Everything and Nothing

I hadn't meant to find her.

I was moving silently through the camp, just another crony among thousands, another loyal dog sniffing out orders for the King. Only, the King of Hybern didn't know I'd never truly been working for him, but gathering his war intel to aid the courts.

The girl hanging in the middle of the rack between two others, dead by the look of them, doesn't move at first. She is near a faux dais of granite, too-near the center of camp, left as a trophy.

Not until the wind shifts, and I catch it; that faint, acrid trace of iron and suffering. Then the rasp of a soft, raw breath. A whimper so small I might miss it if not for the ears I curse a hundred times over in this place, reminiscent of Amarantha's court but on a bigger scale, where the monsters roam freely.

I listen and watch before walking over. I can't do this again. Not another Clare, not another Feyre. I cannot stand by again. If I'm here when these others are killed...what do I do? The answer doesn't come, so I shake my mind of the question.

Chains clink softly as she sways, feet barely above the floor.

She is a young woman. Human. Blood streaks her limbs, dried in rivulets down her legs. Her bare back is a ruin of lashes and burns, seared deep into her flesh. Iron shackles ring her wrists where she hangs. Not to dampen any magic, as she has none. Humans are powerless chattel to the King of Hybern.

She is one of the Children of the Blessed by the looks of it. Her necklace has snapped and now hangs crookedly, like her faith might.

Still alive. But barely.

Something about the fact that she's still fighting for each breath claws into my chest and holds on. Makes it ache through the numbness I've tried and failed to resign myself to.

"Hello," I say softly, stepping closer. I don't bother with a glamor. There's no one nearby, and she won't remember my face through the pain anyway.

Her eyes crack open. Cloudy blue, dim with exhaustion. She tries to lift her head, but it lolls to the side. The chains rattle again.

"It's alright," I tell her, low and steady. "I'm going to help you. I'm not one of them."

Maybe a lie by omission. But she nods. Or perhaps she just sways with the agony. I look around once more at the loud revelry, nobody casting any sort of glances over here where the dead humans are.

I reach for the shackles, letting my magic pour into them. It slides through the iron easily, seeking the raw skin beneath.

The cuffs groan and give way with a sharp pop.

She falls forward like a sack of potatoes, and I catch her, cradling her weight against my chest like she is something fragile. Something that matters.

I quickly winnow to my own tent, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Her breath hitches, her head shifting just enough for our eyes to meet, most likely shocked by the change of scenery so quickly.

But in that moment—gods—it's like she sees me.

Not just as a Fae male, not just another captor. She sees me. Through pain and blood and fading strength, her hazy gaze locks with mine like it is the last real thing she can hold onto.

Something inside me...stills. Then writhes and thrashes where my long-dead heart is. I ignore it, shove it down into that box where all my pain is locked away, but overfilled.

I pull her closer, letting my magic seep into her wounds. Not just to heal but to soothe as well. To tell her she isn't alone anymore without the words. I don't let it heal her enough to erase the markings though, just in case I get caught. I fear she wouldn't survive if she had to go through that torture a second time.