Lies of Murk by Eva Chase
8
Talia
The disturbance starts with a few shouts that echo into the station from the nearest tunnel. There’s a strange quality to them, both exhilarated and vicious, that makes my head snap around where I was sitting near the scavenged food table eating a hasty dinner.
Several of the fae around me leave off their conversations or work to glance in the same direction. When more voices join the chorus, they slip off the platform onto the tracks and head for the tunnel.
The commotion is coming from the direction of Orion’s throne room. Uneasiness coils around my stomach as I follow the fae. I’m not sure I want to find out what’s going on, but I know I need to. I can’t afford to stay ignorant of anything that’s going on with my captors, no matter how horrible.
Maybe especially the horrible things.
In the tunnel, the orange glow of the Murk’s Heart wavers even more than usual over the many figures streaming into the throne room. I manage to slip inside among them and find a crate by the wall that I can scramble onto for a view over their heads. Keeping my balance with a hand against the cool concrete beside me, I peer over the crowd.
Orion is standing in front of his throne, his head cocked to one side with an expression I can only call cruel amusement. The lash of his tail from side to side suggests he’s not actually all that happy, though. A few of his close hangers-on have gathered around him, looking a little more alert than usual.
I don’t see Madoc among them. Stupidly, his absence sends a flash of worry through me, as if I should be concerned about whether something’s happened to him.
He’s the one who stole me from my home and my mates. But… he’s also the only one of the Murk who’s shown much concern for my well-being. I can’t help suspecting I’d be even worse off here without him.
The swarm of fae have left a small open space in front of the dais. Just a couple of Murk stand there, one with scars dappling every plane of his hardened face and another with her hair cut into a broad, bristly mohawk. A slim fae man with floppy black hair and umber skin crouches on the floor between them. I can’t see his face, but his posture is taut with terror.
“We found him crying in one of the store rooms,” the bristly woman says, her voice harsh as sandpaper. “Sniveling like an infant, when he was supposed to be bringing materials to the forges.”
Forges? I haven’t come across those yet. Is that what those lead bricks were for too?
I don’t know what they’re making, but the first place my mind goes is weapons. My muscles tense. I strain my ears to hear better over the murmuring of the crowd.
Orion steps right to the edge of the dais, looming over the three of them. His tail sweeps back and forth like the snap of a whip. “You swore to stand strong in my service, Bren. I have no need for whimperers and cowards.”
“I’m not a coward,” the floppy-haired man says in a determined youthful voice that makes me think he might not even be an adult yet by fae standards. “I—I only took a moment. Evie—she and I—we were going to be mates, but she hasn’t come back from her last scouting trip, and it’s been weeks, and I— It seems like she isn’t coming back. I won’t let it affect my work for you again!”
Orion’s lips curl with skepticism. “If it’s happened once, it can happen again. We suffer all kinds of losses under the heels of the fae of the seasons. That’s why we have to stay focused on overturning them. How can I count on you if you behave so feebly when we’re not even in the thick of a battle?”
I wince inwardly. The poor boy—he’s lost his intended mate, probably to some violent end, and he isn’t allowed to show his grief without being berated for it?
“I’ll conquer it and come out stronger,” the young man insists. “I swear it. I want to destroy every one of those bastards from the Mists.”
Orion hums to himself. “You’ve aspired to stand right beside me, Bren. I don’t think a few words are enough to convince me I should still consider you for that honor.” Even from across the room, I can see the feral gleam in his yellow eyes. “Action means so much more than words. Let’s see that strength in action now. I need to know just how dedicated you are to this war.”
Bren’s shoulders twitch, but he shoves himself to his feet. “Of course. Whatever you want, my king.”
Orion’s gaze skims over the gathered figures and lands on someone in the crowd. He raises his hand with a beckoning gesture. “Colby, you’ve been begging for more recognition lately. This is your chance to prove yourself too. Let’s see which of you is actually prepared to do whatever it takes for your people.”
An icy shiver runs down my back. What’s he talking about?
The crowd parts to allow another young man to squeeze through to the clear area in front of the dais, this one a little shorter and stouter than Bren. I can’t tell how much of that stoutness is muscle and how much fat. Bren eyes him, his hands balling into fists at his sides, and Colby juts out his jaw in defiance.
The two older fae who brought Bren in front of Orion pull back to the edge of the crowd. I catch the woman’s satisfied grin.
The other Murk gathered in the throne room start to whoop and cheer as if egging the two men on. Orion folds his arms over his chest and glowers down at Bren and Colby. “You know how it works. Only one of you can stay. You decide which that is. Or if you aren’t willing to face the challenge, you can turn tail and scamper off now.”
Bren shakes his head, though his wide eyes look panicked. Colby draws himself up taller. They start to circle each other, staring each other down. Another shiver crawls across my spine to shudder through my gut.
