Lies of Murk by Eva Chase
19
Talia
By lunchtime, my foot is still sore. When one of the Murk stops by my hovel to tell me that Orion wants to see me, I limp over on wobblier legs than usual, both because of the pain and my apprehension.
The Murk king is sitting off to the side of the dais with a spread of food and Madoc beside him. Orion doesn’t seem to pay much attention to me as I make my way slowly over, but Madoc’s gaze tracks my movements.
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asks in the low, hoarse voice that often has a strange gentleness to it.
It’s hard to appreciate that gentleness when he’s sitting next to the man who tormented me so gleefully yesterday.
I sink down at the edge of the platform a careful distance from both of them. “Just the same old hurt, acting up a little more than usual today. It happens sometimes.” Definitely not because I was interrupted in the middle of arranging my escape.
Orion looks at me then, but only to nod in acknowledgment as if nothing at all horrible has passed between us. He motions to the food. “Help yourself. We don’t want you wasting away.”
Why, because then he wouldn’t be able to pick any more thoughts out of my brain?
I bite back the snarky remark and pick up a stuffed pepper that fits easily in my hand. I’m not feeling particularly hungry, but I’ll eat if it stops him thinking about other things he’d want me to do… and ways of forcing me into doing them.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Orion to reveal his reason for calling me here, but he simply makes casual conversation about the day-to-day activities in the Refuge with Madoc and a couple of other fae who pass by. Maybe he simply wanted to confirm that I would come when called.
And to observe me up close. Is he checking for signs of hostility or rebellion after yesterday’s spectacle? Waiting to see if I’ll volunteer more information to try to avoid it happening again?
Isthere anything I can volunteer that wouldn’t hurt anyone but would put on a show of cooperating to buy me more time? I mull it over as I eat in wary bites, but I’m afraid even the details that seem innocuous to me might turn out to hurt the fae of the seasons in the long run. I’ve already inadvertently helped this vicious king far more than I’d ever have wanted to.
As I get to the point where I’m not sure I can force myself to swallow anything else, Orion turns to me abruptly with an audible sniff and a twitch of his tail where it’s curved across the platform at his side. “You’re getting pretty rank,” he says in an offhand tone. “You haven’t had a proper wash since you got here, have you?”
Shame prickles across my face even as my hackles rise. It’s not my fault the only bathroom I have access to is a public-style restroom without any bathing equipment. I’ve been making do the best I can wiping myself down by the sinks.
“No,” I say stiffly. “I didn’t know there was anywhere where I could.”
Orion snaps his fingers at Madoc. “You’re not so fresh yourself. Why don’t you take her down to the waterfall, and you can both get the grime off you. I’ve got to keep some kind of standards for the company I keep.” He smirks, and I can’t tell how much he’s actually bothered by our state of cleanliness and how much he’s just enjoying badgering us about it.
Madoc seems to study his king for a moment before offering a mild smile in return. “Of course. The waterfall shouldn’t be busy at this time of day.”
A waterfall… down here? That doesn’t make much sense. Does this mean I’m actually getting to go outside? Is Orion giving me more leeway now that he’s searched my mind?
I don’t dare appear too eager about the prospect in case they pick up on my ulterior motives. When Madoc motions for me to follow him, I limp along, still slowed by the ache in my foot. He glances down at my boots as we reach the tunnel. “You’re sure you’re all right to walk?”
“What’s the alternative?” I ask. “I don’t need to be carted around like I’m helpless. As long as I can walk, I will.”
“Fair enough.”
We walk through the station and into the next tunnel. A few other fae pass us. When they’ve moved on far enough that I can no longer hear them, Madoc speaks again, in a lower voice even softer than usual.
“How are you doing otherwise? Are you having any lingering effects from the magic Orion used on you yesterday?”
A lump rises in my throat before I can catch it. I don’t like how much relief I get from the concern in his voice, from the possibility that someone here might give a crap what happens to me beyond my usefulness to their war. That relief doesn’t do me any good.
