Page 155 of A Fate so Cruel

He’d always enjoyed this time of year.

The stars twinkled above and the moon was nearly full, helping to illuminate the dimly lit streets.

The setting was peaceful. Serene. Nights like tonight were one of the many reasons he chose to return under the cover of darkness, if only to enjoy the city for a few brief hours without interruption.

A shuffle in the dark alleyway to his left made Rion pause. He studied the shadows, then a sliver of movement drew his attention to the ground.

A black and white cat dug through the trash, pulling out leftover scraps. The small creature froze and watched him with one paw raised. Its green eyes reflected the streetlights, and the two stared one another down before more movement shifted Rion’s attention.

A Fae sat against the outside wall farther back, his head hung forward as if he’d fallen asleep. Rion scented the air. Not a Fae, a half-breed. He heard the faint click of metal, then noticed the chains. A slave. Either a runaway, or one who’d been discarded. Nàdair had programs in place to keep them off the streets. The slave would likely be picked up come morning and transferred to a new owner if their old one couldn’t be found.

A shred of sympathy rose from the depths of his darkened soul. They were as trapped by their circumstances as he was. Escape would only lead to death.

Rion clenched his fists as he studied the male. Thin. So impossibly thin and frail. There should be rules in place. Safeguards to prevent owners from mistreating their slaves.

They had heartbeats and drew breath just like anyone else, and yet horses were treated better.

Saoirse had once protected him when Rion couldn’t defend himself. Maybe that’s exactly what the half-breeds needed. A Saoirse to save them, perhaps guide them to a new life.

He sighed. The only thing that stood in his way was an entire country and their ridiculous beliefs. The continent had been built on slavery. It would take nothing short of a miracle to end it.

But Móirín had. Many Fae had balked at the High Lord’s command. Most had labeled him a sympathizer. Others questioned his sanity and whether he’d grown too soft after finding his mate.

A slight scuff of boots against the cobblestones drew Rion’s focus away from the half-breed. His eyes scanned the road, then Rion cursed and he leaned back just in time to dodge a knife aimed at his throat.

Plants broke through the cobblestones at his feet and reached for his legs, but Rion’s sand ground them to dust.

He leaped back to avoid a barrage of knives, then cursed again when another set flew at him from behind.

Rion rolled across the ground and jumped back to his feet, drawing his own weapon to block a blade aimed at his heart. A sharp sensation pierced his left shoulder and Rion roared at the shadows.

A male voice barked a command.

He was home. Home and yet once again, Fae from his own country were trying to kill him.

Rion gritted his teeth, then a blade sank deep into his thigh. An unbridled rage pulsed through him then.

He hated this. Hated always having to keep his guard up. Hatedthem.

Rion’s magic rolled across the ground like a wave, and he caught several hidden bodies in its clutches. They growled and snarled and fought.

It took less than a heartbeat for Rion to crush their bones, rendering their legs useless. Howls of pain filled the air, then a roar of fury followed from another alleyway.

Rion turned to find a male charging him head on with his sword drawn. Stupid, really, but Rion allowed him to get close. Allowed their swords to clash, too.

Anger flashed behind those dark, unfamiliar eyes. Emotion had taken over. The male swung his blade again, throwing too much of his body weight into the thrust. Rion scented the alcohol on his breath as he parried the weapon and flung it from the male’s grasp. The blond-haired male resorted to using his fists, seeming to disregard the magic at his disposal. Rage blinded him. Rage and intoxication.

Rion took a blow to the face, then another to the gut. He relished the pain. It was the only thing that eased the torment he carried day in and day out.

The male drew a blade and sliced it across Rion’s arm. Another strike came too close to his throat.

At one time, Rion had considered letting another take his life. But that part of him was long gone. Buried. Dead. If they wanted to claim his life, they’d have to be strong enough to do it. None had ever come close.

Rion planted a knee in the male’s ribs and shoved him to the ground. Rion drew his sword and lashed out, relishing the feel of his blade cutting through another’s flesh.

The male struck at him again and Rion returned the blow. Again and again and again. They moved and clashed and danced.

Those left of his warriors rejoined the fray, likely violating their commander’s wishes to take Rion down one on one. Hecaught them with the loose particles floating through the air. The sand raced up their legs, wrapped around their torsos and arms, then dove down the warriors’ throats.

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