Page 70 of In Rising Tides

Wilder reeled back in shock. Had Baelwyn not appeared that first night with Warick? Had Wilder hallucinated that?

“Mother, have Warick and Baelwyn allied with Otto?”

She shook her head adamantly. “I’m unsure. But Warick and Baelwyn are leading the rebellion to free you, son. They are theones rallying the nobles against the King. Most of the skirmishes have been their doing.”

The world tilted, and then spun.

How was that possible?

And why?

“What makes you think that?” Wilder questioned her.

“The charges were brought against you on the basis of your reaching for your sword before you called the challenge,” Aine said, shaking her head. “Warick is arguing that the rules of challenge were broken because Oberon had disowned you before you drew your sword. Therefore, the traditional rules of engagement had been voided.”

“That’s farce,” Wilder muttered.“And purely semantics.”

She nodded. “Yes, but you are well-loved throughout this kingdom. People are willing to overlook it after hearing what the High King subjected you to.”

Wilder shook his head. “I don’t care what he did to me—I just want to save her, Mother.”

“It’s politics, my darling. And we all play the game. Even King Oberon is looking for a way to block any advances that would further your cause. He would even stoop as low as allying with the wulvers if it meant keeping his throne.”

“Why would he ally with wulvers again?” Wilder scoffed. “I’ve lost. I’m stuck in here.”

She shook her head. “You’re clever and will find a way out of this. He knows this too and is trying to plan moves in advance. Adding chaos to the mix in the way of wulvers has served his purposes before. Gods, he might even involve the humans.”

“Why would the humans care what happens in the Wilds?”

The machinations of court were not something he was well rehearsed in, having avoided it like the plague his entire life. Queen Aine, however, was a master at this game.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend?—”

Rocks skittered down the hall, and they both froze.

Several heartbeats later, after silence had remained, she faced him again.

“There’s no time to explain. They’re going to bring you before the court tomorrow,” she whispered, eyes darting towards the end of the hall. “I might have a plan, but you have to play the game.”

The restof the day passed with unendurable slowness, like the slow trickle of water down the stone wall of his cell. It pooled near the pile of straw he lay his head on at night.

The small pricks of light that speared through the ceiling and bounced off the water cast tiny beams along the stone walls.

Wilder watched as they turned from white to gold.

He felt useless, worse than useless—he was trapped.

Wings ruffled above him, and he peered up just as dirt and debris rained down upon him.

“The fuck?” he ground out, wiping the dirt out of his eyes.

Wilder screwed his eyes shut and focused on quieting his mind.

Outside the three walls of his cell, he could hear the wind sing. It was torturous, being so close to the wind and not being able to reach it.

His fingers flexed, but his magic could not stir, nor would it in this cell.

The scent of something sour hit his nose, and he recoiled, half thinking it was himself, until he heard tiny claws clatteragainst the stone wall. A tiny white mouse slipped under the bars of his cell and sniffed, before tucking tail and turning around.