Page 8 of The Crowned Queen

Finn surged to his feet, twenty years of instincts honed by living in dark holes fighting the Arcanum springing to life all at once. “That’s the perimeter rune.” He waved his hand, silencing the shrieking alarm with magic sparking at his fingertips. “Evacuate the civilians to the main tunnel. Nyra is there, she’ll make arrangements to get everyone sheltered.”

Serafina nodded, her face ashen in the darkness. But she didn’t hesitate, the pale gleam of her hair vanishing as she limped into the deeper darkness of the tunnels. They had refugees there—dozens of them, all pulled from the slums. Finn and his people had been helping fae escape the New Dominion for over twenty years, but now that the Shadowed Veil was gone they’d struggled to move anyone out through the Arcanum’s blockade.

His fault. The shrill ghost of the alarm echoed in Loren’s ears like an accusation. He’d brought this down on all of them.

“You too,” Finn called over his shoulder. He had his sword in his hand, already heading for the opening of the main tunnel. “You can’t be here. If the Arcanum has found us⁠—”

“If the Arcanum is here my shadows are your best chance at survival.” Loren drew his borrowed sword, stalking after his friend. “Rethink any plans you’ve made that involve me leaving you behind to die.”

For a moment Loren thought Finn might argue, but then he nodded once, his gaze flicking from Loren to his shadows. They didn’t speak again, the shadows racing ahead as they made their way together toward the main channel. Loren’s chest tightened as the stone walls pressed close around them, his heart pounding so hard he was sure Finn would hear it. Why did it have to be underground?

“Here,” Finn said, stopping. He lifted a hand, the dim aetherlamps that lit the tunnel behind them winking out all at once and plunging them into absolute darkness.

For a heartbeat, Loren couldn’t breathe. The sudden loss of light clawed at scars that had never truly healed, cold dampness seeping into his bones and freezing him where he stood.

But this wasn’t his cell underneath the Aetherium. And he wasn’t in iron this time. Wasn’t powerless.

The shadows curled around him, their whispering voices quieting as Loren strained his ears for any hint of what they might be facing. Water splashed, muffled voices echoing off the damp stone walls—too many voices. Dara’el hissed, surging forward in a cold rush of ancient power, as eager as he was for the chance to draw blood against the people that had taken so much from both of them⁠—

“Shit—” Kai cursed somewhere in the darkness. “Wait! It’s us! We tripped the perimeter rune⁠—”

Finn swore viciously under his breath. “How did you trip the perimeter rune? We’ve shown you the way through a dozen times—” The aetherlamps flickered back to life, throwing the tunnel into sharp relief. “Goddess save me, who are they?”

Kai Sterling—unrepentant traitor to the Arcanum—stood in ankle-deep water, clutching a fae child bundled in tattered blankets to his chest. Maerin’s golden-haired messenger—Caela, Loren thought she’d said her name was the only time he’d met her—stood a step behind, her arm wrapped around a too-thin fae female with clipped ears and dark, wild hair.

“No—” the fae female gasped, her silver eyes going wide as they landed on dara’el. The shadows reared back, their whispers a dark cacophony at the back of his mind as she threw herself forward, putting her own body between them and her child. “Don’t hurt her. Please. He said you could help⁠—”

“We would never hurt a child,” Finn said, sheathing his sword. “Loren—” he jerked his head at the shadows. “Get them under control.”

Spoken like someone who didn’t have to live with them whispering in the back of his mind. The shadows didn’t want to retreat. They’d been promised vengeance. The blood of those who had wronged them. They churned around him, hissing as he urged them to condense around his feet instead. There was no justice to be found here—only an innocent child and her desperate mother.

“Her child needs a healer,” Caela explained. “The fever is burning her alive.”

“We don’t have a healer,” Finn said, his expression grim. “You tripped the perimeter rune. I sent Serafina to the other safehouse. Thorne was already there. I’m sorry, but we’re the only ones here.”

“No—” the child’s mother choked on a sob, her wild eyes flicking between them. “No. You have to do something. Anything. She won’t survive another trip. She barely made it here.”

“I’m so sorry.” Finn took her hands in his, his voice soft and his face kind. “But there’s nothing anyone here can do⁠—”

“I could remove her ly’ithra rune,” Kai said too loudly, his voice echoing off the damp stone. “Cutting fae off from their magic is what makes disease run so rampant in the slums. If she had access to her own power her body could fight the infection⁠—”

“Assuming she survives having it removed,” Finn cut him off sharply. He looked back at the mother. “She’s very weak,” he said gently. “What Kai is suggesting is very painful. As weak as she is…it’s as likely to kill her as the fever.”

“But there’s a chance it doesn’t?” Her eyes shone, glittering with desperate hope. “And she’d be free?”

“She would be a fugitive,” Finn corrected. “Both of you would be. If the Arcanum catches you, they’ll put her in the camps and you’ll go to a black site. We don’t know what happens after that.”

The fae female turned back to Kai, staring down at the frail child cradled in his arms. She reached out, brushing a tangle of dark hair back behind the sharp point of her daughter’s ear with trembling fingers.

“I would sacrifice myself a hundred times over for my daughter to live,” she said quietly, never looking away from her child’s face. “Do it. Please.”

“Alright.” Finn dragged a hand through his hair, pinning Kai with a glare. “Are you sure you can do this?”

“I can.” Kai stared at the child, the lighthearted irreverence he normally wore like armor nowhere to be seen. “I’m an extensively trained runesmith, in case you forgot.”

“No one forgot,” Loren muttered.

Finn ignored him. “Bring her through here,” he ordered, leading the way back through the tunnels. “Lay her down—on the floor, not the cot.”