Chapter 31 #2
The new tunnel is small, barely higher than my head.
Colder and darker, too, lit only by the light leaking in from the cavern.
It even smells different—like the mineral tang of wet rock and something oddly floral.
The smell gets stronger as I leave Alaric’s tunnel and enter a wider cavern that must be the old shaft Alaric mentioned.
The walls here look rough and ragged, all but stripped of silver ore, but when I brush my fingers across the stone, it’s strangely warm and velvety soft. I snatch my hand back with a gasp.
“Please tell me you haven’t hurt yourself already,” Alaric calls from the mouth of the tunnel. “Wait there. I’m coming to get you.”
I ignore him and bring my fingers to my nose, sniffing the soft fuzz clinging to my fingertips.
“Are you smelling the walls?” Alaric asks as he rounds the corner.
Again, I ignore him and inhale deeply, shivering with excitement when I finally place the light floral scent.
“It’s goblin’s gold! The walls of this old shaft are covered in a thin layer of goblin’s gold,” I say.
“Goblin’s what? If you’re trying to convince me there are monsters down here—”
“It’s bioluminescent moss!” I cut him off. “One of the only plants capable of growing in extremely low light. But this tunnel is almost too dark. It’s barely surviving.”
Alaric blinks at me for several long seconds. “Why should I care about moss?”
“Because it’s the answer to all of your problems!”
“Our mines don’t have problems.”
“Watch.” I burrow my fingers into the sparse growth and close my eyes, allowing Earth Mother’s power to flow through me and into the moss.
Within minutes, a thick layer of goblin’s gold has spread across the tunnel walls and ceiling, shining a bright golden green.
Perfectly illuminating Alaric’s dumbfounded expression.
“When properly nourished, it glows!” I say with a triumphant wave. “It’s more than bright enough to light your tunnels, which means you wouldn’t need to rely on hazardous open flames at all. And you could excavate the strains of silver ore you’re currently using to reflect light.”
Alaric peers at the glowing ceiling, his sharp cheekbones and strong jawline awash in the ethereal glow. “It’s beautiful,” he whispers. “And it’s been down here all this time?”
I nod. “It just needs a bit of help to thrive so far below the surface. But that’s simple enough. I could visit the mines every few days to nourish the moss and—”
“You’d do that?” Alaric’s voice is laced with skepticism. “You’d willingly assist our mining operations?”
NO! Rowenna shouts.
But I bob my head, certain my sister will change her tune once she understands the breadth of my plan. “I would be happy to nourish the moss so long as the outcome benefits Tashir too,” I tell Alaric.
“And how would it do that?” he asks.
“I want a percentage of the additional silver ore you’re able to extract as a result of using goblin’s gold for light.”
Alaric’s mouth pinches. “What need do farmers have for silver ore? Your people don’t wear jewelry or finely embroidered clothing.”
“Maybe we would if we had access to such luxuries,” I retort, though I can’t imagine my people caring about silver-buttoned trousers or luxurious blouses that will only make us sweatier.
But they would be interested in the supplies I could purchase from the isles across the sea with my own allotment of silver.
“I don’t plan to keep my portion,” I explain to Alaric.
“I would use it to purchase new plows and tools. We’re in desperate need of younger, stronger animals and higher-grade feed, as well as stores of dried food to sustain us through lean harvest years.
If I had a stake in these mines, I could use my profits to import everything my people need. ”
We don’t need to work with the Vanzadorians, Rowenna snaps. We need to cut them out, like a malignant tumor.
A malignant tumor Tashir needs to survive, I remind her.
Not if you find the stones of blood, flesh, bone.
I don’t have a seeds-forsaken clue where to find them, I silently shout. And there’s more than one solution to every problem. Maybe we don’t need to bring the entire mountain down to save Tashir.
We do, Rowenna maintains—as confident and unrelenting as ever, and I can’t take it anymore.
Why do you always do this? I snap.
Do what?
Pop up out of nowhere and make me doubt my decisions as soon as I find a bit of footing.
Several silent seconds pass before Ro says in a wounded voice, Have you considered that I ‘pop up out for nowhere’ because your ‘footing’ is crumbling? But I’ll stay quiet if you’d prefer I let you fall.
And maybe that’s the problem. Letting Delphine and Elodie—and even Alaric—in doesn’t feel like falling but rather like being lifted up.
If that’s how you feel, I won’t bother you anymore, Rowenna’s voice is rough and ragged. You clearly don’t need me.
She waits for me to recant and beg her to stay, but I don’t.
Because she’s right. I don’t need her voice in my head anymore.
I’ve found my own way to navigate life on this mountain, and just because it isn’t how Ro handled things, doesn’t mean it’s wrong.
It doesn’t mean I can’t lead Tashir just as effectively on my own terms. Maybe I never needed her guidance as much as I thought I did.
Certainly not as much as she wanted me to believe.
Rowenna gasps, like I physically struck her, and vanishes in a huff.
Instead of guilt, though, I feel an immediate flood of relief. An intoxicating sense of freedom.
“Well?” I turn back to Alaric. “Will you give me a stake in your silver ore in exchange for cultivating the moss?”
“How large a stake?” he asks.
“Sixty percent—but only of the excess you gain through mining what was used for light,” I remind him when his eyes narrow.
“Forty,” he counters.
