what he might’ve broken in the service of something bigger than himself.
Any trust that had been built between them.
The way that Tal had looked at Rags like he was the key to every lock the world had ever known.
Rags had told himself from day one that it wouldn’t last.
Most of all, he was trying not to think about those sleeping fae children. The ones they hadn’t been able to rescue. He couldn’t afford a last glance in their direction, not when he was too busy running at full tilt, chased by the screeching of Three’s fury and Morien’s cursing. He was half expecting, half hoping to run straight into Tal, waiting for Rags in the passage, but he didn’t.
Instead, Tal was a golden glimmer disappearing around another dark corner. Did he believe Rags would keep up? Or could he not bear to face Rags after—
Fuck it. Had to run.
He ran so fast, his feet nearly went out from under him. Slapped the stone wall under one hand to course correct when he veered too close to it. A sudden wind pushed him from behind, and he realized Three was there, at the mouth of the tunnel, holding it for their escape.
How to thank an enormous silver bird sacrificing itself for short-lived, petty flesh-suits who caused most of their own problems? Would Morien tear her to pieces? Use those pieces for mirrorcraft? Fuck.
Rags rounded the corner Tal had disappeared around and nearly tripped on his borrowed red sheet. Ahead in the dark, Tal radiated faint golden light. Like a giant glowbug. A few steps past him, Somhairle, Inis, and Two were shepherding the procession of terrified, tortured fae children.
They were never going to make it out of there. They were too battered, too weakened, too slow. There was no way they could travel back up to the palace in this state, much less escape the Hill. If more Queensguard arrived—more sorcerers—
Shit, shit, shit. Rags went over a mental list of their assets, came up with squat. All he had was that he’d been here before. Under the castle, trapped in its dungeons. He knew exactly how hard it was to escape.
He’d been here before. Rags whistled sharply into the dark.
Maybe he could guide them toward Coward’s Silence, avoid the castle for another way out.
Somhairle was the first to turn, hope in his eyes when they caught Tal’s light. He must’ve thought Rags was signaling something about Three, and when he saw no sign of her, his face fell and he stumbled.
Tal caught him, propped him up, having done the same for any of the little fae who tripped or lagged. He kept close to them the way he’d once kept close to Rags, fussing and watching and caring. Despite having a wound in his arm that cut through to black bone, he was too busy looking after others to remember himself.
Figured.
That perfect idiot.
“Better make Three’s stand count.” Rags swallowed down the snare in his throat to sound like an authority on the matter. “I think we’re close to Coward’s Silence. You know, the prison where they’re probably keeping that other prince—the one who got caught ’cause we fuck up everything we touch?”
“Walk right into the prison like this?” Inis asked. As tired as she looked, her hair in disarray, her clothes torn—parts burned where hot silver had eaten away at the threads when she had turned into one of those silver things, Rags was doing his best not to remember that part—she hadn’t faltered. “Might as well turn ourselves over, lock ourselves in the cells, and do Morien’s job for him!”
Rags shook his head. “Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe the bulk of the Queensguard are looking for us in the castle, and us going to the dungeons is the last thing they’d expect from us. Maybe we’ll have better luck there.”
“And if we don’t?” Inis wiped sweat off her brow with her knuckles, leaving a streak of blood in its place.
Rags shrugged. “You have a better idea? We can’t stay here. Going back up into the castle’s a bad bet. But if we keep going down . . .”
Inis bit her lip. Rags could see her thinking, wanting to call him a muttonhead, but also weighing their limited options.
As she thought, Two stepped nimbly to the side, directly under one of the fae—the one with the cut cheek from Morien’s glass—a moment before she fell. Swooned, more like. Instead of cracking her head on stone, she sagged into Two’s strength, and