Maybe Madoc has gone out of his way to help me settle in and understand things more than the rest of his kind, but that doesn’t mean I can trust him. He’s still on Orion’s side.
My head and really everything except my foot and my emotions feel just fine now. “No,” I say. “But it wasn’t exactly enjoyable while it was happening.” I hesitate. “Is he going to do it again?”
I’m not sure whether Madoc would tell me the truth even if he knew. He glances away, swiping his hand across his mouth with an uncomfortable expression. “If he thinks he needs to. I’ve been talking to him about it, encouraging him to give you space to open up more… naturally. Like I’ve said, he sees his goals so close within his grasp, and he’s gotten impatient. I’ll do what I can.”
Which might be not much at all. I swallow thickly and resist the urge to hug myself.
I have to get out of here. If this waterfall doesn’t help with that, then maybe I can find another moment to work on the air vent today. I could go in the middle of the Murk’s “night” while they’re sleeping. Whatever it takes, as much as my arms can handle.
Partway down another tunnel, Madoc pushes open the door on a hovel built against the wall that I took for another house. Instead, it leads to a passage that was clearly fae-made rather than human.
The cement of the walls gives way to natural rock in a winding passage that rises a little upward and then dips down again, my hopes lifting and falling with it. The air is chillier here, the few specks of artificial light that glimmer on at our movements showing me only the outline of Madoc’s form a couple of steps ahead of me.
Then the passage widens abruptly with a warble of sound. Water tumbles down into a sort of trough along a stretch of wall maybe twenty feet long. Shelves carved into the opposite wall hold folded towels and bars of soap. There’s a bin in the corner heaped with used towels that I guess Murk from the Refuge must launder periodically like they have my clothes.
There are a few fae standing on the dry side of the room, just finishing getting dressed. At the sight of Madoc and maybe some gesture from him I don’t pick up on, they toss their towels into the bin and scurry away at once.
I tread farther into the room cautiously. Warmth wafts off the falling water, its spray almost pleasant where it flecks my skin. A drain at ankle height sucks away the water in the trough before it can get close to overflowing.
“Where does this all come from?” I ask.
“There’s an underground stream,” Madoc explains. “It runs alongside one of the active subway lines, close enough for the heating systems to warm the water in this area. We simply diverted it a little.” He shoots me a smile as if hoping to see I’m as pleased with that fact as he is.
I’d like it more if it wasn’t just one more feature of what to me is a prison. “Definitely useful,” I say, since he seems to expect a response.
“We won’t be disturbed while we’re here. You can take as long as you’d like. A warm soak might do your foot some good too.”
Madoc says that and then kicks off his shoes. He goes through the motions so casually but quickly that I don’t totally register that he’s undressing until he’s tugged off his socks as well and is reaching for the hem of his shirt.
I back up a step, my face flaring. “I, ah—I’d rather wash alone.”
Madoc blinks at me as if it hadn’t occurred to him that I’d object. “You can leave your undergarments on. I will too. It won’t be any more exposed than if you were at a swimming pool.”
The mention of swimming pools makes me think of the saunas in Sylas’s castles—where I wore absolutely no clothes, and where I enjoyed August’s company very much. Those memories make me feel more uncomfortable about this situation rather than less.
When I still don’t move, Madoc’s mouth forms an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry. Orion wouldn’t want you this far from the main areas of the Refuge unmonitored. I have no intention of gawking.”
As if to emphasize that statement, he turns his back to me and continues stripping. I turn away from him too before I see any more skin exposed. I walk a little farther down the room, putting a good ten feet between us.
It won’t be that bad, will it? I’ll leave my bra and panties on like he said; I won’t be anywhere near him. We’ll just ignore each other and get clean, and then this will be over with. I can pretend he isn’t even here.
