Page 26 of The Fae Lord
After that, as the ale grew warmer and our tongues looser, we came to an arrangement: if it ever became possible for the Shadowkind to escape, the elves would be on our side.
“We’re not fighters, mind,” Garratt said, chewing the end of his pipe. “But we will keep watch for you.”
“Why?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
Garratt shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “Because I believe you’re destined for more than performing party tricks for the fae lord. And I’d like you to be in my debt.” He grinned and puffed on the pipe. “It’s always beneficial for someone in power to owe you a favour.”
Now, as his words echo in my head, I remember the way I felt in that moment. Like something shifted deep inside me. I’d always dreamed of escape. We’d been plotting our ‘rebellion’ for years. Centuries. The tunnels were a legend among the Shadowkind of the castle. But it was only then that I started to believe it could happen. And that I should be the one to lead it.
I don’t know why that elf made me think differently.
I’ve thought about it many times since.
Perhaps because they are so wise, so all-knowing, and he saw something in me.
Perhaps because fate whispered in my ear that he was someone I could trust.
Now, though, I’m starting to wonder if fate got it wrong.
It has been weeks since I heard from Garratt. When we first escaped from the castle, I sent word via raven that we would be in touch, and asked him to keep his word and keep his ear to the ground. Send the bird back when you have news, he will know where to find us.
I have watched the shield every day. Paced the perimeter looking for the raven, and found nothing.
So, either Garratt changed his mind, or something else is happening in the city. Something to prevent him helping us.
Our first meeting at the castle was fifty years ago. We have been friends ever since, drinking together regularly when he brought ale to the castle. I refuse to believe he has changed his mind.
Which means . . .
I pull my cloak up higher around my face. I’m sticking to the shadows, trying to slip through the market crowds of the elven quarter unnoticed. More than anything, I’m trying to keep my wings completely still. Because if anyone catches my bells on the breeze, this could all be over.
As I approach Garratt’s inn, I pause and assess the doors and windows. It’s early morning. The inn is locked up tight, and won’t be opening until midday.
Do I wait? Or do I knock?
Instead of rapping my knuckles on the front door, I head around back to the stable yard where patrons tether their horses. I slip into the shadows and quietly tap on the back door, the one that leads into the kitchen, then remain as unnoticeable as possible until the door finally creaks open and a familiar blond head peers out into the sunny yard.
“Who’s there?” Garratt grunts, pinching his nose.
I wait, making sure he’s alone, then slip past him into the kitchen. I am lithe, and fast, and my movements are like water. I am perched on the countertop, swinging my legs back and forth when he closes the door, bolts it, and turns around.
“Holy mother of...” Garratt slams his hand against his chest. Then, slowly, a grin spreads over his face. He rushes over, claps my shoulder. “It is very good to see you, my friend.”
I lean back against the countertop, my brow furrowed, the momentary pleasure at seeing my friend fading as I remember why I’m here – and what I’ve risked to be here.
“Garratt, I’ve been waiting for word from you. Why haven’t you been in touch?”
Garratt’s grin fades, too, replaced by a more sombre expression. “I’m sorry, my friend. There was nothing to share until yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“Something happened that you need to know about.”
I stop swinging my legs and lean forward onto my thighs. “What is it?”
“I had a visitor.” Garratt raises his eyebrows at me. “Lord Eldrion himself came to my inn.”
This time, I sit up straight. A bolt of anger lodges itself deep in my throat at the mention of Eldrion’s name. “Here? Eldrion was here?”