Chained Soul by Eva Chase
2
Madoc
The sentry reaches me just as I’ve emerged from my private room. “Orion wants you,” she says, her tail twitching nervously, and darts on down the shadowed tunnel.
I was heading to the throne room to check in with my king anyway, but the fact that he’s specifically called for me, and this early in the day, sends a ripple of tension through my body. Willing my muscles to loosen, I set off to find out what news he has to share.
The everyday work of the Refuge carries on around me. I don’t catch any excited murmurs or notice any unusual movement in the same direction I’m heading.
If Orion had somehow gotten Talia back into his clutches, that news would already be buzzing through the Refuge, wouldn’t it?
I tell myself as much, but I can’t help bracing for the worst as I step through the throne room’s broad doorway, controlling my reaction in case I come face to face with the woman Orion considers his “pet” back in a cage. When I see only my king pacing the dais, no one else around other than a couple of his other knights lounging nearby and a few petitioners lingering by the walls waiting to be heard, relief washes over me. It doesn’t wipe away all of my apprehension, though.
There are other horrible developments I could encounter here. For example, Orion might have discovered proof that I’m the one who allowed Talia to flee the Refuge in the first place.
As I approach the dais, Orion keeps pacing, his tail lashing from side to side and a manic gleam in his yellow eyes that puts me even more on the alert. The other knights are keeping casual poses, but they watch our king with subtle wariness.
In the two weeks since Talia’s disappearance, with what he’s rightly assumed was the help of at least one of his subjects, Orion’s temper has been even more unpredictable than usual. To reach him, I have to walk over fresh blood stains on the floor from the servant he dispatched yesterday for not having quite a fast enough answer when questioned about Talia’s escape.
So far not just that one but five others of my fellow Murk have died instead of me for my crime. With a lot of blood spilled in the process too, although Orion’s torture didn’t convince any of them to own up to opening Talia’s cage or offering her tools. I didn’t point at any of them, but the guilt weighs on me almost as heavily as if I had.
I’d have owned up to my part and accepted my punishment if I didn’t think life would be so much worse for all the rest of our people without me here to be a voice of reason if Talia convinces the fae of the seasons to make overtures of peace.
Of course, that if is seeming increasingly unlikely. As far as I know, we haven’t received any sort of message from the Mists in those two weeks. The Seelie and Unseelie squadrons we’ve observed prowling through the human world have looked much more menacing than friendly.
Maybe it’s overly optimistic to expect Talia to sway any of the fae of the seasons out of millennia of prejudice and animosity. Maybe she never intended to speak up for us at all. It could be that all her claims of caring about the atrocities the other fae have carried out against us were a trick of her own, designed to win my sympathies so that I’d end up helping her.
My experience with the world has left me jaded enough that I’ve entertained the thought for a few minutes here and there. My sense of the woman who convinced me to take her side against my king has faded over the days without her presence. Can I really be so sure she was as genuine as I thought at the time?
But then I remember her retching as she came out of the vaulted memory of the orphanage slaughter, the defiant tremor in her voice when she told me she was willing to give the Murk the benefit of the doubt—but I should extend the same to the fae of the Mists in turn. She didn’t think she was winning me over. She thought I’d be angry that she was daring to speak honestly about her feelings.
And even if she had been manipulating me, would she really have deserved the torment Orion had planned for her?
No. I did what was right, even if my king wouldn’t see it that way. She’ll have needed time to recover and to persuade the other fae. Even her mates will probably find the idea of associating with any of the Murk a difficult pill to swallow. I can’t criticize her for not making it happen faster. How much progress have I made toward preparing my people for the possibility of negotiating a truce rather than waging war?
None at all.
I come to a halt at the base of the dais near the throne, peering up at Orion. “I was already on my way here when I heard your call. What do you need?”
Orion continues his restless trek back and forth across the platform for a few more iterations before he finally stops and turns toward me. He runs his thumb over his lips. His claws are out, and he draws a thin line that beads with blood along his mouth without seeming to notice it. Or maybe he does, and he enjoys the sensation. It’s hard to tell with Orion at the best of times, which are definitely not now.
