Understanding dawns on Harman’s face.
“You’re talking about your parents.”
“You’re damn right I am,” Leon snarls. “Your people hunted them down like dogs and slit their throats.”
He takes a step toward Harman. Mal and Esther tense, and there’s movement next door. I suspect if Leon takes another step, we’ll have a fight on our hands. Yet Harman lifts his palm, signaling the rebels to stand down. When he speaks, his voice is calm.
“I’m familiar with the story of their death, Prince Leonidas, but not because I, or anyone else in my organization, was involved.”
“And how can you be so certain of that? You must’ve been just a child when they were killed.”
“I was seventeen. Old enough to be involved in the cause, though we weren’t called the Hand back then. I’ll tell you this now, and frankly, I don’t care if you believe it—the rumors about our involvement in the death of the fae royals was complete fabrication.” Harman’s tone has shifted, taking on a new fervor. “That was the story the Temple wanted spread. Too many peoplewere starting to sit up and listen to us. They needed to make us look like violent extremists.”
“So it was all just a lie?” Leon says, his voice thick with skepticism.
“Yes, and we paid dearly for it. My father knew I was part of the group being targeted, but rather than helping me clear our names, he encouraged the backlash against us. He thought maybe then I’d stop causing trouble. He shielded me from arrest, but dozens of my friends died—rounded up and executed for the murder of people they’d never even laid eyes on. Do you want to know why I stand here today? Thirty-two and somehow in charge of this whole movement? Because almost everyone else of importance wound updead. My mentor Gantival, our old leader, was executed by the cleavers. Have you ever seen a man get boiled from the inside, Prince Leonidas? Perhaps you have, back in the war. Maybe that’s just another Tuesday to you. Personally, that image will stay with me until the day I die—and I will spend the time between now and then fighting with everything I have to end the monsters responsible.”
He stops, letting us absorb the weight of his words as he looks down at the parchment on his desk. Once he collects himself, he lets out a bitter laugh.
“The worst part is, the lie doesn’t even make sense. We had no reason to target your people. We hate everything the Temple stands for, including the lies they spout about the fae. I don’t?—”
But we don’t get to hear the end of his speech because he’s interrupted by the thud of heavy footsteps on the stairs next door and a shout for help.
Chapter 31
Leon
“Mal! We need you in the med room!”
The desperate cry comes just ahead of a tall man cradling a woman in his arms. His face is smeared with blood, and several deep gashes have been sliced across his forearms, but the state of the woman he’s holding is much worse.
Her neck is a deep, malignant purple, as if a great pressure has squeezed it, and the hollow of her throat where her neck meets her chest looks crushed inward. Her eyes are open, but staring straight out, burst blood vessels blooming in their corners. Her breath comes in quick, frantic rasps, but her chest isn’t inflating properly.
“I can’t do anything,” Mal says, panicked. “The problem isn’t in her blood, Deedus. It looks like her windpipe’s been crushed.”
“I don’t fucking care. Fix her!”
“Deedus, look at her, she’s already dead.”
Ana strides toward the woman, grabbing her wrist and closing her eyes for a moment.
“She doesn’t have long, but she’ll hold on for about an hour yet, if you can get her a decent healer in that time.”
Deedus stares at her. “You’re sure?”
“I grew up with a dryad. I picked up a few things,” she says, sliding me a look. I’m not sure using her celestial power to boost the woman’s flame was wise, but I’m at least pleased she realizes now is not the time to reveal her powers to these people.
“Esther, ride to Ferrous, fast as you can,” says Harman. “Word is they had a dryad passing through yesterday. He might still be there.”
Esther sprints out of the cellar.
“Mal won’t be enough anyway,” gasps another rebel as she stumbles into the cellar. She’s blinking through the blood streaming from a cut on her head. “We’ve got four more—burned, stabbed, the lot.”
Harman rounds his desk and reaches for the woman in Deedus’s arms. She groans, a deep noise echoing from within her struggling lungs.
“I’ll take her,” Harman says. “You go fetch Heda at the Crossed Keys. She can help with the burns.”
“What can we do?” Morgana asks Harman.
