the majority of the dragging. Old lady Uaine was taking care of Malachy. The kids were being kids. Cab’s injuries could’ve been worse, but could’ve been better. That left Tal, with his slashed arm, and Einan, who’d assigned herself to looking after Cab and Hope in equal measure.
And Rags.
The last three on that list were the best of a fucked-up lot.
“I’ll do the searching.” Rags hid a yawn in his shoulder. “’Cause I want a bed pretty bad myself, not ’cause I’m . . . ah, fuck it.”
Smartass returned to him. He held out the silver fae fragment with both hands. Seeing it in the light of the hall, Rags had to admit: it looked an awful lot like a map.
“Do not forget your star,” Smartass counseled.
“Thanks,” Rags said.
“In the meantime, get the grievously injured on the tables,” Cab added. “Those who can, clear off the plates, then help those who can’t to lie down.”
“That means you, stalwart moron.” Einan steered Cab in the direction of the table while Happy, Smartass, and their crew stacked plates and set them aside.
“I will accompany you on the search,” Tal said, suddenly at Rags’s side.
Rags was too bone-tired to jump, but when he looked up into Tal’s face, he met the fae prince’s shining eyes for the first time in . . .
How long had it been? Felt like ages.
Rags shivered. “Gonna take revenge on me when we’re separated from the others, huh?” He attempted a laugh, failed miserably. “All I ask is, make it quick.”
Tal shook his head, the briefest memory of confusion darkening his features before he set off through one of many arched doorways that surrounded the main room. Not wanting to linger or get lost in the fae maze—if there were more fae traps around, Rags didn’t want to meet them in this condition—Rags hurried after him. There were holes in his boots and blisters on his blisters, but he limped fast enough to keep up with Tal’s unfaltering pace.
All the while, the map rested heavy in his hands. Tal hadn’t said anything about it.
“My lump cracked,” Rags said. He’d spent so much time around Tal that he’d become used to the conversation. “But it didn’t turn into a beastie or even part of a beastie. It’s a map . . . I think.”
Tal looked at him. Maybe it was a trick of the light, and Rags hated himself for hoping, but there was a moment’s trace of the old warmth on his face.
“I knew you would prove yourself worthy. It was only a matter of time.”
No mention of going with him to wherever the map led. Rags let the conversation die.
Chambers after chambers. Rags got the impression that there were plenty more Tal wasn’t leading them through. Some held empty bed frames or empty chests, while others held nothing but shadows stamped upon the walls. Rags would have preferred a ghost jumping out to the stifling silence, the walls glowing in response to Tal’s presence.
“Hey,” Rags said, distracting himself, “how come you have beds and feasting rooms and stuff if you don’t need to eat?”
“We do not need to eat or sleep,” Tal said, “but that does not mean we cannot enjoy both.”
Great. All this time Rags had thought Tal was being normal, he was being noble. Putting off enjoyment in service of—what? Devoting his time and energy to keeping Rags safe?
Ridiculous. Tal needed someone a little more sneaky and selfish around to keep an eye on him. He wasn’t ready for Rags to excuse himself from the picture.
“I must fortify the defenses,” Tal said as they stopped in another room with a bed frame and an abandoned chair. “This will take time. But we need that time to recover.”
“Speaking of.” Rags nodded to Tal’s arm. “Should get somebody to take a look at that wound.”
“Unnecessary.” Tal didn’t acknowledge that this was the most they’d spoken since Rags had betrayed him, commanded him to leave fae children behind in order to save the few they’d freed. To save themselves. Himself. “It is already healing.” Then he turned to Rags, a fresh streak of white in his hair held against his palm as evidence.
“Your hair changes color when you’re healing?” Rags asked. He’d believe anything about the fae at this point.
Tal shook his head. “Our hair is darkest when we have all our strength. If we are diminished over time, sapped, it turns white. As I heal myself, I must sacrifice some of my immortal strength.”