changed since they’d last been together. “Once we’re in the dungeon, if we’re not overwhelmed by your brothers in steel, the folks who don’t have mirrors in their hearts can look for Prince I’m-a-Traitor, while the folks who do have shards sit back and get those nasties out of our bodies.”
“This plan is—” Cab began.
“Terrible?” Inis supplied.
“I was going to say unlikely to succeed,” Cab said.
“Terrible,” Inis agreed.
“Everybody fucking criticizes, but nobody brings something better to the table.” Rags laughed hoarsely. Cab recognized the sound. It was gallows humor. The giddiness that flooded a man when he’d been on the move for too long, had to treat the possibility of dying like a joke in order to keep going. Cab managed to clap Rags on the shoulder, making him jump midstep before he realized it wasn’t an attack. A gesture of solidarity. Something a Queensguard captain would do for his recruits.
He was no Queensguard anymore, but he’d fight to protect these people. They were his brothers and sisters in arms now.
“We’ll back you up,” Cab said. “Sil, can you manage—”
Sil nodded firmly. No choice. She would manage.
As ever, Cab was astounded and inspired by her bravery.
They moved on in silence, save for the unsteady breathing of the rescued fae. The occasional skitter of loose rock as someone slipped. A gasp as One or Two darted to their side to support them.
“You sure you know the way?” Einan asked Rags. Time had stuttered to a nervous spiral. They knew the fate that awaited them: trapped underground, ambushed by Queensguard, by sorcerers. “Who are you, anyway, Skinny?”
“I’ve got this,” Rags insisted.
Tell him to get it faster, One said.
Her anxiety threaded its way through Cab’s nerves, but he was used to it.
This state of constant attention. Fear. Always keeping watch over his shoulder. It had been his sole companion in Tithe Barley’s barn. Not the best friend, but one he’d learned to manage. He could teach the others how to live with the burden.
If they survived long enough.
That won’t be helpful, Cab chided her. He knew from experience how telling someone to rush only helped them to be clumsy. Judging by their tattered group, a collective of dirt and sweat, blood and torn clothing, they’d met with their share of opposition.
“No offense,” Einan chimed in, though she couldn’t have known there was a conversation already in progress, “but I was hoping your friends might be . . . bigger. More impressive.”
“I’m not impressive enough for you?” Cab asked.
Einan looked him up and down, then surprised him with a wolfish grin, which kindled some of the old fire behind her tired eyes. “Not the first word that comes to mind.”
Dull heat spread under Cab’s skin. He let himself wonder what did come to Einan’s mind when she thought of him. Might explain why she’d kissed him in the Gilded Lily.
The distraction kept his mind from screaming that they were heading ever deeper with no hope of escape.
Rags still had a shard in his heart. What if Morien was controlling his actions even now?
That’s enough of that, One broke in. Plenty to worry about without you imagining extra horrors.
She was right. Cab didn’t know what he’d do without her, would’ve lost his way if she’d stayed behind to stand against Morien so the rest could escape, as Three had done.
Ahead, the flickering of torches set into the walls. Rags held up a hand and their untidy group shuffled to a halt.
“This is it,” Rags whispered. “Or . . . it should be. I was led through here the first time I— Never mind. Anyway, see? No Queensguard. I’m guessing they got called over to deal with our rescue mission.”
He winced as he said it. Cab didn’t need One to inform him that the attempt hadn’t gone as well as they’d hoped.
“You’re bleeding, master.” Uaine inclined her head in Shining Talon’s direction. “I could see to that, if you’re willing.”
“Here’s where those who need medical attention and shards removed from our hearts should stop,” Rags agreed. “The rest can go in and bust out our royal ally.”
“We can’t split up,” Inis said. “What if some of us get captured? There’s no way of knowing.”
“One and Two can still communicate,” Cab pointed out. “They’ll be our eyes and ears.”
“I’m going to get Lais,” Inis insisted. She glanced at the young man next to her, his face dark with sorrow and tight with pain. “The Queen wouldn’t let the Last kill her own flesh and blood, Somhairle.”
Somhairle. The