Page 21 of Shadow and Son

“Shall I place it over there?” Petra asked, pointing her chin at the table by the window, a large silver tray laden with various pots and bowls in her arms. “Or is there another place where you prefer to take your meals?”

“To take my meals?” Elyria cocked her head to the side. This one was unusually chatty and unusually polite. “Wherever,” she muttered. “The others usually just kick it into the room before locking the door again. The nicer ones slide it in—though I suspect it’s more to prevent themselves from having to clean up a worse mess.” She pointed to a darkened spot on the carpet, the evidence of too many mealtime casualties to count at this point.

Petra looked aghast as she set down the tray on the table in front of the window. “I’m so sorry to hear you’ve experienced such rudeness.”

“Why are you sorry?” Elyria pushed herself up from the bed and strode over to flop into the chair at the table.

Petra scowled, her lips pursing to one side. “I wouldn’t think mi sanguinexos would approve of you being treated with such poor manners.”

At that, Elyria couldn’t help laughing. “We are talking about the same man who just spent an hour carving runes into my forearms with a slab of obsidian, are we not? Somehow, I don’t particularly think he cares.” She removed the lid from one of the ceramic pots and took a sniff. Her stomach rumbled as the scent of beef stew hit her nostrils, though an acidic taste on the back of her tongue still had her appetite souring.

Petra’s throat bobbed. “That’s—that’s not true. He was very clear with his instructions that we are to treat the regina umbrae with respect and to⁠—”

“I am not his shadow queen,” Elyria said darkly, slamming the lid back on the pot with so much force that it cracked down the center.

Petra looked like she was about to pass out where she stood.

“And I don’t give a gryphon-soaring fuck how respectfully he commanded you all to treat me.” Elyria waved at the appointments of her room. “A prisoner is a prisoner, no matter how nicely decorated her cell.”

Wringing her hands and then smoothing the front of her frock, Petra didn’t seem to know how to respond. Elyria took that as an opportunity.

“Why are you here? Why work for him? Why worship him?”

Petra’s mouth popped open, the question clearly taking her by surprise. “I—I am here simply to serve, my lady. My family has been loyal to the Dark Lord Malakar since before the Shattering. They have long awaited his return.”

Elyria considered that. “‘They,’ but not ‘we’?”

The girl balked. “We, of course. We have long awaited his return. It is a privilege and an honor to be here. Truth be told, I did not know if I would have the opportunity. My parents did not feel I was”—the sides of her mouth turned down—“up to the task. And I’ll be the first to admit that the learning curve has been rather steep.” She released a breathy laugh, babbling now. “But my lord has been nothing if not gracious. Kind. Nothing at all like my family would’ve had me believe.”

“Oh?”

“They think me naive.” She sighed. “They did not—do not believe my disposition to be well matched to serve my lord’s glorious purpose.”

The cogs in Elyria’s brain, still admittedly somewhat rusted from lack of use these past weeks, began to grind against one another. She gestured to the chair opposite her at the table. “You may as well sit if you’re going to stay.” Then, at the girl’s hesitation, she added, “I would appreciate the company.”

Petra instantly brightened. “As you wish,” she said, sliding into her seat.

“As you were saying,” Elyria said, carefully setting aside the broken pot lid and giving the stew inside a slow stir. “His glorious purpose,” she repeated confidently, nodding as though she were already more than well aware of what said purpose was.

“Indeed,” chirped Petra. “My family does not believe I have the stomach to tolerate pain and discomfort. Even just witnessing it.” Her eyes flicked to Elyria’s forearms. “But I am not so ignorant as to be unable to recognize the necessity of small pains for the greater good.”

Elyria swallowed the words that wanted to dive off her tongue at that remark. Small pains, were they?

“And I just hope that by being here, I am also helping to lessen those pains somewhat,” she continued, lifting her eyes to Elyria’s face expectantly, like she was looking for confirmation. Like she wanted to be told she was doing a good job.

Elyria nearly choked from the effort of not rolling her eyes. Was this girl really looking for approval from the very captive she was here to contain? You catch more sundryflies with honey than with vinegar, she thought bitterly, swallowing down a spoonful of stew. “That you are,” she said with forced lightness.

Petra looked positively giddy.

“It isn’t as though I am unwilling to sacrifice for the greater good,” Elyria said. “I want to help too. I’ve told”—she braced herself against the bile threatening to spill up her throat—“mi sanguinexos as much. But I cannot help with what I do not know. And he keeps wasting time on these experiments with me when it would be so much easier if he would just tell me what he needed. If he allowed me to work for him, rather than against him.”

Petra’s eyes were as large as saucers. “Oh, you do understand,” she breathed. “I just knew you would. I knew my lord would not be doing all of this for nothing. I was thinking the same thing earlier as I passed by the lower forge.”

Elyria tried to squash the excitement brewing in her gut at the information spewing from Petra’s lips, shoveling another spoonful of food into her mouth while she nodded like she knew exactly what the girl was talking about.

“I mean, we have a fae here, for goodness’ sake. And not just any fae, but the Revenant. Surely with your power, your strength, we could be making progress twice as fast. Everyone’s been tiring so quickly, from all the digging. Arya fainted yesterday during her shift.” Petra frowned. “Perhaps you might try raising the idea with him again, my lady?”

Elyria pasted a warm smile on her face. “No need to bother with ‘my lady.’ We’re well past that, I’d say.”