Chapter 11

Ceven

CEVEN GRITTED HIS teeth. Not from the weight of Tarry as he and Xilo carried him through the dark, damp underground tunnels, but at his inability to do more for his friend. Blast it, I won’t have him die like this.

Evangeline huddled beside Lani, both decked head-to-toe in black, making their faces appear like they were floating in the darkness. He’d seen Evangeline dressed in slacks before, in training, or whenever they had ridden together as kids, but he had never seen her—or anyone in the castle—dressed in such odd armor. Where had she gotten it?

She wrapped her arm around her friend’s shoulder while clenching her side. If Tarry weren’t so bad off, the first thing he would’ve done was make sure she was okay, despite her false assurances otherwise. The two of them had to be terrified. Delani looked like her soul was ready to leave her body at any point. Behind them, Rasha and Barto held Quan in a similar fashion, dark blood trailing behind them. They needed to hurry and get to their destination. Fast.

Xilo was the only one with a lantern, guiding their path. The yellow flame shifted off the occasional body on the ground, mixed with red and black blood. Reflecting what everyone was covered in. The tunnels were narrower than Ceven remembered, but then again, it had been some time since he’d traversed them.

As a kid, his brother would lead him down here, only to leave him in the dark, forcing Ceven to find his own way out. Knowing Sehn, he had hoped Ceven would starve to death or get trapped in an underground earthquake, even though quakes in this area of Peredia were rare. If it hadn’t been for the king’s intense teachings of all the escape routes and his survival instincts, Ceven would have died. These tunnels were purposefully long, complicated, and confusing. Even if someone found the secret entrances, traversing the labyrinth required either luck or knowledge.

The stretch of darkness and cold extended for a grueling amount of time. Each clambering of steps was met with a pained moan.

“Up ahead, should lead us to a barn, near the east wall in the outer district.” Xilo lifted the lamp. Tarry’s blood drenched his side.

True to his word, they met a sharp incline, then came across a glimmer of light.

“Are we going to crawl through?” Evangeline frowned at the opening.

“No,” Xilo said. Tarry’s weight doubled, his friend’s head swiveling toward Ceven as Xilo left his side. Tarry said nothing.

A snap echoed off the rock walls, a sudden cool breeze teasing his nose. Xilo had kicked a large hole in the wood panel covering the entrance.

Ceven and Tarry were first to enter the barn, morning light creeping through the cracks of wood and shining on the broken stall door from which they’d just exited. A horse occupying the stall next to him reared back and whinnied. Rasha brushed past Ceven, stroking the brown and white mare, calming her. The rest of the crew walked through one by one, blood splattering like drops of rain against hay and dirt.

Xilo slid open the barn doors, and a gust of ice-cold air seized Ceven’s muscles. Lani sidled closer to Evangeline, who had wrapped her arms around her, even as she herself shivered. Ceven hoped this place wasn’t much farther. The sooner everyone was warm and healed and not bleeding out on the snow, the better.

“Not much father,” Xilo said, echoing his thoughts. “We’ll cut through the wheat fields. It’ll be the house with the screen porch facing the east wall.”

The wheat fields were less wheat and more just fields of snow. The dead stocks, whimpering under the dust of white pellets. A couple blocks away, the east wall soared into the air, its long shadow straining to touch them. The sun was waking up, and soon the rest of the city would come alive—and look for Evangeline.

You don’t know that; Sehn could have been lying. There’s no way she could have murdered Lord Ryker. Right? In the past, he would’ve taken Evangeline’s side, but now he wasn’t sure.

He thought back to the guards in the west wing, markings covering their faces and bodies, how his people had turned on him, attempting to murder their prince. Ceven wished they had gotten more out of that guard, but he had lost too much blood, dying before they could gather any information. And now there was a strange beast on the loose, one he had never seen before.

It seemed he wasn’t sure about a lot of things these days.

A smattering of houses came into focus. Square, tall structures built from stone and lumber from the Olaaga forest. Beiges, grays, and muted whites were the popular color choices of the outer district’s houses, except for one. A deep green, two-story farmhouse—with a screened porch. Ceven sighed in relief.

