I can only stare in shock at his misplaced rage. I didn’t ask for any of this. I certainly don’t want it. But the anger is radiating off of him as waves of power that still my tongue.
“Davien, that’s enough.” Oren breaks the silence. The group has arrived. “We should keep going. The king’s Butchers are on our trail.”
“We walk through the night,” Davien declares after taking a moment to breathe and collect himself. “We don’t stop until we cross the Crystal River and are in Acolyte land.” He looks back at me. “I’ll carry you myself if I have to.”
“I’ll be fine.” I fold my arms and watch as Oren leads Davien away with a hand on his back. Stern words are being exchanged between them, mostly from Oren. Giles and Hol are close behind. Shaye lingers.
“Are you coming?” she asks.
“Not like I have any other choice,” I mutter and drag my feet.
She grabs my arm. I try and yank it away, but she holds fast. This close to her for the first time, I notice faint golden tattoos that swirl up the side of her face. They almost blend in with the brown of her skin.
“Walk with your head held high, human.”
“I have a name.”
“Walk with your head held high, Katria.” Her obliging me with the use of my name gives me pause. “You have the power of kings within you. Do us all the courtesy of not shaming it.”
“What does that even mean?” I don’t know why I ask; she’s not going to give me an answer.
Yet, she circumvents my every expectation when she does. “The ritual we performed in the wood last night was to draw out the ancient power of the lost royal family of Aviness from the last living heir.”
“Lost?”
“Assassinated would be more apt,” she clarifies, voice and expression taking a dark turn. “They ruled for centuries, until Boltov the First killed King Aviness the Sixth. After that…the fae land was torn apart from the inside, the Boltovs usually ending up on top. But the only way they managed to keep control and rule of the fae is by systematically killing every last one of the Aviness bloodline—anyone who could possibly reclaim the mighty power of the first kings to truly rule the fae.”
Shaye points to Davien. “He is the closest thing our people have to that lost ruler and the power they carried in their veins. That ritual was to restore his power to him as the sole remaining heir of Aviness…the last limb of the family tree that Boltov hasn’t severed at the neck.”
“His birthright,” I whisper.
“Yes. And you stole it by stepping into the fire when he was supposed to be the one to. So until we find a way to wring it from your fragile human bones, give our history a modicum of respect and at least act like you walk with the power of ancient royalty.” She finally releases me.
I rub my arm and begrudgingly nod. She rolls her eyes and begins trudging along. I follow closely behind.
“May I ask you something?”
She glances at me from the corner of her eye. “Go on.”
It’s strange. Shaye has been the farthest thing from friendly toward me…but she doesn’t strike me as cruel. I’ve spent years around those who are genuinely cruel. There’s a certain manner to a person when they’re looking for every possible way to tear you down.
Shaye doesn’t seem like she’s hunting for ways to be mean for the sake of it. Naturally abrasive? Somewhat, perhaps. Cautious might be more apt. But however those natures of hers seem to manifest, she doesn’t appear to delight in my misery.
“How does the last living fae heir end up in my world?”
“Because that was the only place he could go that he would be safe.” Shaye sighs. “A little more than twenty years ago, the Boltovs and their Butchers—”
“Butchers? Like the man who attacked us tonight?”
“Yes. They’re either murderous fae who swear to defend the Blood Court the Boltovs have made, or poor souls who are born into the Butchers and are never given a choice. Butchers relish in bloodshed and engage in its sport.” She cringes, an expression I share. “The Boltov Butchers have made it their life’s work to eradicate any who would threaten the Boltov claim.”
“Can women also be Butchers?”
“Why couldn’t they be?” Her answer is guarded, expression unreadable.
“There was a fae that attacked me in the woods…but she seemed like she was really after Davien. She wore the same shadowy cowl as the man tonight.”
“Your assessment is right; she was a Butcher.” Shaye scrambles up a shallow ridge and then, to my surprise, offers a hand to me. “We tried to patrol those woods as often as we could—on both sides of the Fade—but some of Boltov’s men and women would slip through from time to time.”
