She turned to the group of people addressing her.
First, she looked for the sorcerer who’d cast the trap, and was surprised to find that she needed to look down to find him.
A boy, no older than fifteen.
She frowned. To his left, a fierce looking woman with scars all over her neck and arms held a knife out, ready to attack. On the other side, an old (very old) strongblood hunched, peering at Lucidia, and holding a shotgun.
Talk about a motley crew.
“This is the resistance?” Lucidia asked, raising an eyebrow.
“What resistance?” the woman sneered.
“You’ve been freed, from the masters…”
“Yeah. What of it?” the woman asked sharply.
“Are you offering refuge?”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Depends on who needs it.”
“I told you-”
“I heard you. A strongblood, right? You know how many of us were delivered to the masters by your kind?”
Lucidia’s gaze flicked to the old strongblood, nearing the end of his days. He made no move to help her, but opened his mouth. His voice was nearly a wheeze. “Draxos?”
She nodded.
“Lucidia?” he asked distantly. “I’ve heard that before.”
The boy sorcerer put an arm around the old man and steadied him, steering him away from the door and over to the sick beds.
Lucidia had a wild thought and decided to run with it. “I’m Kenzo’s daughter!” she called after the old strongblood.
The man stiffened, and looked at her with a new expression, with eyes that betrayed memories and centuries of fighting.
“Lucidia…” he hummed, coughing brutally at the end of the word. “Yes, that’s right. Come join me.”
She glanced at the angry woman, still holding the weapon raised, and found no choice but to follow the old strongblood, past rows of refugees laying on the dirty ground.
Reykon
Truly, Reykon Thraxos had never had as much fun in his life as he’d had last night.
Through an alcohol induced haze, he recalled Robin’s beautiful, contagious laugh, as the rules of their game grew more and more ridiculous and the hours grew later.
He’d laughed more than he had in all his days, combined.
Robin had laughed so hard that she’d fallen out of her chair, and then rolled on the ground, clutching her stomach, crying from the humor. She’d nearly taken the board with her, too.
A nostalgic smile danced on his lips.
But the warm, golden light of last night had faded to dark shadow. There were no lamps on. It was five a.m. on Friday, and the whole world was eerily quiet, still sleeping. Reykon walked across the living room and looked at Robin, laying peacefully on the couch, a chunky blanket curled around her. Her breathing was slow and rhythmic.
He wished she could just stay asleep, that she wouldn’t have to live through this next day, or the days after that. That last night could be her last memory, before Magnus left her devoid of that beautiful laugh he loved so much.
But the night was over, and now it was a new day.
Their last day.
Her last day.
He turned from her, and found Willow watching him with a keen gaze. “Everything’s ready,” she said softly.
He nodded and glanced back to Robin.
“Reykon,” Willow said, winding her hand through his. “Are you sure?”
His eyes were full of sorrow when he looked back to her. “I can’t…” he faltered, and then regained his composure. “There is no running from Magnus. It would be a death sentence to both of us. And when he found her… it would be worse.”
Willow’s gaze turned downward, and she slipped her hand out of his with a small nod.
Lucidia
They sat on the rough cots in the sickbed section. People in various stages of injury and ailment lay, still as boards, or turning in pain. She saw a few humans, pale and ravished from draining. The rest were supernatural creatures of various origin. The caster and the woman sat on the opposite cot, watching them carefully, and Lucidia ignored the weapon that was ready to move at any moment. She was confident that she could disarm the woman with her eyes closed.
There were narrow windows towards the top of the wall, but they’d been boarded up. Not that anybody could see them through the concealment spell, which shrouded the entire place in thick, invisible magic. If a human were to try to break through, or enter the basement, it would send an unshakeable feeling of unease through them and send them running the other way. Nobody would be bothering the safehouse anytime soon.
It was these safehouses, the ones protected by magic, that truly stayed safe.
She’d been charged by Darian to clear out plenty of refuges that weren’t so lucky as to have a caster.
With teams, they’d slain droves of freed supernatural creatures and dragged some back to their masters, their deaths to be drawn out and made examples of. In the moment, she hadn’t given a second thought to it, fueled by that anger and naïve black-and-white ideology she’d clung to so tightly.
She remembered mowing them down, the runners, and the ones that begged for mercy, and thinking, how could you think you’d get away? Didn’t you know that we’d find you?
And now, look at where she was.
She felt a wave of remorse rise up, and it made her uncomfortable. A useless emotion, she heard her own voice echo in her head.
Now, as she looked at the old strongblood, she understood how wrong she’d been.
Remorse was important.
The masters felt no remorse and look at where they were. What they were. They took and took and took and felt no qualms about taking until there was nothing left to give. And then, they sent their strongblood dogs out to find more.
She used to believe that was how the world worked. The strong get stronger, because