Everyone’s sodden boots thumped onto the porch, shaking snow on the slicked wood steps. The house itself was not as warm as Ceven had hoped and looked like it’d been abandoned. Cracks of light filtered through closed curtains, shining on clothes strewn on the floor. A small, circular table crammed against the violet and mahogany wall had a mug and a plate of food covered in what had to be mold. Ceven frowned but pushed those thoughts from his mind, focusing on helping Xilo drag Tarry through the kitchen and into the living room.

Rasha and Barto placed Quan, whose face scrunched in pain, on the black leather couch. Xilo pulled out blankets from the wood chest next to it, forming a makeshift bed for Tarry as they laid him on his stomach, his bloody wings stretched.

Xilo bent next to the white-bricked fireplace, whispering life into it, as Evangeline helped Lani into the matching armchair next to Quan. Ceven looked around and spotted a folded blanket on a stack of books and balls of yarn. He tossed it to Evangeline, and she gave him a grateful look, tucking Lani in, who murmured a thanks before her eyes drifted closed. 

“Here, these should help.” Xilo came down the creaking stairwell, hands full. Ceven hadn’t even seen him leave. Xilo placed pillows and more blankets on the floor, along with a dark suitcase.

Tarry’s makeshift bandages had opened up, staining the blankets cushioned beneath him.

Quan was sprawled across the couch. His eyes were still open, unlike Tarry’s. “Help him first. He’s worse off.”

Xilo opened the suitcase. Inside were needles, bandages, and alcohol. He handed some tools to Barto, who looked at his friend. Quan’s expression soured.

 “Oh, don’t act like such a martyr.” Barto smiled, but with the sharp needle in his hand, it wasn’t reassuring. “I’ll patch you up just fine. Remember that one time you lost a chunk of skin to that weasel at the tavern? Who called you a half-breed? I mean, we sure showed him, but—”

The Rathan’s furless ears flicked back as he groaned. “Barto.”

Barto waved his needle hand dismissively, and Quan’s face pinched even more.

Ceven unhinged and dismantled Tarry’s steel meshed armor to give Xilo better room to work. He weaved the sutures in and out of Tarry’s skin with ease. He was a master with a needle, having patched up Ceven more times than he could count, more so during his excursions into the jungles of Atiaca than when he was a kid. Tarry would walk away from this with a small scar. If he lived.

Evangeline glanced away, looking ill. Ceven didn’t blame her.

The flames ate at the stack of wood, its warmth lapping at Ceven’s side as he crouched beside Tarry, brows shoved together. Nobody spoke. Barto concentrated on stitching while Rasha cleaned the wounds. Intervals of hisses and pained murmurs broke the silence.

Evangeline came over with two large bowls of water, placing them next to Xilo and Rasha. The purple-winged Aerian nodded at her, cleaning his tools and Tarry’s cut, while Rasha’s one ear twitched in acknowledgement, her eyes still fixed on Quan. She was far more nervous about the situation than she was letting on.

“I’ll see if I can grab more towels.” Evangeline got up, her expression taut. She was trying her best to hide the pain, but Ceven knew better.

He attempted a smile, but he was sure it looked forced. “We have everything under control.” His eyes trailed down her frame, searching for any wounds he may have missed. He knew his friend made a habit of putting others before herself. If she was injured, it was unlikely she’d say anything. “I want you to lie down and rest. After Tarry and Quan, you’re next.”

Thankfully, she didn’t argue.

Lani shifted on the chair, and Xilo glanced up for a moment before returning to his stitching, which was almost done and a lot neater than Barto’s work. But Ceven would break that news to Quan later.

“There’s a few bedrooms upstairs. Nobody’s home, so you can choose whichever one. A bed will be much nicer for your friend,” Xilo offered. “There’s also a bathing room, if you’d like a shower, with spare clothes in the dresser.”

Evangeline’s face lit up, while Ceven was more preoccupied with a question: where was Xilo’s son? Ceven knew Eyvan had to have been in the city recently. Xilo had just been with him the night Ceven met with Sehn, after his first dinner back with the king. The same night his brother had suggested he help him murder his father, as if they were cohorts in the same scheme and not brothers who hated one another. Not to mention they hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other in two years.

Evangeline rubbed Lani awake. She coerced her with the promise of a comfortable bed, and the two shuffled upstairs, the wood creaking as they climbed the staircase. Relief swelled in Ceven’s chest.

If Tarry died, he didn’t want Evangeline to see him cry.