11. Finn

ELEVEN

Ihave not set foot in Luminael for over a century. The last time was a rare exception. A day pass to accompany the chef to the market because her usual kitchen assistant was unwell.

Until the night we escaped, I spent my entire life in Eldrion’s castle, watching Luminael from the parapets after dark, or early in the morning. Observing the Sunborne aristocracy in their finery.

I had forgotten that there were less well-off Sunborne in the city. Of course, they still consider themselves better than us lowly Shadowkind – and their magic is still stronger – but they are not all as pristine and proper as those who attend Eldrion’s banquets.

The elves do not usually mix with the Sunborne. They are the ones who run the taverns, and the markets. They have their own quarter of the city and associate mainly with other elves. They are the keepers of secrets. They know everything and reveal nothing. Unless they feel it will be to their advantage. And, even then, the advantage must be great.

I met Garratt when he came to the castle to deliver ale for one of Eldrion’s feasts. We ended up sitting on some haybales in the courtyard, drinking some of his own private stash, and discussing all manner of things. Largely, why none of us ever dared to just get up and walk out of the castle.

I remember laughing and twitching my wings at him so my piercings jingled. “We cannot walk out, he’d hear us.”

“So?” Garrat asked me, taking off his cap to reveal a shock of white-blond hair and the traditionally pointed elven ears. “You think he’d kill every single one of you? He’d have no one left. He wouldn’t do that.”

“Easy for you to say. Elves are a free people. You have never been subjected to what the Shadowkind have...”

“True,” Garratt said, scratching his chin and lighting his pipe. “That’s true.”

After that, as the ale grew warmer and our tongues looser, we came to an arrangement: if it ever became possible for the Shadowkind to escape, the elves would be on our side.

“We’re not fighters, mind,” Garratt said, chewing the end of his pipe. “But we will keep watch for you.”

“Why?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

Garratt shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “Because I believe you’re destined for more than performing party tricks for the fae lord. And I’d like you to be in my debt.” He grinned and puffed on the pipe. “It’s always beneficial for someone in power to owe you a favour.”

Now, as his words echo in my head, I remember the way I felt in that moment. Like something shifted deep inside me. I’d always dreamed of escape. We’d been plotting our ‘rebellion’ for years. Centuries. The tunnels were a legend among the Shadowkind of the castle. But it was only then that I started to believe it could happen. And that I should be the one to lead it.

I don’t know why that elf made me think differently.

I’ve thought about it many times since.

Perhaps because they are so wise, so all-knowing, and he saw something in me.

Perhaps because fate whispered in my ear that he was someone I could trust.

Now, though, I’m starting to wonder if fate got it wrong.

It has been weeks since I heard from Garratt. When we first escaped from the castle, I sent word via raven that we would be in touch, and asked him to keep his word and keep his ear to the ground. Send the bird back when you have news, he will know where to find us.

I have watched the shield every day. Paced the perimeter looking for the raven, and found nothing.

So, either Garratt changed his mind, or something else is happening in the city. Something to prevent him helping us.

Our first meeting at the castle was fifty years ago. We have been friends ever since, drinking together regularly when he brought ale to the castle. I refuse to believe he has changed his mind.

Which means . . .

I pull my cloak up higher around my face. I’m sticking to the shadows, trying to slip through the market crowds of the elven quarter unnoticed. More than anything, I’m trying to keep my wings completely still. Because if anyone catches my bells on the breeze, this could all be over.

As I approach Garratt’s inn, I pause and assess the doors and windows. It’s early morning. The inn is locked up tight, and won’t be opening until midday.

Do I wait? Or do I knock?

Instead of rapping my knuckles on the front door, I head around back to the stable yard where patrons tether their horses. I slip into the shadows and quietly tap on the back door, the one that leads into the kitchen, then remain as unnoticeable as possible until the door finally creaks open and a familiar blond head peers out into the sunny yard.

“Who’s there?” Garratt grunts, pinching his nose.

