Chapter Twenty-Four
TWENTY-FOUR
ASPETH
5 Days Before the Conquest Moon
Iyawn as we stand in line at the guild hall, ignoring Gwenna when she elbows me. I know what she’ll say. It’s my fault I was up so late. And it was. The past few days of training have left me so exhausted that I should be sleeping like a babe. But I couldn’t fall asleep last night. Too many things were racing through my mind.
I fret over my husband. I fret over my friends. I fret over Father and the hold. Father loves to feast and carouse and attend parties. What he doesn’t love is the actual day-to-day minutiae that comes with tending to a hold. He doesn’t think he should have to worry over debts or bills or purchasing artifacts.
He’ll be completely clueless about the attack until it’s too late.
Can I send a message somehow? Do I worry him knowing that there’s no money to pay additional knights anyhow? That there are no artifacts to defend the hold should Barnabus continue with this takeover?
I worry that saying nothing is the wrong choice. The selfish choice.
Because if I say something, it will almost certainly be traced back to me. Is it better to try to influence things here? To possibly offer up the promise of funds—or some other sort of compensation—if anything is found? The fact that Barnabus is throwing money at the guild means that his father is low on useful artifacts…or isn’t supporting Barnabus in this particular venture. If no one finds anything useful, will he give up?
I wonder if Hawk is going to miss me while I’m gone.
Things haven’t been cozy between us since that night in the alley. I still throb with arousal every time I think about it and how he’d held me. How he’d pounded between my thighs…and then pushed me away. It’s been days and we’ve been cordial during training, but bed has been lonely. He either doesn’t come to bed or doesn’t speak to me.
I feel like I’ve lost something precious, and it hurts. The bed feels cold without him, and entirely not right. It’s strange to be in his quarters without him, and even though Squeaker loves to sprawl on Hawk’s side of the bed and rub her orange fur all over his pillows, I still find the bed strange when it’s just me.
After our interlude in the streets, he didn’t come to bed that night. Said he had work to do. Since then, it’s been a round of excuses in private. He’s made it clear that no one else needs to know we’re having problems, but each time he leaves me alone to go “on patrol” or to check gear, my heart aches.
And like every other night in which he isn’t in bed, I barely sleep.
I’m regretting it now. I should be full of enthusiasm and excitement this morning, and instead I’m dragging behind the others in my Five as we crowd into the guild hall behind Magpie. There’s something about her that seems a little off this morning. It’s hard to describe—like the hard edges have been softened. There’s something almost lackadaisical about her demeanor, and it’s puzzling.
She yawns as we wait in line. “Not too much longer and then we’ll get going.”
“Somehow when I thought of wild adventure and tunnel crawling, this wasn’t what I had in mind,” Gwenna tells me as we shuffle forward in line.
I have to admit that she’s right. The reality is far more…bureaucratic.
We’re standing in line in the guild hall along with a dozen other fledgling teams, waiting to be recorded in the logbooks. We have to request which tunnel we’ll be heading into and we’ll be assigned a series of colored, numbered flags to denote where we’re excavating.
“It’s to ensure teams don’t tunnel on top of one another,” Magpie had explained as we got in line. “And to avoid tunnel collapses if too many people are working the same area. Also, if we tell the guild where we’re digging, it makes it easier for them to rescue us if something goes wrong.”
“What could go wrong?” Mereden had asked.
Magpie had just laughed in her face.
So… that didn’t give us a ton of confidence. I glance over at Mereden. She’s near the front of the line, standing behind Magpie, her pack on her back. Her tight black curls are covered in a festive head wrap, and as I watch, one of the men from the next line over reaches out and tugs on the jaunty bow over her ear.
She turns, glaring.
“I don’t think this cap is guild standard, fledgling,” the man sneers.
“Who are you, the guild uniform monitor?” Lark immediately comes to Mereden’s defense. “Leave her alone.”
“Bold of you to wear that at a guild event when you’re trying to be taken seriously,” the man says, flicking at her bow again.
