~ 11 ~
SAbrI
Tension racks my body as we walk. The raging tempest I felt earlier has quieted into an uncomfortable simmer and the adrenaline is long gone. In its place is the growing chill from my wet clothes. From time to time, I can feel a small pressure—Anya’s hand—on my back. It’s the only thing I have to guide me through the darkness, thanks to this wretched blindfold.
Without my sight or the need to navigate, there’s nothing preventing me from sinking into my thoughts.
Damn Anya.
What happened to the girl from my memories?
Before the attack, I used to love field trips to the local towns beyond the castle moat. While the villages and gardens were charming, the highlight of every trip was getting to see Anya. She was full of energy and always at my side. She’d hold my hand with her own, not caring about titles or expectations. None of the maids at the palace or children at court could compare to her. Anya was my one and only best friend.
After the tragedy, no one could replace her. Then my father died and things changed, but throughout it all, at least I had those beautiful memories of sunlight and laughter. They had brought me strength during mourning and, later, a direction for my vengeance.
Now that sacred memory of a black-haired girl with a wide smile in a field of sunflowers is crumbling. It’s being swallowed up by the razor-sharp vision of a tall woman wrapped in shadows, flashing a smirk sharper than the daggers she wears at her hip.
Anya was the one I had sworn to find justice for. But how could I take vengeance against the very person I had sworn to avenge?
My goals have broken like the surface of the lake, scattering into a million warped ripples. My perception of the world suddenly seems as dark as the blindfold.
It’s all thoroughly disorientating.
I can feel a headache wrack my brain. The dull throb in my skull is not a fun combination with the aches from the fall and the bitter chill of my wet clothes. Not to mention that I’ve completely lost my sense of direction.
Where is she bringing me?
With every light touch that brushes against my cold skin, we take a turn deeper into the labyrinth beneath the ruins and I feel a little more of myself slip away.
How nice it would be to get back to my strategy tent, sit down with a hot cup of tea, and figure this out. I could get everything onto paper and turn it tangible; work through the impossibilities and find some way to wrap my head around the new Anya while still preserving her memory. I might actually be able to work through this in a way that makes sense.
“Heads up, Princess,” Anya says, cutting into my thoughts.
There’s a brush against the sides of my head that has me tensing, only for the fabric to fall away. I blink, forcing my eyes to adjust quickly to the dull light.
“We’re here.”
It’s another section of the underground tunnels. It would be impossible to tell how deep we’ve gone, but the space we’re in now is much tighter than the lake from before. More mushrooms glow on the wall, but there are several colors other than blue and green. Something sparkles between the patches of fungi. It seems like there’s some type of quartz crystal embedded in the walls.
The mushrooms aren’t the only source of light; in the center of the space is a camp fire. Several tiles have been hacked out and removed, leaving a small pit in what once must have been an elegant floor. The fire pit is surrounded by a few rocks rolled here as a kind of campfire spot. Trails of smoke snake into the darkness above, reaching toward a ceiling that isn’t visible.
Despite the high ceiling, the air feels heavy and very humid. It’s also, to my secret relief, warm.
Anya kneels by the fire pit. She lowers her head to blow at the embers. They ignite and fade with each breath she gives, like a glowing heartbeat lighting up the dark cavern.
I glance back from the direction I can only guess we came front. It’s been covered up with boards. They seem easy to move—and if Anya can handle them, it shouldn’t be a problem for me—but it’s what beyond the boards that would give me trouble.
My options for escape are not looking great.
“Come over here,” Anya says from behind me.
Tentatively, I turn to face her. My wet clothes squish uncomfortably beneath my armor. The fire looks warm and inviting.
Bidding my time is probably the smartest move right now.
With no better choice, I make my way over to the camp fire.
As Anya tends to the flame, I take a closer look at where we are. There are a few crates tucked up against the wall, and even a small tent.
“Do you live here?” I ask.
“Me? No.” As small flames catch on the new log, Anya slides back onto her knees. “This is just an outpost.”
Interesting.
I cross my arms. “Where do you live, then?”
“All over,” she replies without looking up.
Of course. As if she’d just open up and tell me the secrets of the Thieves’ Guild. It was silly of me to ask.
I can barely feel the heat from the fire. Anya seems to be preoccupied with searching for something, so I step closer toward the flames. “You’re not worried I’ll make a run for it?”
“You wouldn’t get far.” Anya sits back with a sigh. With a last look around one of the rocks, she tugs the bottom of her shirt up. My eyes dart to the sliver of skin being revealed before I can stop myself. There are dark black lines swirling across her skin.
Anya pulls the fabric over her hand. Using it like a mitten, she grabs the handle of the kettle waiting at the edge of the fire pit and nestles it deeper into the glowing embers.
Anya looks up just as I yank my gaze away.
I have to remind myself what we were talking about. “That’s very confident of you.”
“It’s not confidence, it’s a fact. We tested it earlier—you couldn’t get away from Mikko by the lake, so you sure as anything can’t outrun him here.”
As if it knows we’re discussing it, there’s an energetic clicking noise from up ahead. I didn’t notice it before, but the far wall of the cavern seems to protrude a bit—there might be another room or perhaps another tunnel behind it. Regardless, I know where the scorpion is. It’s still too close for comfort.
Curses.
“Sit down,” Anya says. She sweeps out a hand toward the rocks.
I don’t want to do anything Anya tells me, but now that we’ve stopped moving, the cold from the lake is seeping in. It’s becoming harder to order my muscles to move.
The fire crackles compellingly in front of us—innocent of the person who created it.
Fine.
With a huff, I take a seat.