CHAPTER
7
Brannagh and Dagdan looked like they’d just found second breakfast waiting for them.
Jurian had his sword out, the two young women and one young man gaping between him and the others. Then at us, their eyes widening further as they noted Lucien’s cruel beauty.
They dropped to their knees. “Masters and Mistresses,” they beseeched us, their silver jewelry glinting in the dappled sunlight through the leaves. “You have found us on our journey.”
The two royals smiled so broadly I could see all of their too-white teeth.
Jurian, for once, seemed torn before he snapped, “What are you doing here?”
The dark-haired girl at the front was lovely, her honey-gold skin flushed as she lifted her head. “We have come to dwell in the immortal lands; we have come as tribute.”
Jurian cut cold, hard eyes to Lucien. “Is this true?”
Lucien stared him down. “We accept no tribute from the human lands. Least of all children.”
Never mind that the three of them appeared only a few years younger than myself.
“Why don’t you come through,” Brannagh cooed, “and we can … enjoy ourselves.” She was indeed sizing up the brown-haired young man and the other girl, her hair a ruddy brown, face sharp but interesting. From the way Dagdan was leering at the beautiful girl in front, I knew he’d silently made his claim already.
I shoved in front of them and said to the three mortals, “Get out. Go back to your villages, back to your families. You cross this wall, and you will die.”
They balked, rising to their feet, faces taut with fear—and awe. “We have come to live in peace.”
“There is no such thing here. There is only death for your kind.”
Their eyes slid to the immortals behind me. The dark-haired girl blushed at Dagdan’s intent stare, seeing the High Fae beauty and none of the predator.
So I struck.
The wall was a screeching, terrible vise, crushing my magic, battering my head.
But I speared my power through that gap, and slammed into their minds.
Too hard. The young man flinched a bit.
So soft—defenseless. Their minds yielded like butter melting on my tongue.
I beheld pieces of their lives like shards in a broken mirror, flashing every which way: the dark-haired girl was rich, educated, headstrong—had wanted to escape an arranged marriage and believed Prythian was a better option. The ruddy-haired girl had known nothing but poverty and her father’s fists, which had turned more violent after they’d ended her mother’s life. The young man had sold himself on the streets of a large village until the Children had come one day and offered him something better.
I worked quickly. Neatly.
I was finished before three heartbeats had passed, before Brannagh had even drawn breath to say, “There is no death here. Only pleasure, if you are willing.”
Even if they weren’t willing, I wanted to add.
But the three of them now blinked—balking.
Beholding us for what we were: deadly, merciless. The truth behind the spun stories.
“We—perhaps have … made a mistake,” their leader said, retreating a step.
“Or perhaps this was fate,” Brannagh countered with a snake’s smile.
They kept backing away. Kept seeing the histories I’d planted into their minds—that we were here to hurt and kill them, that we had done so with all their friends, that we’d use and discard them. I showed them the naga, the Bogge, the Middengard Wyrm; I showed them Clare and the golden-haired queen, skewered on that lamppost. The memories I gave them became stories they had ignored—but now understood with us before them.
“Come here,” Dagdan ordered.
The words were kindling to their fear. The three of them turned, heavy pale robes twisting with them, and bolted for the trees.
Brannagh tensed, as if she’d charge through the wall after them, but I gripped her arm and hissed, “If you pursue them, then you and I will have a problem.”
In emphasis, I dragged mental talons down her own shield.
The princess snarled at me.
But the humans were already gone.
I prayed they’d listen to the other command I’d woven into their minds: to get on a boat, get as many friends as they could, and flee for the continent. To return here only when the war was over, and to warn as many humans as possible to get out before it was too late.
The Hybern royals growled their displeasure, but I ignored it as I took up a spot against a tree and settled in to wait, not trusting them to stay on this side of the border.
The royals resumed their work, stalking up and down the wall.
A moment later, a male body came up beside mine.
Not Lucien, I realized with a jolt, but did not so much as flinch.
Jurian’s eyes were on the place where the humans had been.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, well aware that Lucien carefully watched from the shade of a nearby oak.
Jurian gave me a knowing smirk and sauntered after Dagdan.
They took all day.
Whatever it was they were inspecting, whatever they were hunting for, the royals didn’t inform us.
And after the confrontation that morning, I knew pushing them into revealing it wouldn’t happen. I’d used up my allotted tolerance for the day.
So we spent another night in the woods, which was precisely how I wound up sitting across the fire from Jurian after the twins had crawled into their tent and the sentries had taken up their watch positions. Lucien had gone to the stream to get more water, and I watched the flame dance amongst the logs, feeling it echo inside myself.
Spearing my power through the wall had left me with a lingering, pounding headache all day, more than a bit dizzy. I had no doubt sleep would claim me fast and hard, but the fire was too warm and the spring night too brisk to willingly breach that long gap of darkness between the flame and my tent.