Page 38 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
“Like someone’s covered the entrance in shadow,” I say to myself, striding up the tunnel.
“Morgana, it’s not safe!” Mal calls after me. He huffs and follows me, along with some of the other rebels.
“I know who this is,” I say to them. “I don’t think I’m in danger from him. But when we get out there, you need to run and get Leon and Harman. Do one of you have a light?”
A female rebel nods, holding up her palm to show me a small flame with a determined look on her face.
“You’re sure you’ll be safe?” Mal asks. “Even with…” he trails off, but we exchange a meaningful look. He’s thinking about my lack of power.
“Yes,” I say firmly.
By the time we reach the shack at the tunnel entrance, there’s no mistaking the voice—or the way the loose, Hallowbane accent quivers with rage.
“Prince Leonidas! Harman Sandale! Show yourselves, you cowards!”
“Now,” I whisper, and we slip out of the outhouse into the darkness. I hear, rather than see, Mal and the rebels dart away into the streets of Tread, a pin prick of red flame guiding them. I try to summon a spark of my own, but it takes huge effort. In the end, I only manage enough to gauge the general direction of our visitors before it blinks out of existence.
“Hello, Mr. Wadestaff,” I call into the darkness. “Good to see you again—or it would be, if you lifted these damn shadows.”
Just like that, daylight floods the clearing, the darkness scuttling away, finding refuge under the trees and eaves of Tread’s buildings. It’s a relief to be able to see again, and I level a calm stare at Corrin Wadestaff, who’s standing beside two huge men ramming a felled tree trunk into the stone.
The crime lord glares back.
“Your Highness.” It comes out more like a growl than a greeting as Corrin holds up a hand to halt the banging. I’ve seen Wadestaff irritated in the past, but he’s positively seething now. His eyes burn with fury, and there’s a general air of instability about him, like a man pushed to the edge.
Usually, he looks very dapper in a neat three-piece suit. He’s still wearing gentlemen’s gloves, but beneath his coat, he’s wearing just a rumpled shirt, top buttons unfastened, and strands of his long black hair have fallen loose, hanging around his face. Dark circles underscore his eyes, and suddenly I wonder if I reallyamsafe with this man.
“Where are they?” he demands, his voice low with threat.
I raise my chin, focusing on not seeming intimidated. “Harman and the prince are on their way.”
This, at least, appears to calm him a little. He swallows and nods, properly taking in the sight of me for the first time.
“It’s good to see you alive, Your Highness,” he says. “Last thing I heard, that didn’t seem very likely.”
CORRIN
I scan my eyes over Trova’s true queen, reading her. It’s a skill I’ve honed to a knife’s point over the years—picking up the little clues and hints a person drops before they even open their mouths. Morgana Angevire looks different from the last time I saw her—thinner, paler. The obvious signs of many weeks spent locked away in a dark place. But there’s more. Her shoulders are rounded inward, and there’s a new wariness in her expression, as if she feels more than ever that she must protect herself from the world.
And then there’s the eyes. I know that look. It’s the one you wear when you’ve seen things you shouldn’t, things you’ll never forget. Haunted. That’s the word for them. They look at me and also through me at the same time.
I’ve worn that look myself. And recent events have threatened to bring it back.
Footsteps thud against the grassy ground, and I raise an eyebrow at the princess.
“Sounds like the calvary’s coming.”
Sandale—I’ve learned his full name since we met last—and the fae prince don’t come alone. They bring with them what must be a band of fellow rebels and…a dog, of all things? I squint at it as it paces ahead of them. The animal stops beside the princess and nuzzles the back of her hand. Its shadows are off. Is itglamoured?
Whatever. It’s not my concern right now. I’m here to demand justice. I send my shadows creeping back across the earth. They stay low to the ground, not blocking anyone from seeing as they surround the group. The others draw their weapons, wary as they eye the black shapes dancing between them.
“If you want to speak with us, Wadestaff, there are politer ways to go about it,” Prince Leonidas says calmly, and I snort. The time for politeness has long passed. And they’re the reason why.
“Itoldyou,” I say through gritted teeth. “I told you what murdering that bearer would do.”
My plans to dispose of the body fell apart when I realized just howmanybodies there were—how many clerics the prince had bled out on my streets. None of the others were as high-level as the bearer, but there were still enough to have drawn too much attention. I should have realized sooner, should have done more…but by the time I learned the Temple had rallied to strike, it was already too late.
“They came in their hundreds to purge the city. They’re there now. Clerics setting up permanent residence so they can purify the place one neighborhood at a time. They used the cleavers for the first push, and they started with my businesses. Why do you think that is, gentlemen?”
