you—” Inis began. “I can assure you, Prince Shining Talon of Vengeance Drawn in Westward Strike”—of course she knew his full name and used it; that fat cat had probably told her what it was—“I am perfectly capable—”
Just like that, she stopped.
Rags supposed Shining Talon had communicated what was happening to her, or Two had picked up on it and tipped his master off, because next thing he heard was Inis’s yawn.
“No, you’re right. I shouldn’t let my pride get the best of me. Prince Somhairle, do you mind if we . . . ?”
“Of course, Inis,” came Somhairle’s soft agreement, no doubt having been clued in by Three. “I’m sure the Last will understand your need to rest, given all this excitement.”
Rags had to admit, the wordless-connection thing was a pretty sweet setup.
Soft footsteps in the grass. The sound of Inis lying down. Silence followed, then the rustling of cloth. Shining Talon took Rags’s hands, guided them to hold the cloth over his chest.
Time slowed. Senses dulled. Rags opened his eyes to a quiet world, what he saw separate from his now-hidden heart.
He watched as Shining Talon finished doing the same for Inis, her fingers white and gripping the blindfold tight.
“What about his hand?” Even with her heartsblood muffled by sorcery, Inis managed a glare of suspicion. The expression faltered into neutrality before recovering.
Rags shook his head, the small movement dizzying. “Think that was more about pain than spying. No, I know it was, since if Morien knew . . . he would’ve shredded us the first time I learned the knack for slipping our chains.”
“If you’re wrong,” Inis said calmly, “and this harms my family, Morien the Last won’t have the chance. I’ll get to you first.”
“I understand,” Somhairle said before Shining Talon was forced to explain. With Three on his shoulder, Rags didn’t need to guess how he knew. “Morien’s been looking for you.” A pause, while he listened to something Rags couldn’t hear. The owl known as Three was catching Somhairle up on his destiny, giving him the quick-and-dirty. “He seeks to complete the Great Paragon. To control it through his mirrorcraft. We can’t allow that to happen. We can’t.”
Somhairle turned his bright blue eyes on them with weighted understanding. Rags supposed it wasn’t that difficult to figure out.
An impossibly powerful fae weapon was only as strong as the weak humans commanding it.
“We didn’t have a choice. We had to come here.” Inis didn’t sound miserable, couldn’t with the blindfold draped across her chest, but her jaw clenched. “I would never have done this if—”
“I know that.” Somhairle sounded surprised. “It’s impossible not to obey a sorcerer’s commands when it comes to mirrorcraft. Besides, the gift you brought balances out any curse.”
“Says the princeling who doesn’t have mirrorglass in his heart,” Rags said. “You’ll change your tune once he—”
“Obviously, we don’t intend to obey Morien’s orders forever.” Inis’s voice, strong and sure. Rags snorted alongside it, then sobered and nodded when her accompanying glare threatened to scorch off his eyebrows. “But our other choice is death, and I can’t be that selfish.”
I could, Rags thought.
But that wasn’t true. He owed it to himself, to Dane and every other kid who didn’t make it, to hold on to his life with both hands. He had to find a way out of this so he could free Shining Talon from Morien’s leash in the same slip.
Time to lay some of his cards on the table. Even if it meant throwing in his lot with the others.
“We don’t have much time,” Rags cut in, “before Morien figures out we’ve got a way to chat without him eavesdropping. But there used to be one more of us. Maybe still is. And somebody removed the mirror from his heart.”
Again, no shock registered in Inis’s eyes, but she said, “Is that possible?”
Somhairle nodded. “Another sorcerer could do it. But they’re all loyal to the Queen.”
“She’s your own mother and you call her ‘the Queen’? Woof.” Rags felt the time ticking away and pushed along. “Anyway, whoever it was, we’re gonna find ’em,” Rags continued. It wasn’t his place to bring fae Enchantrisks or any other kind of risks into the equation. Let them see for themselves who it was when their group finally tracked down Cabhan. “We’re gonna ask for the same treatment. Once we know who it is.”
Rags watched the realization seep from him to the others, traveling like blood through cobblestones, flowing downhill.