Mereden blinks rapidly, her lips pressed together, and she looks as if she might cry.
“They’re not trying to be taken seriously,” jeers another. “Everyone knows they’re trying to fuck their way into guild membership.” He turns toward me and gestures. “Just like that one did.”
Ouch. But…he’s not wrong. Isn’t that what I’m doing? I married my teacher just to have a chaperone.
As Lark argues with the team in line next to us, I scan the room for my husband. Hawk didn’t come to bed last night, and he wasn’t at breakfast this morning, nor did he show when we packed our things. It’s almost as if he’s avoiding me, though Magpie didn’t seem concerned.
Then again, she’s not concerned with much of anything right now. Lark looks as if she’s ready to brawl with the men in line next to us, and Magpie couldn’t care less. Her gaze is wandering the room, eyeing the other teams that are clustered in line waiting for their assignments.
“All right, all right,” Gwenna says, moving forward and separating the men from Mereden and Lark. “A man can suck a dick as easily as a woman can, so someone sleeping their way into guild membership isn’t a female-exclusive sort of thing.” She gives the men a tight smile. “And I’m sure your teacher wouldn’t want to hear about what you’ve been up to late at night, fledgling.”
The man flushes and steps away, only to have the other men in line jeer at him.
“You know him?” I hiss to Gwenna when she turns back to us.
“I know his type. Every servant does.” She shrugs. “Where’s your husband this morning?”
“I have no idea.” My face heats. “He’s avoiding me.”
Her brows go up. “He is?”
I nod. “He might be mad at me. I didn’t tell him who I was meeting the other night.”
“Nor should you,” she whispers. “No good can come of any of that.”
Gwenna knows things with Barnabus didn’t go well. That he threatened me and that I threatened to marry someone else. That things ended up going nowhere and I’ve been uneasy ever since. “No more messages have come in, have they?”
She shakes her head. Gwenna’s been getting friendly with the repeater who brings the mail just so she can snatch it up first and hide any messages I might get. There’s been no other contact from Barnabus, and that makes me just as nervous as that first message.
“I don’t know what he’s up to,” I fret. “If he’s making moves or if he’s lying low and waiting to see what is found in the tunnels.”
“He might be waiting to see what you do,” Gwenna suggests.
Ugh. She might be right. I wish bad people came with a glowing beacon over their heads that said AVOID . We need an artifact like that. “Mucking prick is trying to ruin everything I’ve been working for.”
“Ooh, strong language for a lady.” She nudges me playfully.
“I just wish he hadn’t figured out I was in the city. He said he recognized you that day in the woods.”
A guilty expression comes over Gwenna’s face. “I was hoping he hadn’t remembered me.”
“He said he recognized you because we were always together.”
She nods. “He tried to get me to go to his rooms once and I turned him down. I didn’t think he’d recognize me because, well, it happens to all servant women far too often. Perhaps he’s more sensitive to rejection than most.”
I stare at her, agog. He propositioned my maid? “When was this?”
“Right after your engagement party, I think?” She winces. “Don’t hate me?”
After my engagement party ? When he’d declared love to me? When we’d kissed in the gardens and I’d allowed him to fondle my breasts and thigh? That arse . “I’m not mad at you. I’m furious at him.”
“Yes, well, most nobles can’t be trusted to keep it in their pants.” Gwenna shakes her head. “I think they’re too used to getting everything they want. Hawk’s different, though.”
I blink at her. “I married him for the chaperoning, nothing more.”
“It might have started like that, but I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Tell me there’s nothing there except for convenience. No fascination at all?”
My face grows hotter by the moment. I can’t think of anything to say. How are we looking at each other? Like he’s tongued me between my thighs? Like he’s shoved his hand down my bloomers in an alley and made me come? Like he made me watch other people having sex so I could see what a knot is like? Like—
“Thought so.”
“Shut up.”
“NEXT IN LINE,” the guild clerk calls out, and then we’re up.
