Chapter 13

We stopped on the western edge of Caladrius in some small outskirt village and waited for Simon to catch up.

Only a few days had passed since Anaria rebirthed the magic, and this dusty town was in utter chaos, the street clogged with wagons of refugees, all of them stumbling westward in the same state of wide-eyed disbelief, many of them in fine Tempeste attire.

"So much for finding a room for the night," Torin muttered, watching two Fae males try to budge an overladen wagon stuck wheels-deep in the mud, the team of frothed-over draft horses straining to no avail. "Or dinner."

"Food and a roof might be the least of our concerns, given how many people are moving west," I told her softly, meeting Zor's eyes.

"Let's find out what we can before we move on," Zor murmured, heading over to the stranded men to help. "Hello, friend, care for a hand?"

It was a testament to their desperation that the farmers didn't even balk at being approached by two strangers dressed in battle armor, one with hazy shadows hanging around him like a shield. They jerked their heads to the wheel lodged in the thick mud.

"If you can get that to budge, we'd be more than grateful," the older male said, mopping sweat from his brow. "Been here for over three hours and you're the first who've offered to help."

"Where is everyone heading?" I asked casually, rounding the wagon. Only one wheel was truly stuck. I'd freed enough supply wagons to know Zor and I would have this loose in a minute, tops.

The information we needed would take longer.

"Anywhere away from this cursed place. No one knows what happened, but when that magic swept through, it turned some of us into monsters, killed others, and leveled whole towns and villages. If that happens again…when it happens, that wave will kill us all. Now the whole realm's trying to escape before the next one comes."

I studied the bedraggled line of dazed-looking refugees, stretching as far east as I could see. The male looked at me appraisingly. "Word is, if we can pass through the northern gate into Varitus, we'll be safe there."

Gods help us all.

A mass exodus into Varitus…the Descendants wouldn't know what hit them.

And once all these Fae stepped foot into Varitus and lost what little magic they did have…

Fuck.

"First thing's first." Zor gave the male another friendly smile. "Let's get you unstuck."

"Give the horses a tap with the reins and get them pulling. We're going to shove." I set my shoulder against the wagon while Zor did the same. The beasts strained and I hit the wood hard enough with my shoulder to splinter the boards, my muscles barking with pain, but the wheels popped free, the cart rolling heavily up onto dry ground.

"Thank you." The male finally realized who he was facing—two battle-hardened warriors—and stepped back, wariness gleaming on his face. "We're in your debt, sires."

"We could use some food. Bread, dried meat, if you have any," I asked softly, glancing to where Torin waited, as out of place in this bedraggled crowd as we were, dressed in layers of brightly colored silk, her white hair done up in a fancy braid, her white-blind eyes setting her apart from everyone else in this realm and every other.

The male followed my gaze and went still, his mouth gaping open. "Holy gods, that's the…"

"Anything you can spare would be much appreciated." Zorander pulled the male's attention back to us, keeping his smile easy. "We've come a very long way and we are hungry."

"What…what happened here?" the older male asked as he lifted the canvas cover on the wagon to root through a basket. "Is it true what we heard? The king is dead?"

"He is," I said, ignoring Zor's hissed warning. "They deserve the truth and they're not going to find it anywhere else in this chaos."

The male looked like he'd been a farmer, his wagon old but serviceable, his clothing worn but had once been expensive. "I'm Trajan. This is my brother Landon." He looked at me expectantly.

"Carex is dead and his reign is over." I looked Trajan in the eye while his brother inched closer to listen. "You do not have to leave Caladrius. What happened will not happen again for another ten thousand years. All this is…" I shook my head.

All this is…as if Anaria hadn't unlocked the greatest, most powerful force in the entire world.

"That wave was the wild magic returning. You don't have to leave now that the land has been restored. You can go home and grow your own crops again. The land is as fertile as when this world was created, and once you cross that ward into Varitus"—I nodded to the now-towering forest behind us—"you'll face plenty of dangers. Descendants and Howlers. And once you pass over the ward, there is no magic. You cannot defend yourself."

Trajan blanched then resumed searching the wagon, finally producing a loaf of bread, a handful of raw potatoes, and a roll of dried sausage. "You didn't see what happened to the ones caught in the storm, sire. They became monsters. Blackened in limb and face, their bodies twisted into something that might have crawled from the Pit."

I forced down my horror, and beside me, Zorander was doing the same. Anaria could never know her magic had hurt people. She carried around enough guilt. This was something we'd never allow her to learn.

"Thank you for the food, Trajan." I smiled. "We appreciate the generosity."

He squinted over his shoulder, back the way they'd come. "The wild magic, huh? They say it comes back every so often, I just…never thought I'd see this happen in my lifetime. Tell me you speak true and perhaps…" He and his brother shared a long look. "Perhaps we should head back home."

"Nothing good waits in Varitus. With this many travelers on the road, food will be scarce, and desperate people, no matter how honorable, will resort to looting. You'd be safer to go home and stay isolated until things settle. Do you have enough food?"

"We only brought what we could carry." He looked me up and down, and then, as if he'd made a decision, delved beneath the tarp and pulled out two bottles of wine. "Here. Thank you for the help and the information. Good luck to you both."

"Same to you," Zor said tightly, his keen eyes surveying the stragglers heading down the road, most of whom would never make the four-day trek to Varitus, given they carried no supplies, not even water. "Keep away from people, at least for the next few months. Stay away from the capital, too. There are Soul Reapers there."

