Page 13 of Taken By the Shadow Prince

to fight

They are not afraid.

The witches here have something the other two sanctuaries seemed to lack—hope.

Hope for themselves, for the future, I do not know. But it thrums through them all, bouncing from person to person as they watch us stride in behind a marching set of Rhouk guards.Rhouk, Kelsa has informed me, is an old word forFighter.

It fits these witches well.

The rest of the soldiers spread out among the people like they always do, to introduce themselves and our cause to the witches. Kal, Kelsa, and I follow the Rhouk to meet with who they call Muhra—whether that is a name or a title, I do not know. I’m not well versed in any old languages, and Kelsa only knows a few words or phrases.

Muhra is a bone-thin man with mismatched eyes and scars littering his face. He looks...

He looks like he was burned. And I’d bet he was, considering all the purgings that took place a decade ago. By the look of it, he’s lucky to have made it out alive.

“Sit,” Muhra says, gesturing to the rickety rocking chairs that look like they’ve been brought in from outside upon our arrival. We’re in what must be his house, from the old books, the everyday clutter. It’s a duskily lit room, though it seems to suit the man well. “Tell me, how is the country?”

“What all have you heard?” Kelsa asks.

“I know that the daughter has been made Queen. I know that she has decided we witches are more than mere abominations. Such a stark difference in opinions from the ones her mother and father held, wouldn’t you say?”

Kelsa nods. “Queen Mair is good like that. She always has been.”

Muhra gives the three of us a contemplative look. “I certainly hope so,” he says finally. His eyes land on mine. “I haven’t seen the ears of the fae in a long while. What a strange sight, after so many years.”

I tip my head toward him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you, I think.”

I like the way he speaks. Nothing is certain, with him. He speaks with the sort of contemplative tone my father used to say with his eyes. Something about that encourages me.

“We’d like your help.”

A small smile. “After so many years in exile, I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever matter again.”

“You could have come out of hiding,” Kal says, frowning. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“And why would I risk leaving what has become my home, when it would likely end with me dead in an alley? Laws mean nothing if the people do not follow them, boy.”

“You’re right to say that they aren’t listening,” I say. My voice is quiet because I don’t think I need to talk loudly. Not here. I have a feeling I could mouth the words and Muhra would still hear me. “But you could matter again if you’d like. All your people could.” I gesture to Kelsa, and she dives in.

It’s best when she gives the speech. She does a better job than I ever could, and it must mean more, and sound less hypocritical, coming from a witch.

When she’s catching her breath after finishing, Muhra speaks with his eyes still on mine. “I would love to say yes. I would love to say that we will fight, but I can’t.”

“Why not?” Kal demands.

Muhra’s eyes do not waver. “Because I am merely one person. Who am I to speak for the lives of hundreds?” He stands. “I will fight, alone or not. But the rest of these people... you may present them with the same facts, tonight at dinner—should you wish to stay. Those who wish to join will. Those who want to stay will stay. That sounds fair, yes?”

I stand and nod, speaking before Kelsa or Kal have the chance. “Yes,” I say. “More than fair. Thank you.”

Muhra nods. “Indeed. There’s a meadow in the middle of town, where the children play. You’re free to set your people up there and wait for tonight.”

And while we don’t have time to waste, while I should demand we speak to them now...

I nod. “We will.”

That night, Kelsa gives the same speech. We offer to grovel, if we must. It’s supposed to be a joke, I think, but when she says it, I know it’s the truth. I know I would drop to my knees and beg if that’s what it took.

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