used to be neatly cut and perfectly straight at the end. Now, it's far messier, as is his hair.

The hate I feel for him is unfathomable. My stomach turns just from looking at him. My ribbons tighten, their edges sharpening, and it's tempting to simply let them lash forward and slice his throat. But I'm here for answers.

I've waited this long. I can wait a little longer.

Brennur's gaze shifts around, and the way he holds himself reminds me of a darting rodent. One that's looking for a hole to skitter through or a scrap to steal. His fingers fidget with the magical cuff around his wrist that's blocking his magic.

So that's the other use Wick mentioned. He put his cuff on Brennur.

"Are you ready to talk?" I ask.

The male shrugs as if he's unbothered. "That depends."

"Let's start with why you betrayed us and took us to Glassworth Palace."

"A fae has to do what a fae has to do to stay alive," he explains, as if he's talking about something as easy as disagreeing about the weather instead of sending dozens of people to their death.

"When exactly did you jump sides?" Wick asks him.

When Brennur hesitates, I hum in thought, flicking my gaze to Wick. "He didn't jump sides. He never actually chose one."

I have to admit, he carried himself very well. The cane, the altruistic behavior, the graying hair and deferring tone—it was all a fantastic disguise for the rat that was hiding beneath.

"You think you're better than me?" Brennur grits out. "I see an opportunity and I take it. That's all."

"So you're not loyal to anybody except yourself," Wick surmises.

"That's right. And everyone else would be smart to be the same way."

Visible anger radiates out of Wick's eyes. "How many Oreans and fae were killed because of you? How many of our missions were compromised?"

"It was either that or slip the noose over my own head. I'm not dying for anybody," he says defiantly. "And you still got use of my magic. I helped you too."

"While you were feeding the king information every step of the way!" Wick growls out, slamming his fist against the table. It startles the other Stone Sword who was sleeping, but the bloodied one doesn't so much as flinch.

Brennur looks on without a lick of remorse. "I didn't tell him everything. I was smart about it. I knew you'd pick up on it if too many missions were compromised."

"So you tricked us both."

He shrugs. "Like I said, I'm not dying for anybody."

"That mission in Kuvell last year. When forty Vulmin were found in that safe house and ambushed. That was you?"

Brennur stays silent, which is answer enough.

Wick's glare is chilling. "I trusted you to bring countless fae and Oreans to safe harbor, to sneak us into dangerous territory for our cause, and all the while you were nothing but a selfish fucking traitor."

"I bow to whoever I need to so I can keep my head," Brennur replies. "King, rebel leader, noble, doesn't matter. Roles and politics change all the time. I'm nearly a hundred and eighty years old. You think I'd still be alive if I'd been something as stupid as loyal ? Bah!" He waves his hand, the chain around his ankle clinking with his movements. "Loyalty is a good way to get yourself killed."

"Funny," Wick grinds out, "considering disloyalty is going to be the thing that actually ends you."