I might not trust him, but since I’ve arrived here, he’s never imposed on me physically, and he’s had plenty of opportunities when he could have if he’d wanted to. I have to admit that even if I don’t trust him in general, I can’t picture the man who just apologized for the lack of privacy forcing himself on me in any way.
My nerves start to settle. I pull off my boots and take off the borrowed shirt and sweatpants. After my work on the bolts in the air vent cover, my arms look wirier than I’m used to, the thin muscles a little more defined.
Grabbing a bar of soap, I walk over to the falling water. The abrupt hiss of it to my right tells me Madoc has already stepped under it. Without glancing his way, I clamber into the trough and duck my head under the torrent.
Despite my situation and how many fears I’m holding in, there’s something amazing about the rush of warm water over my mostly bare skin. It feels so comforting and almost normal. I lean into it, closing my eyes and just absorbing the heat and the soothing flow for a minute.
But I don’t want to linger here very long. Wielding the soap, I scrub my face and body as quickly as I can. It gives off a light floral scent that reminds me of the summer realm with a jab of homesickness. As the bubbles are sucked away into the drain, I work more foam into my hair. I haven’t been able to do much with it in the sinks, and the feeling of the strands turning squeaky clean is a relief all on its own.
Is it wrong to get any enjoyment out of this place? I have to think I need to take whatever strength I can from the few parts that aren’t horrible. If having this moment makes it easier for me to focus on escape afterward, then it’s working in my favor even if I’m here on Orion’s orders.
As I stand in the water for several more seconds after the soap has all been washed away, Madoc’s voice reaches me. “I’m glad you got to see that we do have a few luxuries here.”
My eyes pop open. He’s still standing several feet across the room from me, out of the water now with a towel he’s rubbing over his pale hair, his back to me like before. But he must have picked up on my relaxed state one way or another.
I hadn’t meant to look at him at all while he was partly undressed, but something about his comment—about the idea that even the highest Murk see something like this room as a luxury rather than a basic necessity, and what that says about the lives they’ve been forced to lead—sharpens my attention just for that moment.
The toned muscles flex all across his shoulders and back, but I don’t find myself admiring them. No, the moment I focus on his body, my gaze is drawn to the flecks and lines—some white enough to stand out against his already pale skin, some a deeper pink—that mark nearly every inch of him. It takes a moment before understanding clicks in my head.
They’re scars. He must have a few dozen of them just on his back and arms, which I’ve never seen before either thanks to the long-sleeved shirts he’s always worn around me. More scars mottle his calves and knees beneath his damp boxer shorts. I’d noticed a few around his face in the past, but maybe he used to have more there too and simply put more work into healing the cuts and scratches that would be most visible when he was clothed.
The question spills out. “What happened to you?”
Madoc jerks around, dropping the towel to his shoulders. The folds of fabric partly cover his well-built chest, but what I can see of it has plenty of scars too, including a long, wide one that makes it look as if someone nearly carved through his ribs.
“What do you mean?” he asks, his stance tensing.
I step out of the water and feel abruptly naked. As I hurry to grab a towel of my own, I motion toward him, averting my eyes before I’ve stared for too long. “All those scars. How did you get them?”
It occurs to me a second later that the question is pretty personal, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’ve been forced to have my mind wrenched right open for his king to stare at—he can forgive a few prying questions in return.
Madoc wipes the towel across his torso and grabs his shirt. “I don’t see how it matters.”
That answer tells me immediately that the fae of the seasons weren’t responsible. If he could blame it on their cruelty, he would have in an instant.
My mind trips back to the conversation I had with the Murk woman at the food table this morning.
“I heard that Orion put you through a lot when you were working your way up to being one of his main ‘knights’,” I say. “What exactly did he do to you? Is that where the scars came from?”
“I said it doesn’t matter,” Madoc replies, the hoarseness in his voice thickening.
I wrap the towel around myself like a dress, covering me from my chest to my knees, and turn to face him. “It matters to me. You want me to support him and his war. You want me to help all the fae here. How am I supposed to trust you if you’re going to clam up the second I ask anything hard?”
