Page 7 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
Drystan hesitates, and his eyes are locked on me as he speaks. He just can’t seem to bear to talk civilly with Caed, and at any other time, I’d find it funny.
“Jaro, Lorcan, Wraith, and Prince Dare are near me, along with another I don’t recognise. We’re in cages, and there are aquatic animal auras far beneath us, so I assume we’re?—”
“Under the archway.” I rub at my eyes, trying to envision how to get to them. “Then that solves it. I’ll fly up?—”
“You just flew for the first time today,” Drystan reminds me. “And judging by how stiffly you’re moving, you won’t be doing it again for a while, either.” He pauses, giving me a look that lets me know all of my careful efforts to hide the throbbing of my shoulders have been in vain. “Fomorian, rub her back or she won’t be able to move in the morning.”
“No.” I jerk away from Caed reflexively, almost tripping over a crate. “I’ll be fine.”
I would rather ache than have Caed at my back. I need his help; that doesn’t mean I can forget…Swallowing the memory, I shake my head again.
Drystan isn’t so easily appeased. “Rhoswyn, your muscles?—”
“I’m immortal. I will heal.” I’m pretty sure he’s said the same words to me before. “Besides, aches and pains are nothing.” I dealt with worse every day I thought I was human. “Now, back to getting you out of there.” I sit on the crate I just fell over, shoulders slumping as I turn to Prae. “You’re an inventor. Do you have anything that could help us get up there?”
The Fomorian princess shrugs as she works on striking a fire. “Funnily enough, my workshop is in Fellgotha. What about you, all-powerful Goddess? Is there nothing up those frilly sleeves?”
“We’re all in iron cages,” Drystan dismisses. “Rose’s powers can’t do anything. If you let her anywhere near us, she’ll just get sick. Which is why it would be more sensible for her to head back to the Spring Court and use Aiyana’s vow to force Spring to launch a counterattack.”
I shake my head. “Eero has too many hostages for that to be an effective option, and I refuse to kill my own people in a pointless war.”
“Then you’re playing right into his hands.” Drystan tuts under his breath. “As queen, you are going to have to send fae to die at some point.”
“Yes,” I admit, swallowing. “But Eero isn’t trying to invade the rest of Faerie; Elatha is. It makes sense to deal with the bigger threat before?—”
“You need his army—the Summer Court army—remember?”
Cradling his head in my lap, I let my eyes fall closed as I fight not to let the impossibility of the situation overtake me. Talking with Drystan is getting me nowhere.
“Maeve, I need you to stake out the dungeon where they are,” I say at last. “Try to find us a way in. Search for Bree, Bram, and Kitarni while you’re there.”
The warrior queen will enjoy the challenge.
“Rhoswyn, Bram is—” Drystan’s voice has a note of sorrow to it that I just can’t stand.
So I don’t let him finish the sentence. “I need to rest?—”
Caed interrupts then, his voice quiet. “You haven’t eaten since this morning.”
I’m surprised he noticed. He searches amongst the bags for something, and when he returns, he’s holding out some strips of dried meat like a peace offering.
“It’s not much, but you need it.”
Drystan is silent, and I get the sense it’s because he’s unwilling to agree with the Fomorian, even on this. I take the food silently, chewing it slowly as I watch Prae and Caed work together to set up two bed rolls.
“I’ll take first watch,” Caed says, and when I frown, he continues, “We’ll make a plan when your ghost gets back with the information we need.”
Prae is already tucked into her bedroll, her silhouette rising and falling with even breaths, though whether she’s actually asleep or feigning it, I can’t tell.
The door slams shut after Caed, and Drystan takes that as his cue.
“Rhoswyn,” he begins.
I hesitate, debating whether to remove my tattered dress or not. In the end, I decide to leave it. I don’t have anything else to wear, and even if Prae decided to lend me something, she’s far taller and less busty than I am. I guess I’m stuck in a ruined gown for now.
“Rose,” Drystan tries again, but I sigh, setting him down on the crate above my bedroll, and slip between the covers instead. “Huntress, please, look at me.”
I’m tired, bone-weary, and I don’t have the energy to argue with him. Perhaps all of that is conveyed in the heavy-lidded look I finally grace him with. His mouth twitches with sympathy.
