Lies of Murk by Eva Chase
11
Talia
Imeander around the outer portion of the maintenance room for several minutes, acting as if I’m just exploring, listening hard for any sign that I’m not alone. I didn’t pass any fae during the last part of my walk here. I can’t hear anything but the thumping of my pulse.
Of course, the rat shifters have been able to hide their presence from all the other fae in the past, so I can’t assume my senses will be enough to notice them.
Madoc seems to turn up pretty often when I’m around. Is that just coincidence, or has he been following me? I try a little experiment, letting my warped foot snag on a pipe and toppling onto the ground. I suck in my breath and swear, gripping my knee as if it’s badly hurt, though I only banged it a little.
No one leaps from the shadows to come to my aid. The room around me remains silent. After a few more minutes, I feel confident enough to stand up and weave through the machines to the one beneath the air vent.
I’m going to have to risk this move eventually. I’ll never be totally sure that I’m alone. If they catch me at this, well, can they really blame me for wanting to get out?
I focus on the thought of sucking fresh air into my lungs, hearing Corwin’s voice through our bond, seeing the blue sky again. But once I’m settled into a secure position on the knobby top of the machine with the vent at shoulder height, I have to let the uneasy images of what Orion and his followers might do to me for my disobedience rise up.
It’s fear and defiance that fuel my ability to manipulate bronze.
Unfortunately, I’m not exactly an expert on tools. I can’t remember if I’ve ever held a wrench before—I watched Dad use one doing minor repairs around the house now and then, but my impressions of how exactly it’s shaped are vague.
I study the bolts, picturing how I’ll need the tool to grip their heads, and hold that image in my mind as I grip the bracelet Sylas gave me. “Fee-doom-ace-own,” I murmur as quietly but forcefully as I can, willing the metal to shift to match the imagined tool.
The bracelet releases my wrist and straightens into the approximate shape, a long handle with a rounded head. The opening that’s meant to wrap around the bolts proves to be too small the first time—I can’t get it around them at all. When I encourage it wider, it slips right over them. Gritting my teeth, I repeat the true name once more, nudging it just a tiny bit smaller again and ignoring the splinter of a headache that’s just starting to pierce my forehead.
This time, the tool catches on the bolt head and holds there. But that wasn’t even the hardest part.
I wrap both sets of fingers around the handle and yank—then yank harder. It takes so much effort the muscles in my arms burn before I feel the bolt budge just a bit. I catch my breath and haul on it again.
It takes a long time before I’ve loosened that first bolt enough that I could remove it from the vent cover. I’ve stopped every few minutes to rest and listen for any approaching figures, but those breaks haven’t reduced the strain by much. When I finally feel the bolt totally give, my shoulders and biceps are throbbing. I’m not sure I could have kept it up much longer anyway.
I tug the bolt out just to confirm that I can and then slip it back into the hole so that it’s not obvious I’ve loosened it. Then, with the ache of the workout radiating through my body, I contemplate the other seven bolts holding the vent in place.
I don’t think I can tackle more than one a day. So, I’m spending one more week here at the very least, and that’s assuming I’m able to come and work on them every day uninterrupted. I swallow thickly.
How long is left until the next full moon? How many more Unseelie will freeze to death in the curse’s grasp before then?
What if Orion launches the next part of his war before I can get out of here?
There’s nothing I can do about that. I’ll just keep coming back when I can and giving it my best shot.
I push back the nagging reminder in the back of my head that I don’t even know if this air vent will give me a clear passage to the outside world. It’s the only chance I have.
My skull prickles with a renewed headache when I transform the wrench back into a bracelet—one that hopefully looks almost identical to the one I was wearing before—but it fades quickly as I limp along the tracks. Which is good, because I’ve only just emerged into the nearest station when one of the Murk comes hustling over to me.
Not just any of them. It’s Bren, his eye socket still mottled purple and brown with bruising, scabs mottling his cheeks from Colby’s scratches. When he opens his mouth, I realize he must have lost a tooth in the fight. There’s an obvious gap.
And the king he fought so hard for hasn’t let the Refuge’s healer fix any of that. Maybe Orion wanted to leave the superficial wounds as a testament to the kind of devotion he expects.
“Orion wants you to attend to him,” Bren says, a little breathlessly. “You should hurry—it took me a while to find you.”
There’s a hint of irritation and a question in that statement, but I pretend I don’t hear the latter part. “Of course,” I say, the battered face in front of me also a stark reminder of just how careful I have to be around the Murk’s king. “Is he in the throne room like usual?”
Bren bobs his head and trails behind me as I hobble on through the station and into the tunnel behind. I’d point out to him that I can’t walk any faster and he’s welcome to carry me if he’s so impatient, but I’m a little worried he’d take me up on that suggestion, and I don’t actually want his hands on me.
I guess I can’t blame him for wanting to be sure he’s completely fulfilled his orders. He’s even more aware of his king’s temperament than I am.
“I saw your fight with Colby,” I venture, keeping my tone mild. “Are you all right?”
“I’m proud that I proved I can stand with my king,” the young fae man says brusquely.
