Standing nearly a head above everyone has its advantages (unless I want to go unnoticed), and I keep Kiki in my sight as I follow her through the crowd.
Like a tempest, she blows forward, not noticing when she wanders into the web of the pleasure quarter.
Kiki reaches a dead end, turns with arms folded over her chest, and glares at me as though it’s my fault she’s here.
I have her backed into a corner and we face off.
At last, I say, “Will you at least listen to me?”
She grunts and shoves past me with a hard knock of her shoulder into my ribs.
We walk in irritable silence, keeping to narrow, crooked lanes until the waves along the breakwater at Battersea promise to muffle further conversation. The incoming tide sends seawater raining down on our feet.
I launch right into it. “You don’t understand. Going to the silver king isn’t a solution. He caused this. He could put a stop to it. He doesn’t. He’s probably the one building the Shadow Army—and how can anyone in Raven’s Landing fight back if they’re starving and deprived?”
“You don’t look hungry.”
“Oh, I am,” I growl.
Her gaze doesn’t waver from mine and her lips form a pout. An adorable pout. A slight gust of wind breezes her sugar snow scent my way. I shake my head, trying to break free of it.
“Kiki, despite what you may think, I care very much about the people. Dad had three favorite stories about my mother.” I pause, lowering my voice. These aren’t the kinds of words for just anyone. “One of which was of her compassion and the love in her lavender fae eyes. Even when I feel like giving up, drowning in stijl, when I’m hungry and cold, I do it for her, for her memory, and for what we lost in the Grievous Fires.”
“Your mother was fae?” Kiki’s eyes widen.
I nod. “After the Wicked War, everyone was scared even though Count Bortimal was vanquished. They were afraid of having magic in case they were attacked again. They were afraid of magic and the supernatural because it was what conquered him. Over time, those views slowly turned the people against each other and they started to believe that the supernatural was evil. They made it shameful and an embarrassment to practice magic and then outlawed it.”
“I thought it was make-believe, bedtime stories. I didn’t think fae were actually real or that my mother was telling me tales about her people. She must’ve been fae.” Her face crimps with confusion, uncertainty. Then her eyes widen. “Why did she send me to stop the Shadow Army?”
“Separating fae light and shadow is the worst thing that can happen to fae.”
“Worse than dead?” Kiki sounds dubious.
“The way my dad explained it is fae light and shadow are what hold them in balance, make them whole. Ordinarily, they embrace both aspects. Too much light, they burn out. Too much shadow, they fall into darkness and their power concentrates on the shadow, filters through it, and can cause untold destruction. When a demon steals a fae shadow, they’re tearing them apart, actually extinguishing their light completely. Whatever happens next is not truly the will of the fae because they’re neither dead or alive.”
“They’re like zombies?” Her mouth falls open.
I lift and lower my shoulders.
“Wait? You don’t know about zombies?” A hint of laughter quirks Kiki’s lips.
I squint as if doing so will help me understand the Terra word.
She explains the walking dead, getting very descriptive.
“Sound like demons to me.”
“But demons can be killed...” she starts.
I add, “And an army of shadow fae cannot.”
“And what would the silver king do with this army?” she asks after a beat.
“Rule the realm. Seeking the silver king’s council isn’t the solution. It’s a death sentence.”
Kiki’s face pales.
“The king divided the fae from the people of Raven’s Landing and is now dividing them from their light and shadow.” What was an expression of deep thought slowly smooths to one of resolve as her eyes flicker. “What did the people believe before him?” Kiki asks.
“We were united under Torsuld, king of the ravens.” I turn my gaze to the faded painting of ravens behind us and that deep fluttering rises inside. It’s like the truth wants to rush out of me on inked wings.
Kiki lifts her gaze as though searching the sky. The late-day bells ring, and I try to drown them and reminders of Raven’s Landing in the crashing waves. We’re quiet as the sun dips lower and the rising tide laps the rocks.
“The tide is coming up,” I say.
We cross the black sand to the outermost row of houses at Battersea and slip between a narrow passage that opens to the charred remains of the township.
“Leaves little to wonder about the devastation of the Grievous Fires.”
I kick the charred remains of a crate. Anger floods me as we pass a slate stoop and all that’s left of the house I grew up in. I make a habit of pausing when I come through here.
“I’ll live free or die trying.” I clench my fists, ready for a fight.
The urge to end the silver king’s tyranny or put a stop to it once and for all presses against my ribs, my bones, and my skin like it’s forcing its way out. Sweat beads along my forehead and I rake my hand through my hair. I feel like a caged bird, dying to take flight.
“I have to do something,” Kiki says. “I owe it to my mother.”
Her and me both. “You want to warn the people using the content of some random message? Then what?” My anger wanes as I glance down the lane and toward another house that’s all too familiar. “We’ve tried it all.