Our names and positions are carefully recorded. I’m listed as bulwark and Kipp is listed as our sword. Gwenna’s the gearmaster in charge of supplies, Mereden’s the healer, and that leaves Lark as our navigator. We all look a little alarmed at that.
Magpie just waves a hand. “We’re just trying it on. I won’t let you get lost. Have a little more faith.”
The way she says it is so loose and lazy it doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence, however.
The guild clerk licks his fingers and thumbs through the pages of a logbook, expression one of complete boredom. “I show that Magpie is the guild leader and Hawk is the guild leader’s assistant. Which will be going into the tunnels with the fledgling team?”
“Me,” Magpie says. “Hawk’s away on a rescue mission.”
“Another?” I blurt out before I can help it. “Seriously?”
She turns to look at me and then shrugs. “Someone needed rescuing and the pay was right. We’re shorthanded on Taurians right now due to the Conquest Moon…but I’m sure you know about that.”
The smug way she says it makes me want to scream…or fall into a puddle of shame. “He’s tired.”
“We’re all fucking tired,” Magpie says in a weary voice. “Work still has to be done.”
I am really starting to dislike her.
I’m also strangely hurt that Hawk left on another mission without saying anything to me. I know it’s just a marriage of convenience, but surely he could say something to me as I head off to the tunnels for the first time? Wish me luck? Tell me he’s going to miss me?
Gods. My head is scrambled over him.
The clerk scribbles something else down and we’re assigned a set of slate-blue flags for our Five. “Lucky” is all he says, not looking up from the book he’s furiously scribbling in. “Bringing any artifacts with you?”
“Just a dowsing rod,” Magpie says.
He looks up and smirks. “Really? That party trick?”
“What’s a dowsing rod?” Mereden asks.
“It’s a stick,” Magpie tells us. “But they say if you have Old Prellian ancestry, you have magic in your blood. The dowsing rod will point you toward whatever you’re looking for.”
“So it’s a stick,” the clerk says flatly, expression deadpan. “You’re bringing a stick.”
“A dowsing rod,” Magpie states again. “Don’t discourage my students.”
“I’m going to write down ‘stick,’?” the clerk replies. “Any other items to declare?”
Kipp walks up to Magpie and taps on her leg. Tap, tap, tap.
She glances down at him and then nods. “Right. We’ve also got a slitherskin house.”
“Gods help me,” the clerk says, but writes it down anyhow. He slaps the flags down onto the table along with a pass. “Please declare any tunnel with your guild flags. Please do not intrude upon another’s flagged tunnel. Should you run into trouble, activate your beacon and a rescue team will be sent down as quickly as possible.” He grabs a small glass ball with a swirling fog inside it and sets it on the table. “Your beacon. Any questions?”
Magpie scoops up the objects. “None. Thank you. We’re heading for Drop Thirteen.”
His eyes widen as he writes, and I realize it’s not a great choice. “Mmm. Luck to you. You’ll need it…but then again, maybe you won’t. You do have a stick after all.” He smirks.
Magpie ignores him, turning to gesture at us. “Follow me, fledglings.”
The guild clerk waves a hand as we shuffle behind Magpie, carrying our packs. “Next team, move up!”
I’m shoved from behind, my backpack jostling. Someone sticks a foot out and Lark nearly falls on her face. The room fills with male laughter and her face turns apple red with fury. She whirls around, but Mereden grabs her by the arm and drags her away before she can pick a fight. “Let’s just go,” she whispers. “We have better things to do.”
With the pass in hand, Magpie leads us out of the hall and down another corridor. My heart thumps as I realize we’re heading in a direction we’ve never gone before. There are guards down the hall, all of them wearing guild uniforms, and I see tapestries and bird symbols of the great guild masters who came before—Blackwing and Stonebeak, the legendary Stork, and of course, Sparkanos the Swan, the guild founder. Magpie’s symbol is there, too, but it’s small, and for a moment I feel such pride and joy that I’m on her team.
This is my dream.