Madoc glowers at me in his shirt and boxers. It’s the first time I’ve seen him aim any negative emotion my way since our first conversation when I woke up in the Refuge. My back stiffens, but then he’s glancing away. A ragged sigh slips out of him.
He drags his gaze back to me, crossing his arms. “It wasn’t anything all that unusual. Orion tests the loyalty of anyone who wants to play a larger role at his side. You’ve already seen that.”
“And testing your loyalty meant cutting you up all over your body?”
“I tried too young,” Madoc says. “I didn’t know what I was doing, and I had to be taken down a peg more than once. They needed to be sure of me. But I could have left any time I decided to. I didn’t have to take on the dangerous jobs, or put up with being shoved around, or fight when I was called on to. I wanted to, so that he’d see I was stronger than all of that.”
“And you really think that’s okay?” I demand. “To beat up on—what—a teenager? To send you off to get hurt, just because he could? He probably laughed the whole time, watching you take it. He made you kill someone like he did with Bren the other day, didn’t he? Rip apart another Murk, just because he likes seeing people being torn to pieces.”
Madoc’s eyes flash. “You want to talk about enjoying ripping people apart? Do you know why I was fending for myself like that at all? What you’d see if you found my chair in the vault of memories? The fae of the Mists you still want to protect, that you seem to think are somehow better than the man you’re complaining about—a squad of the raven shifters tore my parents to pieces.”
My frustration flames out. “What?”
He turns away, raking his hand through his hair, but the pain is clear in his voice. “All we were doing was living on the fringes of the Mists. It wasn’t easy—there wasn’t much food to scavenge and there were beasts to fend off—but it was nice being a bit nearer to the Heart. My parents could use a little magic. I remember being able to feel it, distant but… there.”
The hint of awe in his tone at the memory makes my own heart squeeze. He misses it, even with the monstrous Heart that Orion has created right here.
“And then one day my parents came running,” Madoc goes on. “A sentry had spotted them—a squad of Unseelie was on the way. We ran for the portals, but there wasn’t enough time. I watched one of the ravens chop my father’s head right off his body and ram it into a tree branch like a trophy. My mother managed to push me through to the human world a second before they caught her too. The way she screamed…”
My stomach lurches. I can picture the scene far too clearly. My voice comes out thin. “I’m sorry.”
Madoc just shrugs. “I’m lucky they didn’t kill me too. I had no idea where I was, and I was a child and all tangled up in fear and guilt over leaving my parents—I stumbled into a carnival that was going on in with all kinds of humans around. If the ravens came looking for me there, I was lucky that a Murk who was passing by happened to notice me first. She brought me to the orphanage. I stayed there until I was old enough that I could convince them to let me leave, and then I traveled straight here. I’d heard about Orion and what he was trying to do. I wanted to be part of it.”
Silence falls between us. I don’t know what to say. I’m aching from throat to gut, and Madoc doesn’t look as if he’s feeling much better.
How much of that did he even want to tell me? He’s avoided mentioning it before.
“I’ve never denied that the Seelie and the Unseelie can be awful,” I say finally. “That doesn’t mean I can’t hate seeing Orion treat you or the other Murk awfully too.”
“It isn’t all awful,” Madoc says. “You know that. And it’ll be amazing when we’ve seen his plans through. There always has to be some sacrifice along the way.”
“But… this much?”
“What exactly would you have me do differently?” he demands. “Walk away? I spent decades proving myself—what the hell was the point in enduring all that if I’m only going to toss the reward aside?”
I pause and then venture, “It just doesn’t always seem to me like getting to stand beside him is such a reward.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. Madoc is the one who breaks away first.
“Get dressed,” he says brusquely, reaching for his pants. “We should get you back to the Refuge, where you’ll find there are hundreds of fae who’re a lot better off having Orion ruling over them than we ever were before.”
