Page 27 of Mother of Death and Dawn

“Letting a hundred thousand Fey die on a battlefield will not change any of this,” Caduan said.

“We don’t need to let a hundred thousand Fey die,” Luia shot back. “Not if you stop refusing to utilize all of the power that we have in our possession.”

Caduan looked at me, and then looked away, as if he didn’t intend to allow himself to do so. The others were not as subtle.

Many people here treated me as if I was stupid. But I was not stupid. I understood exactly what Luia was saying. A snarl tugged at my lip without my permission. I hated how this mortal face did that—moved on its own.

“Everyone talks about her, and yet no one asks her.” Meajqa’s smile had returned. I met his stare even though the familiar shade of his gold eyes speared me with unwelcome memories. “You and I have lived the worst of them, Aefe. If you had the opportunity to punish them for what they did to you, wouldn’t you want to take it? We deserve our vengeance. Just as those who never made it out of their grasp do.”

Vengeance. The word awoke something in me, like a scent from an old memory.

“This is not about vengeance,” Caduan said, coldly.

I nearly laughed. How could he say such a thing? I understood little about mortal ways. I could not read the expressions on their faces or the inflections in their voices. But I understood vengeance, understood how hunger for it devoured all else, and I saw that hunger shining in Caduan’s eyes every time he looked at me.

Everyone wanted revenge.

Tisaanah had desired it to sear her mark into a world that refused to acknowledge her. Maxantarius had clawed for it as a means of obtaining the power he so desperately craved. The ones who came before had begged for it, too, even if those memories had long ago withered.

As Reshaye, I was nothing but wrath and desire rushing through another being’s veins. And now there was no one here but me, and that left only flesh, blood, and fury.

At least Meajqa seemed to see that in me. Perhaps because he saw it in himself, too.

“They will be punished.” Caduan’s words were quiet but full of promise. “By the time we are finished with them, the human race will be nothing but the scars they left behind. Question my methods, but do not question that.”

He wasn’t looking at Meajqa. He was looking only at me.

Footsteps rushed into the room, shattering the tense silence. A messenger leaned against the doorframe, panting.

Caduan’s face fell, as if already bracing for bad news. “What is it?”

“The wayfinder,” the messenger said. “It has been stolen.”

The room collectively muttered curses.

“How?” Luia barked. “How did we let that happen?”

“Who took it?” Caduan said. I watched his fingers curl. His face and voice were calm, but his knuckles were white.

“The humans,” the messenger said.

“Whichhumans?”

“The Threllians must have double-crossed us,” Luia muttered, but Caduan shot her a warning glance that made her go quiet.

“It was not the Threllians,” the messenger said. “It was the rebel slaves. Tisaanah Vytezic.”

I stopped breathing. The sound of Tisaanah’s name shook me. There was still a part of me that felt like a part of her. I craved the rare moments I felt close to her, and yet, the thought of her brought with it a wave of hurt, too. She was one more person who had abandoned me.

Every line of Caduan’s body tensed. He reminded me of an animal cringing in pain, trying not to let their discomfort show to predators.

“Humans absolutely cannot hold that power,” Luia said. “If they get their hands on what it leads to—”

“I know.” A muscle fluttered in Caduan’s jaw. “I know.”

“What is it?”

Even I surprised myself with the question. Everyone looked at me as if they didn’t realize I could speak.

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