I’m about to do what I’ve always dreamed of. My heart is in my throat, tears pricking my eyes. My heart feels so full. No matter what else happens, I will cherish this day forever.
There’s another guild member at the end of the hall, and we present our pass to him. “Drop Thirteen, eh? Good luck.”
I glance over at Gwenna, brows furrowed. “Is there something wrong with Drop Thirteen, do you think?”
She shrugs, adjusting her pack as she walks. Her gaze goes to Magpie.
But then the double doors at the end of the hall are opening and I hold my breath, ready to get my first glimpse of the secretive entrance to the ruins of Old Prell. It’s something none of the books I’ve read have ever gone into detail on, and I’ve wondered about it. Is it a giant tunnel mouth? Another door with multiple doorways? Layers like a cake? I’m so very curious that I’m practically bouncing in place, waiting for my turn to pass through and see.
Magpie leads us out…
…and into a muddy courtyard full of holes.
For a moment, I’m reminded of the field outside of town—the one where you can dig up your own artifacts. Disappointment crashes over me. There’s a large wall encircling the courtyard, closing off what must be leagues and leagues of the crowded city’s apex, and it looks strangely deserted compared to the clustered buildings outside. I can still hear people talking in the streets nearby, which is jarring. There’s mud everywhere, true, but there are also a lot of rocks, and the pathway we take is cordoned off with rope.
Magpie walks briskly through the strange courtyard as if she knows exactly where she’s going. We follow behind her, single file, and pass another team clustered up near their leader. As we move farther in, I see crumbling walls of old brick amidst the muddy paths and my heart clenches with excitement once more. These truly are the ruins of Old Prell.
There are holes all over the place, too. Not small holes dug by spades—these holes are big enough to drive a wagon through, and I think of the small spade in my bag and the staff I carry with the pointed end. Neither of these tools seem big enough to do the level of digging I’m looking at. As I watch, someone pushes a mine cart forward, and a guild member runs a wand through the air. A shimmering portal opens, and the cart is pushed through. Another one comes through the portal, this one empty.
I gasp and tap Gwenna on the shoulder. “Did you see that?”
“Seems like a shitty use for an artifact,” she says, and sounds spectacularly unimpressed.
“Where do you think it goes?”
“Does it matter? Nowhere important if they’re just using it to dump dirt instead of selling it to some holder for top coin.”
Hmm, she has a point. I’m still entranced, though, and I watch as the portal wavers and then flickers out again. The exasperated guild man waves the wand in the air again, reopening it, and another man pops through with an empty mine cart.
I eye the men crawling all over the anthill of the ruins. Everyone’s wearing guild uniforms, but only the one with the wand has the patch of someone who’s passed the guild tests. Everyone else is wearing apprentice colors. I move forward and tap Lark on the shoulder. “Ask Magpie why there are so many apprentices here.”
“Magpie has ears,” our guild master calls back. “And those aren’t apprentices. At least, not right now. Those are repeaters.”
Oh. Repeaters—the fledglings who didn’t pass guild testing and were dropped by their masters. They’re doing manual labor to assist the guild in the hopes another master will be impressed by their work ethic and give them another chance. I stare at the men hard at work, at the resentful looks they shoot in our direction as we walk through. This doesn’t seem good at all. It’s a setup that’s positively asking for abuse. I need to say something to Hawk about it, but then I spot a broken cornice at the edge of a crumbling brick wall at knee height. The blurry form is obvious to me, and all the thoughts fall from my head at the sight.
It’s an Old Prellian carving, late period.
I rush forward and collapse next to the cornice, touching it with hesitant reverence. By all the gods. Even though it’s been worn down by time and weather, I can still see the stylized eagle that was so very popular with Late Prellian architecture. It’s an amazing example and looks to be made out of the marble they favored in the late period. My fingers trace along the outstretched wings, and I’m in awe. To think that I can see this up close. To think that people just walk past this, every day, as if it’s nothing.
Someone clears her throat nearby.
I turn and see Magpie, her hands on her hips. “If you’re done fondling the rocks, can we get going?”
