1. Rune
ONE
RUNE
We meet in the burning room. Nine of us now, all tucked into the far corner, faces slick with sweat, eyes squinted against the furious blaze. We sit with damp shoulders pressed together, choking on scorched air, waiting for Vale to begin. For now, he doesn’t acknowledge us.
The newest member—Arnelian—is the first to speak. He’s older, skin thick and wrinkled, hair more gray than black. He’s lived more cycles than any of us, and he’s got a smug expression, like this alone makes him better. I don’t entirely blame him–I’ll be smug too if I reach his age.
“There are no cremations tonight,” he says. His words are strangled and rough, an accent from the Pit. He wasn’t born here. He’s not paying the debt of a dead family member like most of us. He’s here because of something he did, and by the markings on the back of his hand, he’s not getting out anytime soon. Arnelian clears his throat, but his voice is still ragged. “We should move from the flame, where it’s not so?—”
“No,” Vale says. He doesn’t snap or yell, but the elderly newcomer straightens like he has. He doesn’t argue— nobody argues with Vale.
He sits directly to my left with three parchments in front of him. Despite being malnourished and unkempt, Vale is attractive. Smooth dark skin, expressive eyes, and relatively straight teeth. He glances between a pair of hand-written reports and a wrinkled page from an old book. His fingers leave oily prints everywhere he touches.
In the time before he speaks again, I mentally recite my report. It’s too hot to focus though, the heavy air making my brain slow and jumbled. This burning room, between its suffocating heat and the taste of charred skin, is our safest place to meet. There’s nothing but the crematory and the stone alcove we’ve claimed, tucked behind the fire and out of sight. Nobody ever comes here unless they’re depositing a corpse.
To my right, second-in-command Caleah looks at me. Her dull brown eyes, cloaked by flimsy veil, are hooded and shadowed with dark circles. She’s a cycle younger than I am, but she’s smarter. Probably the smartest in this room. I wasn’t surprised when Vale made her second, two seasons before he made me third. I’ve been here longer—but she undoubtedly has more to offer.
“Our people suffer here,” Vale says, drawing my attention. His voice is low and harsh, and he spits each word like a curse. “Alive, we fill the forgotten halls of the Tower. Our scarred hands build this kingdom that fails us. The crown starves us. Beats us. Weakens us until they hope we can never fight back.
“And dead, our corpses are dragged here. Tossed into a burning grave like diseased animals. Their fire devours us—takes every insignificant drop of our magic—to make sure we are useful, even in death.” Vale pauses, his dark eyes shifting to the vibrant flames. “This room is our eternal hell. One day, we will all be nothing but blackened dust in the bottom of that burning tomb. This crown we live to serve…they want to destroy us. So we must destroy them first.”
“Together,” I whisper. The word fills the room, expanding through nine chests, bleeding from nine cracked mouths. Arnelian stares, jaw slackened, skin flushed, eyes unnaturally bright. As our group grows, I’ve found this moment to be one of my favorites: when hope lights even the darkest of shadows. I’m still watching the awe in Arnelian’s expression when Vale clears his throat, startling me back to attention.
“Rune,” he says, nodding at me. “Any updates?”
“Yes,” I say. I try to sound more confident than I feel. “Tomorrow, I have my final interrogation for the position of Lady Saskia’s handmaiden. Caleah has already been made Lady Viana’s, so once I’m promoted, we should be precisely where we need to be.”
“Why not Princess Tora?” Arnelian asks. Any trace of awe is gone from his features, replaced with his typical sneer. “You want close to the royals? Start at the top, I say.”
I press my lips into a firm line. If I were brave, I’d tell him to keep his stupid questions to himself. Vale certainly would, and so would Caleah. But I’m not like them, no matter how hard I try.
“The princess already has handmaidens,” I say instead. “Besides, she’s too likely to detect our deception. She’s a dangerous choice. Viana is easier, and according to Vale’s confidants, she’s likely to be Prince Harrick’s betrothed by the end of the season.”
“But—”
“Hold further questions,” Caleah snaps, voice hard. Arnelian shifts again, fading into the shadows. Caleah glances at Vale, the two of them sharing a concerned expression, before she gestures for me to continue. I don’t let myself dwell on that look, heavy with concern, as if they don’t think I can handle my new role here.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to continue.
“Lady Saskia is a close friend of Lady Viana. I will use my position to keep an eye out for any trouble. Caleah will work to find information, and I will keep her from getting caught.”
“Thank you, Rune,” Vale says with a nod. After checking with Caleah, who has nothing to report, Vale looks back to the semi-circle of rebels. “As for the rest of us, we will finally put our plans into motion. We will be smart and cautious, but we can no longer talk about our future—we must now create it. Weapons, explosives, armor—we’re going to steal anything we can get our hands on.”
The rebels nod, but Vale’s words leave a heavy pressure in the air. He moves into specifics, assigning tasks to each individual. He’s mostly after weapons for now, but I imagine it will change as we progress. Once everyone has their assignment, he glances toward me and Caleah again.
“These women are risking their lives to find our escape. When the moment comes, whenever that may be, we must be ready.”
I force myself to act unaffected, as if the thought of dying for this mission doesn’t terrify me. As if I’m more confident in our faction than I am in anything else.
“You’re dismissed. Reveal nothing if you are caught,” Vale says. Without looking at us, he adds, “Caleah, Rune, hold back.”
The other members hurry from the room, leaving in groups of two or alone, and I suck in as many breaths of cool air as I can. When the final person leaves, once again sealing the door, the trapped heat crushes against me until I’m nauseated.
“Explain this text,” Vale says, placing the aged paper in front of Caleah.
