The Faire (Harrow Faire #5) - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,46

herself from the statue?

How did she break out of the tower?

The Faire has given her some kind of terrible power. But what? And why now?

He had placed her there in hopes that he could avoid a war. It seemed she, and Harrow Faire itself, had one last card to play. He had seen the darkness crawling from her own shadow, seeking the other early-morning shade like lightning searching for a rod to ground. She was a monster. She had become the beast he sought to kill.

And now, she might very well be even stronger than he was.

But why hadn’t she attacked him? She could have destroyed him, caught unaware as he was. Instead, she had chosen to tell the Family the truth…and call a vote.

He grimaced. It made him look terrible to the others. If nothing else, it would garner her sympathy. It was clear Rudy was already on her side. Who else would stand beside her?

And what if they held this foolish vote in a week? What then? He would like to imagine a world where the others saw the nobility in their sacrifice and agreed to join him in killing the monster.

But he was not an optimistic man by trade. Optimism led only to foolishness in his experience. No, he would assume the worst outcome would be the one that would come to pass. That way, he could be suitably prepared.

Besides…he knew they would stand against him. Because the fear of death, and the desire to remain alive, was the strongest motivator for most. Especially those who had nothing but the void promised to them. There would be no Heaven or Hell waiting for anyone in the Family.

There were only two souls sitting in the tent with him. Two who had committed themselves to his cause. Amanda and Jack. Jack was sitting on one of the chairs by the fabric wall, his head buried in his hands. The man looked destitute, and Turk understood why. Turning on someone was hard enough to stomach when one didn’t need to look into the eyes of the betrayed. It was another thing entirely when one had to look into their face and try to explain one’s actions.

Morals and principles were easy things to maintain when they were unchallenged.

Amanda was sitting on a bench, cross-legged, her ankles almost underneath her thighs as she looked off worriedly. For once, she was so mired in her thoughts that she wasn’t distracted by Turk’s pacing.

He had his own reeling thoughts to contend with.

“I need a plan,” he muttered. It was more to himself than Jack and Amanda.

“What plan could we possibly come up with?” Jack grunted and sat back in his chair, wiping his hands down his face. “There’s going to be a vote. We’re going to lose. Then she’ll…I don’t know. Put us in the tower.”

“You might go in the tower, friend.” Turk let out a single dark laugh. “Not I.”

“I won’t let her hurt you.” Amanda did her best to sound assertive. But her wavering voice gave her away. The Aerialist was afraid, and for a good reason. It was a sweet sentiment. But a toothless one.

Cora could destroy them all.

He walked up to her and, tipping her head to his, gave her a gentle kiss in appreciation. He knew there was nothing she could do. In the end, against something like what Cora had become, the Aerialist would be nothing but chaff. A foot soldier in a war, meant to die.

Kissing her again, he let it last. He loved her. He adored her with everything he had. How many soldiers had he sent off into battle in his life, knowing they would never return? He couldn’t remember anymore.

Perhaps the loss of seity was a gift in that regard. He was no longer haunted in his dreams by visions. He could remember having nightmares in his past—but they no longer troubled him. Funny that he could recall the aftermath, but not the subject matter itself.

He only had his journals as proof. He wrote in them every day, recording all the events that occurred in the Faire. It was only by looking back through them did he know anything about his past.

But not his name.

Murad Atan.

Cora had told it to him, whispered to her by Harrow Faire.

That was one thing he had never written down in his journal. Why would one write down their own name? That was so key to a part of a person’s identity, certainly it would never go missing. It