Page 63 of Prince of Ruin

Tarsus takes another long drink, finishing off their drink, then slamming it on the table again and gesturing for a refill from one of the nearby attendants. “I would think even the dullest minded human would know better than to interfere in a war they know nothing about.”

“Mymothertold me they needed me.”

“Ah, yes.” Ash leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her bare, muscled abdomen. “Mandi. Your bone-witch aunt.”

Aden tilts his head to the side, studying me. “Whydidyou follow Mandi back here if you had no memories of this place? Especially after you learned they’d been lying to you your whole life?”

The reminder of my own mother lying to me my whole life stings like a fresh wound. He has a good point. Why would I believe anything Mandi said after all the lies? After they practically dumped me at the bat colony, leaving me to fend for myself on the battlefield?

“My mom—I mean, Mandi—told me I was a fae prince, and I thought it was some sort of surprise birthday party.”

Ash snorts. “A fuckingwhat?”

“A…D&D themed birthday party. For me.” I realize now how dumb I was to think that. I’m fucking twenty-three years old, and besides that, Mandi never threw me a birthday party. Told me birthdays were insignificant reminders of being dragged into this world. I realize now,thisworld meant the human realms. It’s almost as if the reminder of the day that they were stuck there with me was too painful to celebrate.

“Christ.” Aden drags his hand over the back of his neck.

“I followed my mom—I mean Mandi into the forest,” I say, “and when they stepped into the bog and didn’t return, I got worried and went after them. Thewater pulled me under, and I re-emerged in this world with a much younger version of my mother standing before me, telling me I had to help the bat folk.”

Aden straightens.

“Mandible could have brought you here a lot sooner and told you everything,” Wolfsbane says, studying me closely. “Mandible could have raised you as yourself. But they didn’t. They chose to lie instead. So why believe them about the bats?”

“You think I haven’t been thinking about that every hour in my cold-ass cell?” My hands curl into fists on my thighs, and I’m glad the table hides them. “Everything happened so fast—I didn’t exactly have time to contemplate any of it before Mandi told the bat-guard to take me to the caves.”

That anger, that all-too familiar fury continues to build deep within me until I taste fire, but I refuse to let it blind me. My anger will only prove that Ishouldbe chained in the dungeon. Unlike our last meal together, I intend to behave so they’ll bring me out more. So I focus on the music, on the humans playing across the room. The performing humans finish their Celtic music and some leave the room, but the three with the tin flute, bodhrán, and violin stay and play another song to a more upbeat tune.

“I thought you freed your humans,” I say, wondering if these folks, too, have lied about freeing the humans.

“They are free,” Tarsus mutters, glaring at me with cool silver eyes. “We pay them just like we do all our other staff.”

“Oh.” Guilt is a nasty thing, pooling in my chest like tar. “Why don’t I ever see fae playing the instruments, then?”

Aden snorts as he chews his food, and Wolf, Tarsus, and Hemlock all cast him a glare.

“What?” I ask.

Aden swallows that bite, then says, fighting a smile, “Fae possess elemental magic in this world that humans could never compete with. But when it comes to the arts, they don’t have a lick of talent.”

“Careful,” Wolf mutters, a sly glint in those midnight eyes.

“What?” I ask, looking around the table, but not one refutes what Aden is saying.

Tarsus rolls their eyes as they lift that second or third cup of wine to their lips, but they don’t say anything.

“Yeah,” Aden says, green eyes shining as if he finds this little bit of information incredibly hilarious. “The fae are six-to-seven feet of lean muscle and flawless skin, the folk are beasts with curling horns or massive bat wings or devastatingly beautiful scales.” He gestures at the Minotaur and Shilo. “All these creatures have one-hundred years to every human decade to their lives, but they can’t write a fuckingpoem to save themselves. Can’t even learn to playMary Had A Little Lambon a gods-damned recorder.”

Holy shit. A chuckle bubbles out of me when I glance at Tarsus’ annoyed frown while they stare at their food, chomping on a slice of meat.

“So, like, books?” I glance around the table. “Surely you all know how to read.”

“Of course we do.” Hemlock rolls his eyes, a muscle in his jaw working. “The fae and folk write plenty of books on history.”

“Yes, historical accounts. Outlines. Facts.” Aden’s eyes are shining, as if half the beasts and powerful fae at this table couldn’t rip him to shreds with half a thought. “But when it comes to writing creatively, they’re lost.” He smothers his smile with his fist, as if this were a sore subject between him and these fearless warriors. “Still, they enjoy the arts more than your average human. Give them a novel and they completely lose themselves for days.” Aden takes a sip of his own wine. “You should have seen Wolfsbane when I lent them their first spicy novel. It was the first novel they ever read and they ate that shit up in hours.” He stuffs a bite of potatoes into his mouth.

“It was the first thing that made me warm up to you,” Wolfsbane says, that fondness once again filling their black eyes as they smile at Aden.

“So…what are the Five Empires?” I ask, taking this opportunity to learn more about their world.

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