Page 111 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
“It’s not likely something we’ll ever forget,” Olea cut me off, bracing her hands on her counter. The stiffness in her shoulders eased with one great breath. “Never you mind, anyway.” She angled to look at me, not smiling, not frowning. “We all survived the Shadow Palace, and we do what we do now to protect ourselves from that goddessless place. Though, if it’s any consolation to you, we don’t like it.”
I grimaced. “Wouldn’t imagine you would.”
“To be sure, most harbingers feel pride in being what they are,” Tansy said. “They revel in lording their power over the weak. Some are just as callous as Gentian himself. If they weren’t cruel to begin with, Gentian broke them—made them that way.”
Like he’d tried to do with Pete.
“That’s why we’ve created our own camp,” Tansy said. “Away from the others.”
“And that’s allowed?”
“Where we live is of no concern to Gentian, so long as we obey our ordinations. Besides, if he wants to know where we are, he has but to follow our tethers.” Tansy expelled a weighty breath. “Our freedom is an illusion. We’ll never be completely unbound.”
Thinking, I tucked my face into my knees as Tansy exfoliated me raw.
That Briar—he just can’t tell the truth to save his goddamn life.
Gentian didn’t cull his harbingers from the dregs of society—as Briar had claimed—if kind people like Olea and Tansy wound up in his cages. On the contrary, all of them were victims of a society that allowed slavery. How many harbingers were truly innocents—there was no way of knowing.
But I did know something drastic needed done about Gentian. And I worried that Briar, as king, wouldn’t do it.
Twenty
WeemergedfromOlea’swagon, heralded by a catcall.
Olea smirked at the burly Middling swaggering toward us. He had a scruffy beige beard and wore a dirty homespun shirt. His scuffed black leather trousers were in much the same state. He gestured at me with his left hand, where two fingers were shorn in half.
“She shines up like a new pair of boots,” he remarked, giving me a once over.
Clean, I now sported a set of my own leather togs (what Olea and Tansy had termed my new outfit). The set had been Tansy’s, but after several snippy disagreements between my hostesses, and more than a few magical alterations, Tansy’s hand-me-downs now fit. The vest formed to my torso, snugging a soft linen shirt with a ruffled neckline into my refreshed skin, and the pants were comfortable while hugging my legs in all the right places. Their tan leather was breathable, elastic—perfect for travel. Plus, my new gear made me look kind of badass. Or the closest I could come to it.
I cracked a smile, flattered by the feyr’s compliment.
Olea nudged him toward her vardo. “Why don’t you do your own shining? Hurry, though. Supper’s near to ready.”
A pair of brown eyes dancing in his green-tinted face, the feyr bent and smacked a kiss upon her lips. “Won’t be but a minute, lovey.” He pinched her hip and duly received a good swat. Whooping, he swaggered up the wagon steps and disappeared behind the curtain.
Olea’s eyes glimmered. “Seeing as he’s forgotten his manners today, I’ll just tell you—that was Ox.” The way she said his name belied her ribbing.
“Is he your husband? Er, your ceyla?”
“My mister. We harbingers aren’t permitted to wed.”
“Gentian fears marriage would soften us.” Tansy uncoiled her waves from atop her head. “Like most powerful fools, he sees love as a weakness.”
Olea’s button nose twitched. “And commitment to anyone other than himself as an insult.”
I scoffed.Whatisthis guy? The anti-Amy?
“That’s enough talk of Gentian.” Olea jutted her chin toward the fire. “Let’s see how far along supper is, shall we?”
Strategically placed logs wide enough to fit a substantial bottom surrounded the fire ring. Two were already occupied. One, by a sinister looking fae with close-cropped black hair, bloodless skin, and a strong jaw. The other, by Pete.
Water clung to Pete’s tousled hair and freshly trimmed beard, sparkling beneath the setting suns. His skin looked reinvigorated, the filth of who knew how long bathed away. He’d also changed his clothes and now sat in amused discourse with the other dark fae, who chortled despite his appearance of—well, a harbinger of doom. Instead of his dusty black togs, Pete now sported a loose, untucked linen shirt and a fresh pair of black trousers. His shirt collar was untied, exposing the dark curls furring his expansive chest. I found myself transfixed by the hollow between his clavicles.
How would it feel to rest my head there?
Startled at myself, I sidestepped that path toward disaster.
