RAFFERTY
“What did you see?” I question the man sitting across from me, his face covered in bruises.
“Other fae,” he insists. “But their eyes—they were silver as the moon.” As he speaks, his voice cracks beneath the weight of his emotion. If I weren’t barely clinging to my soul, I might have felt bad for the poor bastard.
But as it stands, I’m simply annoyed he isn’t being more helpful.
“Silver-eyed fae? You must be mad,” Fin replies. “They’re nothing but a legend—a myth.”
“I’m telling ye’ what I know to be true!” the man roars. “I saw them with my own eyes!” In demonstration, he opens them so wide I can damn near see into his socket.
Standing, I turn toward the door of the house. We were lucky to find this man holed up in a house just on the outside of the village that burned late last night. As it turns out, his house was hidden well enough from the fray that he must have been overlooked by Taranus’s men.
Lucky bastard indeed. Even if the bruises and empty bottles of whiskey lying around his house paint the picture of a man used to having his ass kicked. Which makes his story even less believable than silver-eyed fae.
Not that I don’t believe in them. The ancient race did exist—Ember’s friend Wally is proof of that. But for them to be in Faerie? Impossible. Though—
“Do ye’ believe his story?” Fin questions.
I shake my head. “Until proven otherwise, we have to remain focused on Taranus. What have our scouts turned up?”
Together, we step out into the clearing to survey the destruction before us. The entire village was decimated to little more than ruins. And once again, there were no survivors—other than our drunk friend inside.
“Nothing. As far as they can tell, it’s business as usual at the castle.”
“Taranus back there?”
He nods. “Though, according to our people, he has not been seen by anyone since their return.”
“Not surprising. He won’t want to appear weak.” And if what happened to Ember last night is any indication, they are both running out of time. I tighten my hands into fists at my sides. I’m going to fucking lose her.
“What do we do with him?”
I stop and turn to face the house. I could offer him sanctuary back at the Rebellion, but men like that cannot be trusted. He could run off, come across one of Taranus’s men, and give up our location without so much as a minor hesitation.
It may sound harsh: but war is war.
“Leave him.”
Fin arches a brow. “You know he will likely die. If Taranus’s men don’t get him, the creatures will.”
“He is not our concern,” I tell Fin honestly then turn back to the wreckage. I’ve walked through it countless times since I arrived this morning, and even though I continue searching for something new, something to tell us exactly what Taranus was looking for, I find nothing.
Nothing but death and ash.
Either Taranus is looking for information about me, or he’s trying to draw me out. The former is more likely given, if it were the latter, I imagine he’d have people set up to come for me.
Is this what awaits all of Faerie should we not be able to stop Taranus? Is this what is going to happen to my people? My stomach churns with unease.
And even as unthinkable as it is, I cannot help but wonder if I made a mistake bringing Ember back here. Even if we manage to save her from Taranus, the sickness is still going to take her from me.
Whereas if I’d left her, she likely would have died a quick death. No pooka abduction and torture, no more of the ugliness that accompanies war. The dark energy in me pulsates in response to my emotional turmoil, so I shove it back down. A feat that is getting more and more difficult these days.
I used to be able to shove it down far enough that I could no longer feel it—but lately—I’m losing myself.
Wanting Ember should not challenge my honor as it does because Taranus doesn’t deserve her. And the very fact that it does—that when I’m around her—the energy within me pools to the surface, is troubling.
What does it want from her?