“Who?”
“The pretty one with the mushrooms.”
“Ash?” I sat up quickly, making Opie stumble.
“Yeah.” Opie centered himself on my thigh, his palms up. “Let me warn you, contrary to the noises he makes before waking up, he does not want his fingers, toes, or ears being sucked on.”
“And why were either of you sucking on them?”
“I wasn’t. She was!” Opie pointed at Bitzy.
Chirp, chirp! Bitzy motioned her middle fingers back at Opie.
“Leave Ash alone,” I scoffed.
“Wasn’t me!”
Chirrrrrrp!
“It wasn’t either of us. I was just saying, with no reason at all, there is a good possibility he doesn’t like it so much.”
Chirp!
“Right, he didn’t mind it when he was asleep.” Opie nodded to Bitz. “But again, I have no real reason or reference to saying this. Just an arbitrary passing thought.”
“Why were you there?”
“Oh, no reason.” Opie and Bitzy blinked at me innocently.
Probably hoping Ash still had remnants of mushroom on him. I wanted to believe it was because they cared about him also. They were checking in on our twisted, crazy family.
“He’s okay?”
“His vocabulary is in serious question. The names he called her? Wow.” Opie thumbed over his shoulder, shaking his head.
Chirp-chirp. Chirp, chirp-chirp! Chirp! Middle fingers flared through the air. Bitzy sounded as if she were spitting out every curse word under the sun.
Opie’s eyes went wide. “See? She shouldn’t hear such things—so impressionable at this age.”
I snorted. Bitzy was probably dozens of centuries old.
“But yes, Blondie is fine. Before he so rudely told us to vacation in a warm place, he asked if you and the big man were okay. Where is the walking grenade launcher, anyway?”
My shoulders sagged, my thoughts going to Warwick. I could still feel the remnants of him inside me, causing my body to crave more. I tried to reach out to him several times, but he was able to keep me back as if he didn’t want me to see him in pain. The moment he slipped, I would push through his barriers, taking on his agony, numbing it enough to keep him together.
It was how we made it out before. I thought he was a hallucination, but our link had bled through last time. We had helped each other survive, and I wouldn’t abandon him now. Or ever.
Last night he won the battle only because the drop of adrenaline, the dissipating of my numbness, crashed me to earth, tearing through, making me almost immobile. More pieces broke off, falling into the boiling pit in my soul. My howls of misery were drowned out last night by so many others who were grief-stricken.
I wasn’t the only one who lost a father figure and idol. Andris was a patriarch, a leader, a friend to thousands of fae in the resistance. Their voice, their purpose. I couldn’t be greedy in my suffering; many had shared my anguish last night, though I would always be the one who had pulled the trigger.
They also lost a friend and comrade. Zuz and I may not have been close, but she was to many at Sarkis’s base. And again, most would always look at me as her murderer, no matter how much they said they understood.
“Master Fishy?” Opie spoke quietly, pulling me from my thoughts. Sniffing, I wiped at the renegade tear. It would be my last to be seen in the daylight.
I could have fallen apart, could have let Istvan break me, but in forcing my hand, he cut off another idyllic part of me—the part that wishes for someone to find them, that cries for others to help, to have pity.
That shit was just fairytales.
I understood Warwick even more than ever. The people you chose to be part of your family you protected by destroying and slaughtering the world to keep them alive. I had brought many people into my circle, and I would do anything to keep them safe.
“Find a way out of here and kill everything standing in our way.”
A plan started to form in my head. Getting out of here was the first step, and I needed everyone to help, especially Killian. Time was of the essence, and it wouldn’t be long before Istvan had him in the pit fighting to the death. The problem was, it was almost impossible for us to communicate.
My gaze went down to Opie.
“Uh-oh... your look worries me, Fishy.”
“I think you would look terrific in a messenger’s outfit.” I tapped at my lip.
“Hell, yeah I would...” He paused, tipping his head, his head wagging, taking in my intention. “No. N-O. No.”
“No?”
“Do you know what happens to the messenger?” He tossed out his arms. “They get killed, whacked, murdered, stabbed, shot, executed, beheaded, and chopped into little pieces every time. They are nothing more than a sacrificial lamb. So, no! No matter what, I won’t do it. Absolutely one hundred percent—NO!”
“But you can wear a cute little hat and short-shorts.”
His shoulders deflated. “Dammit, I can never say no to short-shorts.”
“Luv!” Rosie greeted me the moment I entered the bathroom, her arms hugging me tightly. “I am so sorry...” Rosie was tough as nails, but she was also very empathetic. It probably was the actress in her, used to exploring a range of characters, emotions, and actions and taking them on as her own.
I was taught to never show my hand. To always hide the weakness of feelings. After all she’d been through, Rosie was so much stronger than all those men who hid behind their stoic walls, pretending to be tough and powerful.
“Thanks.” I stepped back, my gaze jumping around to the guards along the walls, then spotting Lucas, Birdie, and Wesley. As Lucas came for me, Wesley and Birdie stayed in their spot.
I fought back the wave of guilt.
The absence of Zuz in this morning’s group wailed through the room. She would never be again, and I could feel their reproach, their confusion of being happy I was alive but resentful I took not only their friend but also their leader from them. Even if they understood I had no choice, feelings didn’t care about facts.
“Brex.” Lucas hugged me tightly. He didn’t bother to say sorry or anything else. No words could soothe what had happened.
It was brief, but I hugged him back, allowing him to chip at the burden I carried. Pulling back, I squeezed his hand, glancing over at Birdie and Wesley, forcing myself to move to them. My steps were solid, my chin high when I stopped before them.
“There is nothing I can say except I am sorry.” I peered between them.
Wesley’s head dropped, shuffling his feet. “I know.”
“Let’s be honest, Zuz was a real bitch, but she was our bitch.” Birdie was solemn, but like me, didn’t show any real emotion. “And Andris was more than a leader. He was our family.”
My throat tightened.
“I know you get that more than anyone. I can’t imagine being in your shoes. You did what you had to do... we understand.” She motioned between her and Wesley. “Doesn’t make everything okay right now.”
My lips pursed. I got it. I really did, but...
“Too bad,” I replied coolly. Both reacted in shock to my words. “We don’t have the luxury of time, catering to personal grievance in here. If you thought it was brutal out in the Savage Lands, then just wait when you get put in the hole or are whipped beyond any limit your mind can take. When you are the one in the Games, fighting for your life...” I folded my arms. “It comes down to life and death. Time or emotions are privileges we don’t get. Our only way to survive is to come together and fight.”
“You talking mutiny?” Wesley’s eyebrow lifted.
“Yes.” I nodded. “But first, we need to find a way out of here. To know we can escape this place when that moment comes. Plus, we need to decipher who is on our side and who would turn us in. Just one turncoat will destroy everything.”
“Who’d want to stay here?” Rosie huffed.
“You’d be surprised how many will go against their own best interests to become the inside snitch, thinking they’ll be rewarded.”
“Okay.” Birdie dipped her head, fully turning to me. “What do we do?”
“Learn everything you can about every guard, every door they go in and out of, any loyalty they might have, especially the fae guards. Get them to talk, to slip any useful information. And tell others to do the same and get the information back to me.”
“I see people lagging in the middle,” a guard yelled out to us. “This isn’t social hour.”
“What if we can’t?” Birdie whispered, all of us looking like we were moving away from each other. “We barely get a moment to talk to each other.”
“Let me say, please don’t kill the tiny messenger in short-shorts.”
“Huh?” Lukas shot at me.
“I said move it,” the same sentry bellowed out to us.