“Oh, but—the cornice—the eagle—” I stammer, covering it with my arms as if to protect it. “Late Prellian architecture. It’s just sitting here in the courtyard. Someone could hit it with a shovel—”
She gives me an exasperated look. “Where are we going, Aspeth?”
Is…is this a trick question? “Drop Thirteen?”
“We are going into the ruins of Old Prell. It’s full of rocks just like that one. So get up and let’s go look at those other rocks, yes?”
Reluctantly, I get to my feet. I don’t want to leave it behind—it’s so damned beautiful, I don’t understand how they aren’t scooping it up to put into a museum or a treasury—but I want to see Old Prell, too. And I want to dig in the ruins.
And I need artifacts.
It hurts me physically to leave the carved cornice behind. I feel it in my heart, but I can’t stay behind in the mud and with all these glaring men with shovels. I get to my feet, dusting off my trousers and adjusting my ill-fitting clothes. Satisfied that I’m following again, Magpie turns and marches once more. Gwenna gives me a sympathetic look. More than anyone, she understands my obsession with Old Prell.
We follow behind Magpie as she makes her way through the enormous field littered with rocks and gigantic holes surrounded by scaffolding. As we walk past, a flag with the number eight—in bold yellow—is hung on a pole. Behind the pole, a cluster of guild men are being lowered into a hole in what looks like an enormous basket.
I have to admit, I didn’t picture this. When I imagined guild life, I thought of adventures in the tunnels, but not of how anyone got to the actual tunnels. It’s not very…glamorous. Again, I’m reminded of an anthill with all the holes dug out.
Magpie turns, holding our blue flag out to a pit monitor. “Drop Thirteen,” she announces. “Magpie and her fledglings.”
He laughs. “Drop Thirteen, eh? Good luck with that.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Lark asks.
The man waves us forward, taking us to the last of the four holes open in his quarry area. We walk past the other three and I lean over one, but it’s too dark to see anything inside except the rope and pulley leading down. “Thirteen is just a bold choice is all,” he says. “Unlucky number thirteen.”
“Why is it unlucky?” she prompts.
“Because no one finds fuck all at Drop Thirteen,” the man says helpfully.
We all turn to stare at Magpie. “Why did we pick it if it’s notoriously bereft of artifacts?” I ask.
“Because you’re fledglings and it’s most important that you get practice? Calm down.” She lifts her chin at the attendant. “Show us to our basket. We’re late already.”
He pulls it from its anchored tether at the side of the hole that must be Drop Thirteen. There’s a bit of rock skittering in as he drags the basket forward. Magpie steps forward and helps him steer it over the large, gaping hole the size of a well. I watch them work, a little fascinated and a lot alarmed.
Gwenna leans toward me. “She might have a good feeling about things, but I don’t. You think she picked this one because she doesn’t expect us to find anything? That it’s just an excuse to look busy?”
I glance over at our leader. She’s climbing into the basket and adjusting the ropes with a skill that speaks of years of practice. “Why would she go to all that trouble?”
“Just to get away from Hawk judging her for a few days? You know he’s not happy with her.”
“I think Hawk isn’t happy with anyone.” I can’t help but think of that night in the alley. How he’d grabbed my jaw and made me watch. How he’d flung me away from him afterward like I was garbage and then immediately abandoned me when we got home. It made me feel small and dirty and unwanted.
“Mmm, I don’t know about that. I’ve seen the way he watches you. If he’s not into you, he’s fooling us all.”
Her words make me flush. “Let’s focus on Magpie.” Because talking about her doesn’t make my belly flutter. “You think she’s setting us up? That she doesn’t want us to find anything?”
Gwenna shrugs, her gaze locked on Mereden and Kipp as they climb into the basket. The slitherskin is agile as he trots in, his shell bouncing merrily, but Mereden looks terrified as she peeks over the edge. “All I’m saying is that the simple answer to weird behavior is the likely answer.”
“And what’s the simple answer?”