“That Bren,” he says in his coolly offhand way. “I’ve been thinking. He made quite the disruption while we were settling my pet in. Could there have been an ulterior motive? Have you seen any reason to be suspicious of him?”
I carefully avoid mentioning that Bren didn’t cause the disruption he was involved in anywhere near as much as a couple of Orion’s lackeys set it in motion and Orion himself fanned the flames. I doubt that the young fae wanted to end up fighting to the death with one of his colleagues, even if he’s happy with the reward he earned.
A memory flickers through my mind—harsh breaths rushing from my lungs, limbs striking out to claw and snap, a fist hitting me in the throat so hard a hint of that ache remains now, even decades later. I resist the urge to touch the spot. Orion will know what I’m thinking about.
“Nothing I’ve seen from him has made me suspect he was helping her,” I say. “Do you think more of our people were involved than those you’ve already dealt with? I’d imagine by now the problem is solved.”
And you can stop slaughtering your own people out of nothing but paranoia and the sadistic enjoyment of watching them beg.
How had it taken me so long to see just how toxic Orion’s leadership is? How he breaks us as often as he builds us up? And what he’s building is a community in his image, far too close to the vicious vermin the other fae make us out to be for my comfort.
After I went through so much to earn my place in his inner circle, I never let myself look at the reality all that closely. I let myself believe this was the only way and that it would be better once we’d won back our home.
Now, with Talia’s words in the back of my head and clearer eyes, I can see that’s not true. Orion will always be as he is: a man who could gather enough power to take on the fae of the Mists and who delights in the suffering that power can bring as much as he does the hope. Possibly more in the suffering.
My king lets out a huff of breath. “I haven’t gotten concrete acknowledgement from any of the traitors. Maybe I’ve got the bastard—or bastards—that the girl twisted around her finger somehow, but maybe I haven’t. We all need to stay on guard.” He shakes a bony finger at me.
I dip my head. “Of course. I’ve been keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of rebellion. If I catch any, I’ll obviously bring the perpetrator straight to you. So far, from what I’ve seen, everyone’s hard at work preparing for the next steps in the war.”
I was hoping that statement might prompt Orion to comment on what those next steps will be now that his original plan of using Talia in our initial offense has been foiled. Instead, he wanders away from me, his gaze going distant. His Heart’s orange glow dances on the white spikes of his hair, turning them into flames.
“We’ll have the Mists,” he mutters. “We’ll crush all of them, even the little girl who’d rather be among those monsters than with us.”
I decide to prompt a little more overtly. “How soon do you expect we’ll move on the Mists? Are there any other supplies you’d like me to have our people and the other colonies gathering or making?”
Orion shakes his head. “Everything can proceed as it is. My pet’s escape changes things a little, but that only means we’ll have to wait a short while longer before the time is ripe for our attack.”
He spins abruptly toward me with another wave of his finger. “I’ve set that in motion—I’ve just sent someone to press the trigger. It should start to kick in soon. I want you to go back to your former duties, watching over the girl and the fae around her in the Mists. You may need to be there for some time, so take a day or two to prepare accordingly. You can report back as the situation evolves. We want to be ready to strike as soon as they’re at their most vulnerable.”
A chill creeps through my chest. What has he triggered? “Have you launched some early attack already?” I venture.
A sharp chuckle tumbles out of Orion. “In a way. You will need to be more cautious than ever before. They’re patrolling the fringelands much more avidly these days. There’ve already been a couple of men who haven’t made it back. But with your skills, I’m sure you can manage.”
“I’ve always been able to dodge the wolves and ravens before, even coming into the arch-lords’ domains,” I say. “I’m not worried about that. But what exactly do you want me to be watching for? Is there some sign I should anticipate?”
Orion laughs again and goes back to his pacing. “I want those pricks totally wrecked before we attack. Carved up on the inside before we slice into them from the outside. Carving her up in front of them would have done the job nice and quick, but this way should be equally effective, if slower.” He swings around toward me, his eyes even brighter than before. “The best word of advice I can give you, Madoc, is always have at least one backup plan.”