“Fifty is as low as I’ll go. It’s the least I deserve, considering you’d have none of the silver ore you use for light without my help.”
“Fine.” Alaric agrees. “Light my tunnels with your moss, and you can have half of the additional output. Purchase donkeys and wagons to your heart’s content.”
The way he says donkeys and wagons makes them sound so frivolous. Like something as trivial as his courtiers’ lavish gowns rather than essential supplies that will literally ensure my people survive the winter.
Not to mention it will help his people too.
“You do realize that by providing for the basic needs of my people, we will have more time and energy to devote to producing bagrava for you?” I point out. “Though I still can’t fathom why you need so much if it’s truly only used for tea.”
I expect Alaric to come back with a wagonload of excuses, but he silently traces his fingertips through the lustrous moss. “I honestly don’t know why we need so much bagrava,” he admits. “Or why my father keeps demanding larger tributes.”
“You’re the crown prince. How could you not know?”
Alaric’s shoulders hitch up. “I’ve never enjoyed drinking Mother’s foul-smelling tea, and I’m always so consumed with my work in the mines. It’s possible I’ve missed something. But I promise to look into it now. If my father is hoarding or misusing your bagrava in any way, I’ll put an end to it.”
Despite our very different motivations and goals, I genuinely believe he will.
“Thank you,” I say, “for bringing me here and showing me all of this. All of you,” I add in a breathy whisper.
I step closer to Alaric, unable to stop my hand from rising toward his face.
I fully expect him to stiffen and lurch back, but to my surprise, he leans in, eyelids fluttering closed as my fingertips glide across his cheekbone
Behind us, a gravelly voice coughs. “I hope we’re not interrupting.”
I shriek and clutch my hands to my chest.
Alaric whips around, staring back into the larger cavern we came from, which somehow filled with miners while we were arguing. Or negotiating. Or whatever it is we’ve been doing here in the dark.
“Not at all. Your timing couldn’t be better,” Alaric says with a bit too much enthusiasm. “I’ve just opened a new connecting shaft.” He gestures to the small tunnel, but the miners don’t look convinced.
“What is she doing down here?” a man with a scraggly beard points at me. “What business does a gardener have in a mine shaft?”
“More than you think,” Alaric explains. “Indira has kindly agreed to use her abilities as a master gardener to light our shafts with a type of glowing moss rather than lanterns. It’s much safer and will allow us to excavate the silver ore we currently use to reflect light.”
“Why would she do that?” a middle-aged woman asks, eyeing me with suspicion. A chorus of voices agree—their dubious expressions cleaving away my confidence the same way the picks in their hands shatter rock.
Alaric appraises me too, but the softness in his expression is even more unsettling. Even more dangerous. “Indira has agreed to help us because she’s kind, savvy, and invested in this relationship—between our countries,” he clarifies with an awkward cough.
My toes curl inside my boots, and I stare at the ground, certain my cheeks must be glowing brighter than the goblin’s gold.
“Follow me, and see the moss for yourselves.” Alaric gestures down the new tunnel. “If you’re still skeptical then, we’ll put it to a vote.”
For what feels like the hundredth time today—which is a lot, given it’s barely sunrise—the Vanzadorian prince has surprised me.
It would be so easy for him to bark orders and impose his will on the miners.
But he doesn’t. And they clearly respect him for it.
A good many workers pat his shoulders as they shuffle into the tunnel, and he patiently answers their questions, which feel endless.
I hang back to give them space—so they feel comfortable sharing their worries and opinions.
And so I have time to scour the larger cavern for the gemstone triad.
This might be my only chance. I should take advantage of every second.
But I keep getting distracted by the echoes of surprise and delight coming from the tunnel as the miners admire the otherworldly beauty of the goblin’s gold.
And when I hear Alaric recount how I nourished the moss—making the process sound far more exciting than it was—I linger near the tunnel, grinning stupidly, and before I know it, my opportunity is gone.
And I’m not even mad about it.
The wondrous smiles on the miners faces as they reemerge are worth every wasted second. They’re mesmerized by me. By something other than bagrava.
Alaric’s beaming brighter than them all—almost brighter than the moss itself—and it completely transforms the harsh angles of his face.
For the first time, I see flashes of the confident, carefree boy from his earlier memories—before Besnik’s death—and I know I’m staring, but I can’t seem to look away. Not even when he catches me.
To my surprise, he doesn’t smirk or tease me. He simply grins back—a wide, genuine smile that’s far more enticing than the seductive looks he flashes around the palace.
“As suspected, everyone is most eager for you to cultivate goblin’s gold in all of our mines,” he says proudly.
The miners shout and stomp their agreement, the echo near deafening as it rattles around the chamber. And rattles around my soul.
Men and women eagerly reach for my hands and clap me on the back, thanking me for my generosity and compassion.
And with every kind word, the lump in my throat swells larger and hotter because I didn’t come here to help them.
I came to find and steal the source of their power.
They’re giving me everything I’ve secretly longed for: adoration like my people had for my sister, acknowledgment of my abilities beyond the bagrava. But I’ve never felt more undeserving.
Tears pulse behind my eyes, but I’m not about to let them fall in front of Alaric and so many people, so I turn and sprint back through the twisting tunnels of the mine, praying I’m fast enough to outrun my guilt.