“That she’s drinking again.”
“She swore she’d stop,” I protest. “She wouldn’t.”
“Promises are easy,” Gwenna says with a shrug. “Come on. I think it’s our turn to get into the basket.”
I want to continue arguing, but then Lark steps into the basket and the entire thing sways, banging against the lip of the hole and sending a scatter of pebbles down into the darkness. Mereden squeals in distress, clinging to Kipp’s house…and knocking poor Kipp flat onto his belly. Lark topples on top of him, and Magpie nearly falls over as well.
“Hold on to the basket,” Magpie barks, and the next few moments are chaos as everyone rights themselves. The basket sways above the hole dangerously, the basket handler clinging to the rope on the other side of the pulley and frowning mightily at us. “You two, quit whispering and get on. The sooner we descend, the sooner we can make some coin.”
Her words cheer me up. Maybe she wants this to go well after all. Gwenna’s just imagining things. I move forward, climbing into the basket and clutching at the side when it sways crazily. “Oh gods!”
“You get used to the movement,” Magpie says. “You just need practice.”
Gwenna is the last to get on board and clings to me as she squeezes in. The basket is full, and Mereden’s pack is pressing into my side even as Gwenna holds on to me. We’re packed like salted fish in a barrel, and it’s a good thing that teams are Fives, or else they’d need bigger baskets. I imagine a basket with Hawk’s hulking form in it, and imagine pressing up against him, and my stomach flutters again.
“Ready to go?” the basket handler calls.
“Send us down,” Magpie calls back, slapping the side of the basket. “We’ll let you know when we’re ready to come up.”
The basket jerks and we all give a little scream. Well, except Magpie, who just laughs at us. Then it begins to lower slowly, and again, I feel like I’m being sent down a well. I crane my head (even as I cling to the side of the basket) and eye our leader. “So how does this work? How do we get back up?”
“Someone always monitors the basket lines,” she says. “Rain or shine, morning or night. We run one of our flags up the rope and they’ll send a basket back down for us.”
It sounds like an imprecise system and I have a million questions. Like, what happens if we can’t send the flag up? What happens if a rope breaks? What happens if we’re down here too long? Magpie’s short with her answers and dismissive, as if she’s bored already. I’ll have to ask Hawk when I see him again.
If he doesn’t hate me, that is. If he feels like talking to me after our alley incident.
Then again, I’m his wife. He’ll have to at least talk to me to say “I want a divorce” even if he doesn’t want to knot me anymore. My thighs tighten at the thought. Surely he’ll want at least that, right? Surely…
My mind blanks out as the basket lurches lower, and then faint lighting glimmers through the cave. As we go down, I see a pocket watch hanging on a nail, the face of it glowing bright and lighting the cave. Farther down, there’s a teacup hanging by the handle, also glowing. More scattered objects light the way down, artifacts that have been determined to be useless except for their ability to light the well of the cavern, and I want to grab each one and examine it to see the glyphs. What symbols did they use for the magic? Are they Late Prellian or Early? Why would you want a teacup to glow with the brightness of the sun?
The basket creaks lower and lower, and I crane my head to glimpse each artifact as we sink lower. I’m pretty sure I see Magpie raise a flask to her lips, but I say nothing. I don’t want to lose a moment of this.
Because the narrow “neck” of the cave that we’ve been descending—Drop Thirteen—opens up, and then I can see the enormous cavern that is the ruins of Old Prell. Tears spring to my eyes as the sight spreads before us.
It’s the most beautiful, wondrous thing I’ve ever seen.
I’ve heard all the stories a thousand times. That Prell was a mighty kingdom full of wizardry and magic, and that a thousand years ago, the gods (or a nasty earthquake) struck and it sank below the earth. It turns out that the city itself was built upon a network of caverns, and so the ruins themselves are scattered in a warren of tunnels, some big and some small, and it’s this that the guild guards so fiercely.