She’d glimpsed it over Lady Viana’s shoulder during one of her study sessions, and after giving me detailed instructions, I went to retrieve it. I’d snuck into the library, ripped the 301st page from its spine in the dead hours of morning, and returned it to its shelf. I ran straight here with my heart pounding, my stomach halfway up my throat, and the wrinkled text tucked into my underclothing. It wasn’t the first time I’ve risked my life for our group, and it certainly won’t be the last. I only wish I read well enough to understand it.
I look at the page now, at its weathered edges and worn ink. There are too many words, and I hardly recognize any of them. Vale tried to teach me to read when we first met. I’d been in the midst of reckless grief and he’d been desperate for an accomplice. I practiced for a while, but as our faction grew, my time seemed to shrink.
Caleah places her hand near Vale’s, her pale cheeks flushing when their fingers brush. She’s been smitten with him for nearly a cycle now, and I have no idea how he hasn’t noticed. Or maybe he has, and he’s not interested. It seems unlikely. Caleah is pretty. Red hair, brown eyes, chaotic freckles. She looks like a breathing masterpiece and she’s brilliant, too.
“I know it’s not much to go on,” she says. Smoothing the edges of the worn parchment, she trails the text, pausing at the third paragraph. With a glance at me, she asks, “Do you know what this is?”
I look at the page, leaning toward it like I can will myself to be literate. Finally, I force myself to swallow and shake my head.
“It’s from Illia’s Tome ,” she says. “The original version, that is. They’ve updated it a hundred times by now, at least. I assumed they did it any time laws changed or there were new procedures. I’ve only ever read the newest version.”
Now she looks at Vale, as if to confirm he’s still paying attention. He is, and by the look on his face, he’s already figured something out from the text. He’s several steps ahead of me—they both are. I wish I could say it’s an uncommon occurrence, but it’s not.
“Viana’s tutor was going over something in this original version, and I was scanning over her shoulder. That’s when I saw this .”
She stabs in the middle of the page, over a hand-drawn chart. There are several numbers and a handful of words. I recognize magic and crown , but that’s about it.
“It’s a chart of Savoa’s magic during the first ten cycles. How much was collected during Lightning Season. How much was distributed to each sector. How much was stored for future uses.” Caleah pauses, dipping her chin toward Vale. “Notice anything about the numbers?”
“They’re…high,” he says. He raises his eyebrows, squinting toward the chart, as if he might be reading it wrong.
“They’re very high,” she corrects. Her smile is broad as she looks at me. “According to this, we used to collect three times as much magic every cycle. Three times! So unless nature is collapsing and no one is concerned…”
Caleah looks between me and Vale, clearly waiting for an answer. I’m still scrambling to digest what she’s explained, but luckily for her, Vale is far ahead of me.
“They’re lying,” he says. He doesn’t bother to look at me, his eyes solely tied on Caleah. “They’re…but why ? What could they possibly be doing with that much excess?”
“Who knows.” Caleah shrugs, folding the parchment in half. “Maybe they’re sneaking more magic to certain sectors. Maybe they’re giving more magic to themselves. Maybe the original numbers were skewed. Or maybe…there’s something sinister going on. Something we could use to our advantage.”
“If there is,” says Vale. “We’ll find it.”
After Vale leaves for the night, I do a sweep of the alcove while Caleah reads over her texts one last time. She stands beside the far brick wall, where Vale carved a small cubby to hide our stolen goods. He’ll need to expand it, now that he’s planning to steal weapons and explosives . I’m tempted to ask Caleah what she thinks of that.
“How did you read the text?” I ask instead. I pick a tiny piece of lint off the floor and toss it into the fire. “Without Viana noticing, I mean.”
Caleah shifts her mirror in and out of her sleeve. Hers is almost too large to fit, but she once told me she can’t breathe well without it. It’s why we all carry mirrors, after all. Not because they’ll actually protect us, but because they at least give us the illusion when we need it.
“The key is to act with purpose,” she says. She steps past me, chin lifted, as if demonstrating as she leads us around the fire. Like me, she carries the debt of a dead relative, but I don’t know anything more than that. I’ve never asked who committed the crime or what it was. All I know is that her brand has nearly as many beryls as mine. She glances at me before continuing. “Always have your excuse ready and be sure-footed. But small and unsupposing too, if you can. Too much confidence will catch their attention.”
“You’ve thought a lot about this,” I say, hating how my voice shakes. It’s not that I haven’t thought about how to stay alive. This just suddenly feels too real, too dangerous. One wrong move and I’ll join my father’s ashes in this pit.
“We’re going to be fine, Rune,” Caleah says. Her hands twitch at her sides, as if she’s debating reaching for me. She doesn’t. Instead, she nods toward the fire, a chasm between us. “Remember the motto.”
She offers one last smile before slipping through the burning room’s only door. I linger at the flames after she’s left, probably for longer than is smart. I hated this Tower when they first dragged me here, and I’ve hated it every day since. I’ve dreamt of escaping, of running until I find myself back in the City of Mirrors, back in the childhood home I barely remember. I plot the countless ways I could kill the crown, if I ever got the chance.
Anger has taken root so deeply inside me, I can no longer tell what’s flesh and what’s fury. And yet, I still taste the fear, feel it pulsing through my bones where I wish magic lived instead.
When I finally leave the burning room, I repeat the faction’s motto in my mind. They were the words Vale told me all those cycles ago, when our desperation planted the seeds of a rebellion.
We’ll find a way out, Rune, he’d said. He even took my hand, squeezing as he said what eventually became our motto: While others fight to survive, we fight to live.