Chapter 69
The Ditch is desolate. An empty stage Clode whips through and flicks about, tossing up yellowed posters peeled off the walls.
Her shrieks and howls are the only sound other than our footsteps crunching through the crusted snow—so thick I doubt it’s been cleared since news of the impending moonfall hit, with only the odd set of prints dimpling it.
“At least Clode’s enjoying herself,” I mutter as a lone parchment lark flutters past my head toward a veil of mist that smudges the usually clear view between both sides of the wall, making the place feel eerie. Haunted.
A corpse that’s been picked clean.
“Guess the panic set in,” Kaan murmurs, watching the lark disappear into the churning mist—Ahvi on his back, swathed in his filthy white robe that blends with the atmosphere.
The mists part, revealing a hint of the Moltenmaw moon perched in the most opportune spot to crush Gore into the ground, then smush together again, swallowing the view.
“Ahvi, is your shield still up?”
Kaan arches a brow, passing me a warm gaze I’m not sure what to make of. So I ignore it.
Ahvi nods.
Looking in the hollow of his hood, I meet his eyes glinting like silver moons. “Don’t forget to tell me if you catch a hint of anyone’s presence.”
His gaze lifts. “Just fae, or …”
I follow his line of sight, hand on the hilt of my blade when I notice a pair of large yellow eyes peering down at us from one of the skybridges ahead, the rest of the large, fluffy white creature mostly blending with the mist.
It blinks. Scurries away with a swish of its long tail.
“Anything that’s thinking of hurting us.”
Ahvi nods again.
“Thought I heard one of the soldiers say the city is at capacity,” Pyrok mumbles, peering past the crooked door half hanging off the hinges of a looted bottle shop—his hood pushed forward.
Gruffin’s bandaged to his chest like a growth, and though Pyrok grumbled to begin with, he hasn’t taken his hand off the small hatchling.
He drops a knee, grabbing something from the rubble that looks suspiciously flask-shaped. “Guess he meant the Undercity.”
Another playful swish of air dances past us, and I pluck a piece of yellowed parchment from the wind, scanning the muddy message:
“You’re right,” I say. “They’re all beneath.”
Makes sense. The Undercity is more vast than the city itself.
It could gobble up Gore’s entire population with a single sip and still have an empty belly.
But only a small section is actively mined, the rest derelict, belonging to predators who skulk in from the south and those brutal or broken enough to sketch out a living alongside them.
“It’ll be carnage down there.” I release the note back to Clode, who immediately starts batting it around again. “Many won’t crawl free when this is over. Those who do will never be the same.”
My words seem to echo between the walls like a haunt.
“He’s harmless,” Ahvi whispers, and I spin to look at him. Then follow his gaze back over his shoulder to a busted-in shop, its window shattered, yellow glass spat across the snow like shards of gold.
Despite Ahvi’s words, I shift, positioning ahead of Kaan as a wide-eyed, pale-faced null scampers out through the window’s jagged hole, his red garb torn and filthy, orange hair matted.
He stumbles to a halt atop the shattered glass, heaving breath as he looks at us through eyes set too deep in his skeletal face. A single beat where he seems to reconsider his options before tightening thin arms around the jars of preserves bundled against his chest.
He runs into the pale murk, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in the snow.
The mist opens like a pale curtain being pulled wide.
My gaze is drawn to the shadows dangling from the lowest skybridge like washing left to dry.
“Creators,” Kaan grinds out as I reach behind him, pulling Ahvi’s hood farther down.
Buffering his view of the bodies strung up by their necks, most getting picked apart by fat black rodents who’ve managed to descend the ropes.
I take them in, one by one. Heart pounding like a war drum.
Though some are too far gone to tell, those who still have ears boast the same nick in the shell as I do—not an elemental bead in sight. In fact, most wear the torn and filthy clothing I’ve come to attribute to the folk I used to offer bloodstone to.
Beneath.
“Seems the soldiers had a clear-out before opening the Undercity.” Kaan’s voice is a dark grate that sings to the icy rage licking at my ribs.
I crack my neck. Close my eyes.
Squeeze them really fucking tight.
Had Sereme only approved my crusade to slaughter Cadok, this wouldn’t have happened. Had I trusted my gut and taken matters into my own hands, this wouldn’t have happened.
I glimpse Kaan, his molten stare a roil of wrath as he studies the bodies, exuding the same energy I saw when he stormed into the crater to fight for me. But quieter.
A colorful lark flutters aimlessly through the gloom, making my breath hitch.
