Page 32 of Children of Fallen Gods

“Aefe,” he repeated, slowly, as if my name was wine he was rolling over his tongue. His eyes were ringed with darkness, his gaze tired, but somehow that only made his stare more intense. I felt like I was being seen — beingexamined— more carefully than anyone had in a very, very long time.

A shiver ran up my spine. I could not tell whether I found it intriguing or uncomfortable.

“And what is yours?” I asked.

“Caduan Iero,” he said.

Iero. I did not know the surname, but then, it had been such a long time since I had needed to know the court structures of other houses, let alone one as small as the House of Stone.

“I’m glad we got the chance to meet, Caduan Iero,” I said, quietly. “For a time I wasn’t sure we would.”

Something I could not read flickered across his face.

“Stay,” he said.

“My father would prefer if I did not.”

“But I would prefer if you did. You were the one who brought me here. And you should hear why.” And then he added, “Please.”

I hesitated.

I was already dreading the look on my father’s face when he found me here, and the way he would react if I had to explain why. But there was something in Caduan’s face, something buried beneath his odd, impassive mannerisms, that held a mirror up to my worst fears.

Nothing sadder, than to be so alone.

I sat down beside the bed.

“Fine,” I said.

* * *

My father did not come alone.Siobhan was with him, and so was Klein, the Sidnee master of war and spycraft. All three of them gave me odd looks when they entered the room to find me already here. Siobhan, a carefully hidden glance of confusion. Klein, a not-at-all hidden stare of pure distaste (which, as always, I gladly returned). And my father, a barely-visible pause with slightly narrowed eyes. It lasted less than a second, and yet that disapproval sank to the bottom of my stomach like a stone.

If Caduan saw any of it, he did not show it. And similarly, he showed no signs of pain, even though I was certain that he was in agony — the agony of his ripped apart body, and the agony of his utter, sudden aloneness. My father, Klein, and Siobhan all offered their solemn condolences, and Caduan barely reacted.

“We are deeply saddened by what has happened to the House of Stone, Caduan Iero,” my father said. “It is the utmost tragedy, and we will never allow it to happen to another House.”

Caduan barely looked at him. “Did you go?” he asked. “Did you see?”

“We did,” Siobhan said, quietly.

“There is nothing left.”

“There is not.”

“You told me it was humans,” I murmured. “But I thought… that cannot be.”

Could it?

That question hung in the air, heavy and pungent.

We all looked at Caduan, waiting, but he stared past us, to the far wall of the room — as if he could see through it, to the horizon beyond.

“Did you know,” he said, “that there are no creatures in the world more sensitive to the circumstances around them than the Stoneheld Atrivez butterfly?”

My father’s brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

“They are one of only a very small number of Fey-dwelling creatures that have an inherent sensitivity to magic. Trace amounts, but enough to anticipate things that go beyond the typical senses of an insect. As a result, they are difficult to kill. They have an explosive population in Atecco, because few predators can catch them. The faintest, distant hint of danger, and they just fly away.”

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