Exile of the Clave

Exile of the Clave - Chapter 4

Rayce left the cavern behind with one bloodied fist clenched tightly around the dying torch, its flickering light casting weak shadows along the tunnel as he moved toward the main chamber where his Hunters would be waiting for him. He would send one of them to retrieve Kieran later; he couldn't even bring himself to touch the duplicitous Faerie now.

With Gwyn's memories alongside his own, he could see now the similarities between himself and another half-Shadowhunter who had been part of the Hunt. He could see through Gwyn's eyes and understand the love that Kieran had held for Mark Blackthorn. And he could see that the Faerie had been devastated when the Shadowhunter had chosen to return to his family instead of remaining with the Hunt. Instead of remaining with the Hunt...? Rayce jarred to a halt, sifting through the morass of Gwyn's memories from over twenty years ago with a spark of hope in his chest.

When he found what he was searching for, his mouth tightened and he shook his head. Faeries. He crushed the spark ruthlessly and buried it.

The main cavern opened up in front of him and he stalked through the doorway, dark thoughts swirling in his mind. He dropped the torch as he stepped into the light that filtered through the hollow peak above. Rayce kept his anger under control, schooling his face into a mask of hard-eyed command as he squared his shoulders and drew up to his full height. Weakness wasn't an option, not in this pack of jackals. He brushed the back of his hand across his upper lip unconsciously, heedless of the smear of red it left. Blood still ran down his fingers from his torn knuckles, and it left a faint trail behind him as he approached the crowd around the pool.

Hunters turned as he advanced, their wild eyes taking in his blood-stained face, his red-streaked hands, the blade of the Hunt and his own staff strapped across his back, and most of all, the cloak across his shoulders. He hadn't fought with them in the Seelie Court, but now that they could see him like this, like an animal, he detected hints of approval in some of those split-coloured eyes. Not all, but some. Their admiration made part of him feel sick, and yet oddly, a part of him was secretly pleased to be weighed and found equal to the fiercest Fey alive. If they had thought him a soft Shadowhunter, an easy target, he would prove them wrong.

The crowd parted slowly, each Hunter taking his measure as he passed, and Rayce let them. Let them get a good look, he thought as they stepped aside. Ahead, Rayce could hear quiet weeping, but he kept his face still, as his brother had taught him.

Rayce cleared the last of the Hunters circled around the spring-fed pool and found Bael collapsed in a heap at the edge, his shoulders shaking as he added his tears to the water. His shoulders... Black-feathered wings lay next to the fallen prince, bloodied and still, and Rayce felt his lips part as shock made the smallest dent in his facade. The stumps where Bael's wings had been cut away had been cruelly cauterized, and the blackened flesh made his stomach twist.

Rayce cast a deadly look back over one shoulder and asked in a cold voice, "Who did this?"

One of the smaller Hunters bowed deeply and spread his arms, the healed stumps of where he had lost his own wings flexing under his pale skin. Kratus, Gwyn's memories whispered. "Traitors don't get no wings, milord." He looked up from under his dirty black hair and his mouth split open in a grin that revealed teeth that had been filed to points. "Everyone knows that!" Kratus threw back his head and howled with laughter, the others joining in, howling and hooting as the broken prince wept.

How did Gwyn ever control this? Rayce turned his back on them and knelt down next to his brother. He shifted one of the stones at the edge of the pool to reveal a hollow space where an ancient cup rested, waiting for use. He dipped it into the pool and then set it down to draw Gwyn's blade. My blade. Rayce made a shallow cut across his palm and dripped blood into the cup. He probably could have skipped this step and used the blood from his knuckles, but he felt like he at least owed Bael this much. He should do it properly.