I know that lark …
“Stay right behind me.” I stalk forward beneath the bodies, refusing to look up lest I spur my brewing rage into something uncontainable. Once I can see The Curly Quill in the distance, I slow, ease my ring into my pocket, and slip a dagger free.
We’re a cycle early for the proposed delivery, but—
“There’s nobody in there,” Ahvi says, his words muffled from beneath his hood.
Beside the buoyant relief in my gut, there’s a heavy sinking sensation.
I pause, looking back. “What abou—”
“Uno isn’t there,” he says with a compassionate softness that’s so at odds for one so young. “Or Ruse.”
I swallow that information like smashed glass, then move across the colorful confetti of Ruse’s shattered window, scouring the shop’s looted interior.
Creators …
Stepping into the cold, musty atmosphere, I edge past near-empty shelves, over the torn bits of more vibrant larks littering the ground. Ruse’s lovely pets, now in pieces with the scattered remnants of her beloved shop.
It guts me more than the shelves.
Reaching the back, I rip the camouflage sheet away, fist clenching when I see the armory is only partially picked at.
Everything happened too fast for even the Ath to predict.
I know Sereme survived, otherwise the serpent bitch wouldn’t have slit my spine as we were stepping down off Noeve’s cart, but what of Ruse and Uno?
And other members of the Ath who’ve shown me nothing but kindness?
Most of them have lived here, thrived here since well before The Fade lost all its joy.
Who remembered a time before Sereme came in all her purple glory, speaking of rebellion and reformation.
Of rising from the ashes of a broken world.
What of them?
Pyrok whistles low, moving past me into the armory. “Don’t mind if I do.” He cuts me with a side-eye. “Pretty sure I’m down a few things.”
“I only took your flasks. Anything else you lost yourself.”
I turn, sheathe my blade, and rifle beneath Ruse’s counter, hunting for her ledger. Heart clenching painfully at the sight of Uno’s little nest of furs tucked beneath the looted safe.
Unable to locate the valuable book, nor smell blood or see any sign of a struggle, I decide to lean into my preferred reality. The one where Ruse reached for Uno and the ledger, then ran.
… I have to believe it.
Ahvi wriggles down from Kaan’s back, landing with a wobble as he pushes off his hood. Eyes wide, he takes everything in. “There’s some really good stuff in here.”
I frown, scanning the shop that looks like one of Roan’s explosive runes popped somewhere in the middle of it all, leaving a pretty, botanical mess and only the odd surviving jar.
Someone’s easily pleased.
“I need to go upstairs and check something.” I glance at Kaan, kneading the cramp from my thigh. Residue of Sereme’s last dose of fuck you, Raeve. “Can you—”
“I’ve got him, Moonbeam.”
I set my satchel on the counter for Ahvi to fill and make for the ghastly purple door. I boot it open, charge up the stairs, then through the busted entrance of Sereme’s serpent den, looking around at all her purple shit strewn about.
Also looted.
No warm light spills within like the dae I was here last. Instead, a thin layer of mist slowly seeps through the smashed northern window, softening the floor in a gauzy veil.
At the sound of fluttering parchment wings, my gaze is drawn to Sereme’s purple desk. Atop of which, sitting perfectly square to the piece of furniture, is a small silver cage. Home to a single parchment lark trying to wiggle a path to freedom between the too-tight bars.
My instincts prickle like pins stabbing me all over.
I move forward, unsurprised to see the lark try to follow my location while I walk around to the back of the desk. With a sigh, I unclip the cage door and swing it open, catching the lark as it rushes toward me.
Upon unfolding it, I scan Sereme’s script:
R.
Plans have changed.
We’ll be in touch.
I laugh, drop the note, and swat the cage off the desk with the back of my hand. It clatters across the floor while I roil.
Message received loud and clear:
The Elding’s miskunn had another vision. Me, stuffing a blade down both his and Sereme’s throats.
I slash a dagger through the bulging purple upholstery of Sereme’s beloved chair.
“Guess this place belonged to somebody you’re fond of?”
I look up to see Pyrok strolling through the room, scowling. He scans the space, blindly using two fingers to loosen the pin feathers at the crown of Gruffin’s head, releasing fluffy bursts of pretty blue plumage.
“Oh yeah,” I mutter, jolting the drawers—both locked. “Sereme’s a real treasure.”
I reach under her desk and flip it over. It crashes to the ground, dashing dust and obliterating the silence. Something I only ruin more when I bring my boot down upon the desk’s brittle underside and bust a hole in the wood.