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Lyn and Naxi hurried back from their quick exploration at the edge of the burned crater. Creon, who stood studying burn traces on the outer city wall, didn’t even bother to turn around – but I knew he’d take note of every single word spoken behind his back, and likely remember them all long after the speakers themselves had already forgotten.
‘I must admit,’ Beyla said, her frail voice just audible over her chewing, ‘I think he’s telling the truth.’
Naxi chuckled. ‘Oh, he is. About not knowing the truth, that is.’
The look the three alves exchanged was chillier than the coldest winter morning, the edge of stone in their eyes so eerily similar that, for the blink of an eye, I could have believed them brothers and sister.
‘Yes,’ Tared finally said. ‘I do believe him, too. Which …’
He didn’t finish his sentence; there was no need to. Which meant that after blaming Agenor for centuries, after accepting an alliance of necessity only under protest and with frequent stinging remarks to compensate, they now had to consider that the Lord of the Golden Court may have been one of the few who’d tried to prevent the violence.
Honour debts and unbridled hate didn’t mix well, and they all looked painfully aware of it.
‘At this rate, we’ll run out of fae to kill next week,’ Edored grumbled, glowering at Creon’s winged back. ‘Anyone want to bet how long it’ll take Ophion to reveal he’s just some poor, misunderstood little fucker?’
Creon leisurely picked at a stem of ivy with his knife, free hand in his pocket, and ignored the conversation entirely.
‘If I recall correctly,’ Beyla said around her almonds, ‘Ophion slaughtered his entire family long before the Mother bound him. I doubt anyone will get in your way.’
Edored looked greatly relieved.
Kinslayer, Lyn had called the Mother’s lover at the Golden Court. I braced myself before asking my question, well aware the answer could hardly be a pleasant one. ‘Why did he? Just for the fun of it?’
‘His house resisted the Mother for a while when she was busy conquering all fae peoples,’ Beyla said. ‘Ophion won her favour by sending her his father’s rotting head and some fingers from his mother and sisters. If we’ve misunderstood him so far, I don’t think I wish to understand him any better.’ A quick glance at Tared. ‘Should we—’
A flash of azure interrupted her.
The alves whipped around as one, blades sliding from sheaths. Creon didn't turn around, but the black of his shirt had faded to a muddy brown, evidence of blue magic drawn. Before him, where he’d painstakingly removed the moss and vines from the weathered bricks, an arm’s length of wall suddenly gleamed smooth and polished in the autumn sun.
And on that newly restored surface, elegant engravings had become visible under the force of his healing powers.
The shapes they formed looked just a fraction too familiar. Curls and swirls, running over the brick surface in irregular curving lines – just like the inscription that framed the doorway to Etele’s Underground memorial.
Divine Tongue.
‘Good gods,’ Lyn breathed, darting closer as her eyes shot along the lines. ‘How did you— Oh.Oh.’ Her voice soared. ‘Inika help us, but that means …’
‘Is that last worderuzke?’ Tared said, frowning at the inscription. ‘Because that’s supposed to meanbrother, isn’t it?’
Creon’s smile as he met my gaze carried the triumphant edge of a predator smelling blood. I dazedly stared at him, my thoughts turning over that clue three, four times before I dared to believe what I’d just heard.
Brother. In this place, in that language.
That … that couldn’t be true, could it?
‘It’s an epitaph,’ Lyn muttered, fidgeting frantically with her curls. ‘Kurrian hexameter, which would have been popular around—’
‘But what does it say?’ Edored interrupted loudly, and I felt a skewed sense of gratefulness that at least I wasn’t the only uncivilised swine with no idea how to read these cryptic lines.
‘May you be given…’ Lyn turned around, her eyes wide as saucers. ‘May you be given more peace than you deserve, brother.’
A ringing silence stretched out across the crater.
‘Orin’s eye,’ Beyla said quietly.
I barely dared to believe the impossible feeling that grew in me – a surge ofhope, pressing against my rib cage so heavily I could hardly breathe. It shouldn’t have surprised me. I’d concluded the gods may still be alive weeks ago, and I’d been confident enough of that conclusion to convince the rest of the Alliance. But until this moment, there had never beenevidence– only educated guesses and the desperate dream that someone would know how to restore a magic-bound voice.
This …
