Page 40 of The Crowned Queen

His shadows curled around him, Araya’s little shadow tucked into its customary spot in the collar of his shirt. They should rebuke him. But for once they said nothing. Did nothing to drown out the sounds of their people dying and suffering.

Eventually, the screams faded away. The smoke thinned, giving way to the taste of wet ash and salt. The patches of sky that peeked through the ruined roof lightened from black to bruised gray, a weak dawn breaking over the wreckage.

Raelle finally pushed to her feet, stretching out stiff limbs. She peered out the door, watching silently for a long, tense moment.

“It’s time,” she said.

They rose in silence. Cloaks pulled on, hoods drawn low. The shadows crowded against Loren’s back, not protesting for once as he followed Maerin’s second in command into the smoke-choked dawn.

The Arcanum hadn’t bothered sweeping this part of the district. The flames had done their work for them—driving anyone who’d taken shelter here out into the open, straight into the Arcanum’s waiting hands. The only reason they’d survived was the clever network of runes carved into the broken boards, protecting the structure from flame and urging anyone who noticed it to look away.

“Gods,” Serafina said, her face pale.

“They’re probably still watching,” Raelle warned, her voice soft. “Everyone, stay low.”

She picked a slow but deliberate path through the wreckage, skirting the center of the quarter to slide along the edge instead. Loren kept his head down, uncomfortably hot under the dark cloak with the heat that still rose from the wreckage. The Arcanum must have used magic—nothing else could have reduced an entire quarter to nothing but burned rubble in a single day.

Even as they picked their way into the interior, where most of Farhallow’s fae lived, the Arcanum’s handiwork was everywhere. Instead of smoking ruins, doors to homes hung off their hinges, splintered and broken. The boards that had covered so many windows had been ripped away, discarded in the gutter like kindling. Loren’s nostrils flared, catching the sharp tang of fresh blood beneath the choking smoke that hung like a pall over everything.

A female with clipped ears slumped against a wall, her dress torn and stained. She stared numbly at nothing, not even seeming to see them pass. A few steps further on a child sobbed, clinging to their mother’s skirts as she scrubbed blood off her stoop, tears streaking her own cheeks. Another street over, an emaciated fae male lay where he’d fallen, his rasping breaths choked and wet.

The shadows shifted against his back, pressing against his spine and curling around his ribs, their voices rising as they took in the damage. They needed to do something—anything—to help these people. The Arcanum needed to pay for everything it had done⁠—

Loren quickened his pace, catching up to Raelle in a few strides.

“These people need healers,” he said under his breath. “They’re bleeding in the streets⁠—”

“We can’t stop.” The hood of Raelle’s cloak twitched as she risked a glance at him, her bright green eyes full of sorrow. “A patrol could come by at any time. The only thing we can do is get to Maerin. She’ll know what to do.”

Loren swallowed the protest burning in the back of his throat. Whatever plan Maerin had, he hoped it was a good one.

More people surrounded them now, the crowd sweeping them along in its current. Loren braced himself, shoving back at someone who crashed into him. Something was wrong—Loren had never seen so many people on the street here, all of them stumbling forward with the same dazed horror on their faces. A knot of people clustered around the leaning building where Maerin had made her headquarters, standing so close together that Loren couldn’t see the building. That wasn’t good—so many people congregating outside would draw the wrong sort of attention.

The shadows shivered against his spine, their urgent whispers feeding his own unease. Raelle quickened her pace, shoving dazed onlookers aside without apology. Loren tried to follow, but Serafina gripped his arm, leaning heavily on him for support. Loren wrapped an arm around her, helping bear her weight as they struggled to push through the people where Raelle had vanished⁠—

“No!”

Her piercing scream rose above the murmur of the crowd, so full of sorrow and rage that the hair on the back of Loren’s neck stood up. He shoved the fae in front of him aside, dragging Serafina with him as he fought his way to where the crowd opened up.

Two Arcanum soldiers pinned Raelle to the ground. Her fingers scrabbled against the cobblestones, reaching for the kitchen knife that had landed just a few paces away—out of reach. The man pinning her with a knee between her shoulder blades laughed, wrenching her arms behind her to lock them in iron cuffs.

“Stupid bitch.” He hauled her to her feet, shoving her toward one of the other soldiers. “Put her with the rest of them. It’s time these fucking rebels learn what defiance costs.”

“Goddess,” Loren muttered, watching in horror as an Arcanum soldier half-dragged Raelle over to a group of prisoners. Caela knelt among them, her wrists bound in iron and her golden hair torn out of its braided crown. Tears streaked her cheeks, carving tracks through the ash smeared across her face. But she didn’t see him, her bloodshot gaze fixed on something above them both.

“Loren—” Serafina grabbed him, her nails digging into his flesh through his sleeve. “We have to go.”

But he couldn’t. Not until he’d seen.

Loren took a step forward, the shadows going horribly still against his back as he followed Caela’s gaze up and up and up⁠—

Maerin’s body hung from the roofline, swaying slightly in the nonexistent breeze. Her silver hair, once braided back from her face, hung loose and tangled now. But it wasn’t enough to obscure the violent, purple hue of her swollen face, her head lolling at an unnatural angle. And beneath her⁠—

Loren blinked, tearing his eyes away from Maerin’s swinging corpse to try and focus on the smoldering marks—no, those were words. The Arcanum had burned a message directly into the building’s wooden facade.

The fate of all fae who forget their place.

“We need to leave,” Serafina repeated. “They’re watching. You can’t do anything to help without revealing yourself. And if they catch you here⁠—”