"We heard that rumor, too," the male said, nodding to a huddled group passing by. "Some who escaped the city have been walking for days. But it was hard to know what was true and what wasn't."

"The Soul Reapers are real, but they won't stray far from the Citadelle. Steer clear of Tempeste and you have no worries." Zor leaned a hip into the wagon and crossed his arms over his chest. "Now. What can you tell me about those Fae who were caught inside the magic when it reappeared?"

"That soundslike what happened to Solok when Anaria used her magic on him." Zor handed me the bottle of wine after he finished recounting the horrific story we'd been told. The stuff was strong enough to dull the edge of my near-lethal rage.

"Which would make sense, given it's the same magic." Torin was tucked into Simon's arms, their backs against the trunk of an enormous oak. I stretched my aching legs out in front of me and leaned back as well, watching the constant traffic through the haze of dust.

All of them heading one direction. West.

"Do we have a different sort of monster to contend with now, or did they all die once the magic faded away?" Our shelter of trees was far enough from the road we wouldn't be overheard, but still, Zor kept his voice down.

"Hard to say, and I don't expect we'll get any answers." I cracked my sweaty, stiff neck and shoulders, already strained from travel, and we still had a long way to go. "Not here, at least. The rumors and lies circulating will only get wilder."

"Most of them won't survive long past the wall." Zorander's eyes followed the line of refugees, stumbling blindly toward their doom. "Fuck, most won't make it to the wall."

"You saved those brothers, at least," I reminded him, trying not to look at the children holding their parents' hands so trustingly. "But we can't save them all, Zor."

How many times had we said those same godsdamned words over the years? Can't save the soldiers. Can't save the survivors. Can't save our friends.

Can't. Can't. Can't.

I took another pull of strong, potent wine, then wiped my mouth, exhaustion turning my bones heavy. "So. All you've told us so far is two jumps to Storm Watch, then we cross the shoals to Darkhold." Zor subtly nudged my boot, and I ignored him. He might be willing to go on faith, but my trust in Torin was tenuous, at best, and I didn't know Simon at all.

"What should we expect once we're there? I heard the island is abandoned. Is that true?"

"I don't know." The fact Torin uttered those words with not an ounce of guile sent another shiver through me. Bad enough Zor and I were walking into this blind, I expected her and Simon to at least know what we'd be facing.

Simon looked between us and sighed, holding out his hand. I pressed the bottle of wine into his palm, and he took a long draw as if he needed liquid courage.

Fuck, maybe we all did.

"What Torin means to say is, we haven't been there for three hundred years. The night we left, Zephryn had been imprisoned beneath his mountain by the Oracle. She'd killed his father, and his kingdom was tearing itself to pieces. We don't know what's left. If anything."

I blew out a low whistle. "That's the most I've ever heard you speak, shifter. When you say his kingdom, you mean Zephryn's realm?"

"No, I mean Zeph would have been king of Darkhold if the Oracle hadn't found us." Simon raked his hand through his hair. "Perhaps…let me start at the beginning. Three centuries ago, Torin had one of her visions, but this one…wasn't like any she'd had before. She foresaw Carex losing his magic and dying at Anaria's hand. We tried to keep the vision a secret, but somehow the Oracle found out."

Torin looked haunted by whatever past she was reliving. "She forced me to help put her plan in motion. I had no choice. The Oracle has ways of…trapping you so you cannot escape."

"The Citadelle was always dangerous for Tor, but after that…" Simon's face hardened. "The Oracle never let her victims go. She used them until there was nothing left, and we knew—Cosimo, Zeph, and me—that once she sunk her claws into Torin, she'd never release her. She was too valuable an asset. So we came up with a plan to smuggle her out of Tempeste."

His arm tightened around her, and for maybe the first time in my life, I saw Torin as something other than the High Seer, the duplicitous architect of our fates and our fortunes.

"Zephryn never wanted to be king, never wanted anything to do with Darkhold, but for me…he agreed to wear the crown in exchange for sanctuary for Simon and me," she whispered. "He gave up his freedom so I could have mine."

No scent of lies, nothing on her face to indicate this was anything but the truth, and I realized Torin had every reason to help us, and a damn good reason to want the Oracle dead.

"But the plan went to shite. The Oracle killed Zeph's father, the king, the dragons devolved into all-out war, then she locked Zephryn in a prison of obsidian and dragged us back to Tempeste. As far as Cosimo, she trapped him in a pendant that same night." Simon leaned in, his voice devoid of emotion.

"We've spent every waking minute since that night working to free our friends and stay alive. Between Carex and the Oracle, Torin hasn't been this far from Tempeste since the night we escaped to Darkhold." His arms tightened protectively around her. "I've not dared go beyond the wards, and except for some vague descriptions brought back by half-mad sailors, we know nothing of what we're walking into."

"Except Zeph is there and we have to free him," Torin said stubbornly, temper flashing in her eyes.

Simon nuzzled the top of her head. "Except that. We're not deluding ourselves that there is anything left of Darkhold or the dragons. We are hoping to find one survivor," he said quietly, his gaze turning pleading.

"If we can get Zeph out of that prison where he's been trapped, that will be enough. At least we'll know we've kept our word to him, even if it took us three hundred godsdamned years."