All at once, Colby lunges at Bren. He knocks him to the ground, punching him in the face and clawing at his neck. Bren flails at him with fists and knees, managing to roll away with blood streaking from a row of scratches across his throat. He smacks his tail into Colby’s ankles and flings himself at the other man’s legs when he wobbles.
As they roll around, clawing at and grappling with each other, the cheers of the crowd rise. Orion watches with a pleased smirk stretching across his face.
My stomach lurches queasily. My own hands clench with the urge to slap that look right off his smug face.
The two young men wrestle with each other with increasing fervor. Bren gets in a slash with his claws that rips through Colby’s shirt and spills blood down the side of his torso. Colby batters Bren’s nose hard enough for it to spurt more blood across them both. Torn hair flies up; grunts and groans echo off the high ceiling. They’re both panting raggedly between each blow. I stand rigid on the edge of the crate, my heart thudding.
Colby scrapes his claws across Bren’s cheeks and forehead deeply enough that the other man shrieks and I flinch. But then Bren whips his arms around Colby’s knee and wrenches with a wild heave and a slap of his tail against the ground. The cracking of breaking bone carries through the raucous encouragement of their audience.
Colby topples onto his back with a cry. In an instant, Bren is on him. With his face twisted into an expression that looks more beastly than human, he digs his fingers into Colby’s hair, claws splitting the scalp, and slams his opponent’s head against the hard floor. And again. And again. Blood starts to splatter the pale concrete. Colby goes limp, but Bren snarls and rams his head down even harder.
He’s going to kill him, smash his skull right in two. It’s over—can’t they see that? Isn’t this enough?
A noise of protest breaks from my throat, but it’s swallowed by the eager clamoring of the audience. Before I’ve even though about what I’m doing, I jump off the crate and throw myself into the crowd toward the fighters. If I can just get there in time, if I can make them stop—
An errant elbow clocks me in the temple. I reel to the side and push myself forward again—and firm arms catch me from behind.
Madoc’s hoarse voice reaches me, his breath warm against my ear. “You can’t do anything about it. Charging in there will only make things worse—for you and them.”
I squirm against his hold, but he pulls me right against his solid chest, his arms wrapping tighter around me. A sputter of denial escapes me. “I have to— If I just—”
“It’s already over.” He nods toward the dais. Over the heads of the crowd, I can just see Bren’s floppy hair, damp with blood, where he’s straightened up. “What’s one more dead Murk anyway?”
Madoc asks the question flippantly, but I sense a hint of bitterness in his tone. Does he really think I see things that way?
“I’ve never wanted anyone to die like that,” I say. “Colby didn’t have to. They could have ended the fight when he passed out. They could have found some other way to decide that wasn’t fighting!”
Madoc’s grip loosens just a little. He eases around enough to study my face. “It really matters that much to you?”
I glare at him. “Yes. I wouldn’t want to see even actual rats forced to tear each other to bits. I might not agree with everything the Murk have done, but I can still think you deserve better than that.” I fling my hand toward the dais.
Madoc doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that declaration. And then my attention is drawn back to the platform—to Orion, who’s bringing his hands together in a slow, emphatic clap of approval. He applauds Bren’s performance with so much enthusiasm I feel sick all over again. Then he motions the young man up beside him.
Blood is streaking down Bren’s face, and not all of it is his own. But he smiles fiercely at his king, who claps him on the back.
“You’ve shown what you’re made of,” Orion declares. “Someone fetch Nami to patch up my new knight. And get rid of the trash on the floor, will you?” He lifts his chin disdainfully toward the spot where Colby’s battered corpse is lying.
A cold wave of certainty washes over me. I swallow hard, my stance loosening enough that Madoc lets go of me completely.
There’s going to be no reasoning with Orion. He clearly doesn’t operate on reason in the first place. He enjoys violence and pain, like the worst stories told about the Murk.
It’s because of fae like him that the others hate the Murk so much. He even enjoys turning his bloodlust on his own people, fae who are desperate to serve him and please him—the fae he claims to care so much about bringing to a better world.
I can’t think of a single thing I could say to him that I’d have any hope of getting through.
My shoulders square of their own accord. Why should I even bother trying to get through to him?
I’ve spent so much of the past several months wrapping my head around different points of view and working toward compromises with people who hate me… and I’m done. This is my limit. I’ll play along to Orion’s tune as much as I have to in order to survive and get back to the people who care about me, but I won’t waste one more particle of energy on considering his warped point of view.
Ideserve more than that.
I’ll find out whatever I can about the Murk’s Heart and Orion’s plans while working toward my escape, and then I’ve got to get the hell out of this place to warn all the people he means to slaughter.