Something about the boyish smoothness of his face and the determination in his tone reminds me of Jamie. I’m not sure Bren is any older than my little brother in fae terms. My hand drifts to my bracelet, thinking of the spell August cast on it to connect me to my brother. Does the fact that it hasn’t alerted me mean Jamie’s still safer than I am right now, or has Orion’s magic disrupted that spell like my bond with Corwin?
I glance down at my hands, and my heart stutters. My fingertips are stained dark with dirt and grease from clambering over the machines and working away at the old bolt. Bren doesn’t appear to have noticed, but I doubt Orion’s sharp eyes will miss that detail.
“I, um—I have to use the bathroom,” I say quickly. “I’ll go see Orion right after. But you can wait if you want to make sure.”
Bren frowns, but he walks with me to the nearest bathroom and only sighs once while he stands by the doorway. I use the toilet just so he can hear the flush and then scrub my hands as quickly as I can at the sink.
When I’m done, the tips are ruddy, but I’ve managed to wash off most traces of my work. Any lingering smudges I can attribute to feeling my way along the walls in the shadowy tunnels.
When we finally reach the throne room, Orion doesn’t look particularly concerned about the delay. He glances over with a nonchalant wave and goes back to talking with two fae women who keep bobbing their heads beseechingly as they speak to him. But after I’ve sat down a short distance from the throne and Bren has vanished, the Murk king cocks his head at me. “It took you some time getting here.”
I shrug as if I assume it isn’t any big deal. “I was wandering around the Refuge, getting to know this place—since it’s my new home, for now at least. It’s pretty big.”
“It is. I’ve put a lot of work into making this colony a city in itself.” Orion smiles and waves off the women. Sitting down in his throne, he beckons me closer so I’m practically sitting at his feet. His tail flicks in the air just inches from my arm.
I don’t enjoy having to gaze up at him like some kind of pet, but I suspect he wouldn’t take it well if I insist on standing and putting myself on his level.
“How long will we be staying in the Refuge?” I ask, wondering if I can get more information out of him if I come at it from a different angle. “It’s impressive, but I can’t pretend I wouldn’t like to be back in the open air in the Mists. That’s the goal, right?”
“It is.” Orion folds his hands in his lap and stretches out his legs. “But there’s no rushing a revolution. We’ll know when the time is best to strike.”
It sounds like even he doesn’t know when he plans to attack. Hopefully that means it won’t be incredibly soon.
I want to know as soon as he makes any decisions about that. I weigh my words and then say, “Is there any way I could help? There are a lot of fae in the Mists who’ve treated me badly. I feel like I should be there, standing up to them.”
Orion’s expression doesn’t appear to change, but a shiver runs over my skin as if his attention has become more penetrating. “Starting to come around, are you?” he says casually.
I motion to the room around me. “It’s easy to see that the Murk are more than I was led to believe, and obviously you have some legitimate issues with the other fae. You’ve got just as much a right to the Mists as they do. I spent too long in their world locked away, not able to contribute much… I don’t want it to be that way again.”
“You know I can’t let you leave the Refuge until there’s no chance that raven you’re bound to could sense anything through you that would damage our efforts.” Orion considers me as if evaluating whether leaving this place was my intended goal.
It’s easy to nod as if it doesn’t matter to me, because I never expected he’d let me wander around in the human world right now anyway. “I understand. I’m thinking more about the preparations down here, and being ready to step up once you set off for the Mists.”
“Hmm.” He taps his lips. “Interesting when that’s nearly the reason I called you here. I’d like to rub some salt into the wound—only figuratively, for now. I’m sending a letter into the Mists to remind the fae there how much they’ve lost. I’d like to add a little of your blood to it so they can be sure we do actually have you. Will you volunteer it?”
Is it really voluntary when his authority and brutality are hanging over me? I don’t feel like I have much more choice than the two men who fought to the death yesterday must have.
You don’t need to do that, I want to say. They already know I’m with the Murk. But then I’d have to reveal how I communicated with Whitt.
And besides, Orion would probably want to taunt them with my blood regardless of whether they already know.
“Of course,” I say, with more confidence than I feel. “You’ve offered me so much here; it’s the least I can do in return. Should I do it now?”
He gets up and motions for me to follow him. There’s a sheet of paper sitting in one of the little alcoves that I found empty last night. I was hoping that I’d be able to read some of the message he’s sending, but it’s in the same odd lettering as many of Whitt’s books, which wakes up my headache when I look at it for more than a few seconds.
Is there any way I can pass on a message of my own with this act? What message should I even pass on?
Orion doesn’t give me much time to think about it. He produces a small pocket knife and reaches for my hand. I let him take it and prick my forefinger.
He keeps his fingers around my wrist as he brings my hand to the paper. I press down, leaving a slight smear, pushing just a little harder one, two, three, four times. I’m not sure it’ll say much to my men, but I want them to know I’m thinking of the four mates I left behind, that I’m still enough in my right mind to do so. That I’m figuring out a way back to them.
Orion intones a few syllables to close my finger. He studies the bloody mark at the bottom of the page for long enough that my skin starts to creep. But when he turns back to me, he’s smiling.
“Very good. I clearly made you well. If you want to be useful, I’m sure I can find a few more jobs for you. Let’s get you started right now.”