There’s a large open chamber in the cavern, and the ruins of ancient buildings spill from every rocky ledge. Toppled columns are covered with moss, and water drips onto broken pieces of statues. Everywhere I look, there are pieces of Old Prell scattered like a puzzle, and I’m left with the impression that if only I had the time and strength, I could pull it all together again and remake the city once more. I can’t wait to get out and explore.
But then our basket continues to descend, and I have to bite back a whimper of protest as we pass through the massive, fascinating cavern and keep going lower. The walls grow tighter, our basket smacking against the side and jostling us.
“Not much farther,” Magpie says as it gets dark again. There are no artifacts this deep to light the way.
“Can’t we go back up?” I ask. “I’d love to get another look at the big cavern.”
“It’s all picked over. Trust me, there’s nothing there.”
A faint light gleams from below the basket, bleeding through the slats we stand upon. It grows brighter as the basket lurches farther down, and the well opens up wider. A crystal egg gives off faint light, illuminating the newest tunnel and showing more ropes off to the side and what looks like a side tunnel.
“Everyone hold on,” Magpie says. “This next part requires some skill.”
She pulls a giant staff from the side of the basket. There’s a hook on the end of it, and she maneuvers it out to the ropes dangling nearby. When she hooks it, she pulls hard, and we surge forward to the lip of the side tunnel. Everyone clings to the edges of the basket, but I’m relieved to note that we stop descending, and Magpie slowly pulls us toward the side.
Once we’re close enough, I see additional rope loops hanging from the walls, and at her indication, we reach for them. With a few more tugs, we manage to pull the basket onto the edge of the platform of the side tunnel.
“Everyone out! Don’t forget your gear.” Magpie sounds cheerful, as if she has great affection for the tunnels. I can’t blame her. I’m excited to explore down below. Who knows what wonders we’re going to see? Anticipation makes me twitchy, and I almost leap out of the basket after Lark, eager to get started.
One by one, we get into the tunnel and have a look around. It’s one of the smaller tunnels that we’ve passed and yet it’s still large enough that Mereden could stand on my shoulders and not touch the ceiling. There are layers of rock here, the walls striped horizontally with different layers of sediment, but it’s all been cleared enough that we can walk comfortably.
“Formations please,” Magpie calls out, and then makes a strange noise.
“Did you just belch?” Lark asks her, suspicious.
“No.”
Gwenna nudges me, an “I told you so” look in her eyes.
Great. She’s drinking, and that means we’re probably on our own with barely enough training. I wish Hawk were here. He can yell at me all he wants—I just feel safe when he’s around.
But he’s not here, and we’ve got to make the best of things until we get back to the surface. I’m torn between wanting to find something so we can emerge in triumph…and not wanting to find anything at all, because fuck Barnabus.
“Formation,” I echo. “All right, should we tie ourselves together now? The sword goes at the front of the line, right?”
“No need to tie yet. See that rope?” Magpie moves to the wall and tugs on something I’d missed—there’s indeed a rope bolted to the wall here, spaced-out metal hooks holding it in place. “Once we run out of handrails, then we’ll be in proper digging territory. Then you can rope yourselves together.”
“So this isn’t where we’re digging?” Gwenna asks.
Magpie laughs. “Oh, gods no. This is the entrance. We’ve got to go much deeper in if we expect to find anything at all. It’ll take a few hours to get to where we’re headed.”
Instead of being dismayed, I’m rather excited. Several hours means a lot of ruins to view. I’ll take it. Kipp trots ahead of me and I take my place behind him in formation, as the bulwark. The shield I’ve been assigned is still strapped to my back, holding my pack in place, but I guess we get that one out when we tie together? It feels strange to have to trust Magpie…and I come to the realization that I don’t really trust her at all.
That’s depressing. My childhood hero is utterly tarnished.
Nothing to do about it now. I grab the rope on the wall—and squeal in disgust because it’s damp and feels gross to the touch. Mereden also makes an unhappy noise about the rope. “It’s wet!”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Magpie chides. “You’ll be wishing for that rope in a few hours.”