I wait, making sure he’s alone, then slip past him into the kitchen. I am lithe, and fast, and my movements are like water. I am perched on the countertop, swinging my legs back and forth when he closes the door, bolts it, and turns around.

“Holy mother of...” Garratt slams his hand against his chest. Then, slowly, a grin spreads over his face. He rushes over, claps my shoulder. “It is very good to see you, my friend.”

I lean back against the countertop, my brow furrowed, the momentary pleasure at seeing my friend fading as I remember why I’m here – and what I’ve risked to be here.

“Garratt, I’ve been waiting for word from you. Why haven’t you been in touch?”

Garratt’s grin fades, too, replaced by a more sombre expression. “I’m sorry, my friend. There was nothing to share until yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Something happened that you need to know about.”

I stop swinging my legs and lean forward onto my thighs. “What is it?”

“I had a visitor.” Garratt raises his eyebrows at me. “Lord Eldrion himself came to my inn.”

This time, I sit up straight. A bolt of anger lodges itself deep in my throat at the mention of Eldrion’s name. “Here? Eldrion was here?”

Garratt nods slowly. “He’s looking for the Shadowkind and Alana. Killed and tortured an elf for information.”

“Do the other elves know where we are?”

Shrugging, Garratt shakes his head. “Doubtful, and if they did, they wouldn’t give up that information. Even when tortured. Unless Eldrion had something to offer them in return. And, by all accounts, he’s not thinking too clearly of late.”

“He’s not?”

Garratt leans back on the counter opposite and takes his pipe from his pocket. He taps his temple with his free hand. “Losing it,” he whispers. Then he laughs, “As proved by the fact that he wants my help to find them.”

“He asked for your help?” I’m not sure whether to laugh or be worried.

Biting his pipe, Garratt says, “I offered it. In exchange...” He bites back a chuckle. “In exchange for Eldrion letting me form some sort of elven police. Letting me run the elven quarters as I see fit. Invite the Gloomweavers back into the city.”

“Why would you want to –” I stop myself from asking the question. I don’t care what Garratt’s motives are, only whether he is still on my side or if he’s now indebted to Eldrion.

As if he can read my mind, he says, “Don’t worry, I have no intention of handing you over to him. I want Eldrion gone from the throne as much as you do.”

My body relaxes a little, my wings twitching behind me.

Garratt chuckles, a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “But I told him I’d be more than happy to assist in his search. Even offered to put my best elves on the job.”

“If he finds out you’re playing him.”

“He won’t.” Garratt glances at the door. “As long as you don’t hang around here too long.” He pauses, then adds, “Eldrion has no friends in this city. The Sunborne are afraid he’s losing control. They’re keeping themselves to themselves. The Shadowkind are either plotting to join you when they can, or they’re in complete denial. Still serving their masters as if nothing has happened.”

“Even those still in the castle?” I cross my legs now and extend my hand to ask for a puff on Garratt’s pipe.

“Most. There are a couple who wish they’d joined you. They might be useful when the time comes.”

“You think the time is soon?”

Garratt nods. “Right now, Eldrion is distracted by his obsession with the empath. You should strike soon if you truly intend to.”

I begin to pace the kitchen, my mind racing. If Eldrion is truly unravelling, if his grip on power is slipping, then Garratt could be right. No more hiding in the forest like cowards; this could be the perfect time to finally fan the flames of rebellion and bring the Sunborne to their knees.

“Garratt,” I say, turning to face my friend. “I need you to keep playing along with Eldrion. Feed him false leads, keep him distracted. The more time we have to plan and gather our forces, the better.”

Garratt nods, a fierce determination in his eyes. “Consider it done. I’ll send word again in a few days, let you know what else I’ve learned. But Finn... don’t hang around. If Eldrion was his usual self, I would be advising you to run. Not fight.”

“Thank you,” I say, clasping Garratt’s hand in a firm shake. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. To all of us.”

Garratt meets my eyes. “It’s time, Finn,” he says, his voice low and intense. “Time for the Shadowkind to rise up and take back what’s theirs. As long as you remember it was the elves who helped you get there when you’re sitting on the throne in Eldrion’s castle.”