“You remember why you brought me into the House’s elite council?” Wren replies, cutting off the left sleeve of his shirt. Stretching it wide until the threads scream and snap under his attack, Wren carefully pulls the fabric over his head. It will partially filter the horrible stench in the air around Falcon’s body as he attempts to move her into the woods.
“I asked you to join the elite because I wanted a spy among their ranks,” Cyrus replies, his mind drifting back to the early days of his leadership. “I needed someone who could quietly slip into shadows unseen, listen into conversations unnoticed, and hide in plain sight. You were the best for such tasks, Wren. You still are.”
“I know,” Wren mutters, ripping through the leather cords that hold Falcon’s decaying legs upright. “Nothing happened in our house that I did not see. I think you managed to keep your feelings for Mynah hidden from everyone else—even Mynah herself. However, I’m not so easily fooled.”
Cyrus sighs as Iris’s irate face scowls at him in his memory. “I really screwed things up with her, Wren.”
“Regrets solve nothing, Condor. Much like your decision to stay in this hellhole with a man who intends to torture you will not undo the past,” Wren offers as he slices through the binds holding Falcon’s arms in place. Completely free of its tethers, her body crumples like a piece of paper about to be thrown away. Her belly splits open when it strikes the gravel path, blackening blood and entrails spilling across the earth in putrid masses. “Gods almighty, I wish you’d just let me free you instead!” Tearing strips of fabric off his shirt’s hem, Wren wraps his hands in makeshift gloves to protect them from Falcon’s decay. Both he and Cyrus heave and gag as Wren piles her internal organs on top of her chest and drags her into the forest.
Cyrus weeps as he vomits, his breaths increasing as he waits for Wren to return. Suryc’s brilliant eyes gleam once more in the tree line. Despite Cyrus’s wishes, the Ddraig will not move deeper into the forest. “Cyrus, this is madness!” Suryc hisses, smoke wafting through the air like long fingers of fog that reach and grasp at Cyrus’s body.
“I haven’t completed Mynah’s orders, have I?” Cyrus snarls, writhing in fury as he bares his teeth to his Ddraig. “I cannot leave until I’ve done what I set out to do. Besides, you need to be worrying about that hunting party Wolf sent into the forest! What if they find you?”
“Don’t fret over me; unlike you, I can take care of myself! But if you stay like this, you will only end up getting yourself killed,” Suryc asserts, stamping his large feet in frustration. Getting no response from his Cadogan, Suryc skulks out of view, grumbling as he disappears into the forest’s depths.
I’m alone, Cyrus thinks as isolation envelops him. His breathing grows shallow, his eyes darting back and forth. Cyrus’s limbs tremble and cramp as he tries and fails to curl into a ball, the traitor binds inhibiting his efforts. Only exhaustion finally calms him down, forcing his heart to slow its rapid thrashing against his cage-like ribs.
How can Wolf truly believe this way of life is right? Did he eat human flesh and contract a brain sickness? Cyrus shivers at the thought, memories of previous victims of such ills replaying through his mind. He’d stumbled across a camp of brain-sick nameless unchosen only once in his lifetime. The terrorized gibberish of their cries still rings in his ears. Wolf’s always been this bloodthirsty and depraved, hasn’t he? How can I ever get through to him?
“You owe me for that, you know it?” Wren croaks as he approaches, wiping his own spittle and bile from his chin. Somewhere in the forest, Wren has thrown his mask away too. Cyrus cannot keep from staring at Wren’s strong, dark features as he saunters closer to the traitor binds. Somehow his skin has maintained a deep tan despite the mask.
“Thank you. For dealing with Falcon and for believing me,” Cyrus whimpers, grateful to have one human ally in this dreadful place. Baring his face is the equivalent of offering Cyrus complete trust and loyalty. Cyrus feels a soothing in his anxious nerves that is as strong as the valerian root tea he used to drink to keep nightmares at bay.
Wren, completely unaware of how much his maskless face has affected Cyrus, grumbles under his breath. “I’m not just talking about a debt that a couple of extra helpings of dinner could repay either. I mean, I’m going to want something huge for moving that reeking sack of guts. Ugh!” Wren gags once more, shuddering as he turns toward the grass, fearing he will vomit again.
“I know,” Cyrus answers, intending to give Wren whatever he seeks as recompense. “What made you decide to lose your mask and trust me?”
Wren scrapes at the bloody gravel where Falcon had fallen. “I’m no longer a part of any house. After the House of Vultures fell, I never joined Wolf’s pack. I’ve put my skills to good use living in the shadows.” Wren hesitates, his eyes searching the ground for any other signs of his presence as he prepares to leave. “Besides, I’ve known you for years, and in all that time, I’ve never seen you go back on your word. If you say that following the Ddraigs is the right way to go, then I know you believe it. That’s good enough for me.”
For now, Cyrus adds, feeling no anger at the clarification. Deep down, he knows that Wren will always choose whatever is in his own best interest. He’s playing the odds, betting that Cyrus and the Ddraigs have the strongest chances for survival. Should Cyrus’s
