Chapter 7 #2
The threat hangs between them, yet Pax inclines his head with the calm of someone who has weathered far worse than a Fae lord’s temper.
“Yes, my lord,” Pax replies. “Where would you like to start?”
“Show her the mine,” Luceran commands. He turns, gaze landing fully on me now.
My breath catches. My heart stalls. There is nothing soft in his eyes.
“Best you see the liberties I’ve allowed you,” he says. “What the alternative could have been. What it still can be for you and your father.”
I bite the inside of my lip hard, so hard I taste blood, just to keep from snapping at him. He wields fear as casually as breathing. I would give anything to see him feel even a fraction of the helplessness he forces onto others.
He turns away.
The miners scatter instantly, some heading back into the mine, others veering toward carts piled with ore. The clatter of metal and rusted tracks fills the air.
I follow Luceran without hesitation, because that is what he expects, whether he speaks the order or not. Pax steps into stride beside me.
“You know,” he murmurs, voice pitched low enough only I can hear, “maybe it’s because I haven’t seen many women down here, but you might be the most beautiful one I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
My eyes widen, a silent gasp catching in my throat.
I stare straight ahead at Luceran’s back, waiting for him to whirl around and freeze us both for daring to speak.
But he does not. He continues forward, his perfectly straight white hair spilling over the collar of his fur coat like a waterfall of snow.
I force myself to look ahead as well. “Be quiet,” I mutter out of the corner of my mouth.
“We’re not allowed to speak?” Pax asks, amused.
“No,” I hiss.
“Well, that’s unfortunate. I’m an excellent conversationalist. Not that I get to practice much with this lot.”
“Why are you still talking?” I snap.
“Why are you still answering?” he counters easily.
Luceran halts abruptly and looks back over his shoulder.
A muscle jumps in my jaw.
But he says nothing. Simply turns and continues toward the mine.
“See?” Pax whispers. “Nothing to worry about.”
My teeth clench. “Can you shut up? My fate already hangs by a thread. I don’t need some idiot foreman making it worse.”
“Idiot?” he echoes with a gasp.
“Yes,” I say firmly. “An idiot with an utterly ridiculous name. What kind of name is Pax?”
He straightens indignantly. “It’s actually a nickname. My real name is Pattenwald, but only my father ever called me that.”
I blink. “That’s even worse.”
Without waiting for his reaction, I lengthen my stride, putting space between us. I have no intention of inviting Luceran’s wrath. Not today, not ever.
Pax’s muffled laugh follows me, but I don’t look back.
We reach the entrance of the mines, where a towering wall of hooks stretches across the stone.
Coats, helmets, picks, and boots hang in neat rows.
As each miner passes, they strip their gear from a hook, and the pulley system above creaks to life, lowering a fresh set into place for the next worker, and the next after that. Efficient. Endless.
Luceran comes to a stop and tips his head toward the gear, barely a gesture, but more than enough. He expects me to suit up.
I pull down one of the heavy coats. It reeks of dust, earth, and the sweat of countless bodies who have worn it before. The thought of smearing that filth over my lovely new cloak makes me wince, and I silently chide myself. Look how spoiled I have become already.
I shove my arms through the sleeves anyway, just to prove a point, the weight dragging at my shoulders. Then I reach for a helmet, a dented, bowl-shaped thing that looks as though it has survived a hundred cave-ins. That should be a reassurance.
I lower my hood and try to shove the helmet on. It does not budge. I try again, jamming it down with both hands. Still nothing. Surely my head is not larger than every miner’s in this place. Right?
After an awkward struggle that only seems to make the helmet mock me further, Pax steps closer, his hands lifting toward its rim. “Let me help.”
Before he can touch me, Luceran’s hand shoots out. He grips Pax’s wrist, hard.
It is the first time I have seen Pax flinch. He recoils the moment Luceran releases him, rubbing his wrist with his gaze lowered. Silence stretches.
Then Luceran steps toward me.
My breath catches.
His hands, large and smooth, alabaster skin etched with runes, rise to the edges of the helmet. His thumbs brush lightly along my jaw as he adjusts the angle, then he slides it into place with effortless ease. As if it had only ever been difficult for me. As if it had resisted solely to amuse him.
When he finishes, he withdraws slowly.
A shiver skates down the back of my neck.
“There,” he says, tone flat with impatience. “Can we get on with it now?”
“Yes, my lord,” Pax answers quickly. “This way.”
Pax hurries ahead into the tunnels.
Luceran doesn’t bother with any of the gear. No coat, no helmet, no boots. The mist of frost surrounding him thickens instead, wrapping him in an armor of ancient magic, the only protection he needs.
As we follow him, Pax gestures toward the left tunnel branching downward.
“This is Vein One,” he explains. “Our oldest and most stable tunnel. Ninety miners per shift, three shifts a day. Dawn, midday, dusk.” He taps a board nailed to the wall, its rows of names reduced to smudges and scratches.
“You will keep track of their rotations. If someone is injured or goes missing, the entire quota falls short.”
I nod quickly, trying to absorb the torrent of information.
Pax and Luceran continue on, but I slow, edging cautiously closer to the tunnel entrance.
The shaft plunges straight down, and the only way below appears to be a caged platform, suspended from a pulley system similar to the gear rack at the entrance.
I take another step. Another careful look downward.
I gasp.
It goes on forever. Rows upon rows of stairs spiral into the rock, lanterns strung along the walls, though nowhere near enough of them. The light thins, then fades entirely, swallowed by depths that plunge far beyond what any flame could hope to reach.
“Neve Devlin,” Luceran snaps, and like an idiot I jump at the sound, stumbling a step forward.
A loose pebble skitters away and drops into the shaft, its fall booming like thunder as the echo ricochets off stone, striking every surface on its way down.
I scramble for my balance, heart hammering, before I can follow it into the dark.
Luceran only frowns, disappointment etched into his features. He does not bother to reprimand me, as if I am not worth the effort.
I release a shaky breath. Pax grins and curls his finger for me to follow as they move on.
He gestures to the ore carts rattling past on rusted tracks.
“Every cart is weighed when it leaves the tunnels, and again before it is processed. Lord Frostwyn expects exact tallies. No rounding. No estimates. You will log each shipment by tunnel, by shift, and by weight.”
I force myself to refocus, murmuring the words under my breath as I commit them to memory. “Tunnel, shift, weight. Got it.”
Pax leads us into another tunnel, narrower and far more jagged.
“Vein Four,” he says. “Unstable.”
He lifts a hand toward the red markings smeared along the stone. “If you see red sigils, that means a collapse risk. No one is allowed past that point.”
The hairs on my arms lift. I glance back at Luceran, because surely this would concern him, but he only looks vaguely bored, as if life-or-death warnings are something he has long since grown immune to.
“This is…” I breathe, my chest tight. “A lot.” The next words slip out before I can stop them. “Who did this work before me?”
Luceran and Pax exchange a look I do not like. Luceran turns away, refusing to answer, which leaves Pax to fill the silence.
“His name was Holder,” Pax says, his voice dipping. “He passed away a few months ago. We have been making do since, so as you can imagine, we are leaving you with quite the mess.”
Luceran’s voice cuts through the tunnel behind us. “She will be fine.”
Pax gives me a warm smile, so warm it almost sparkles even in the dim blue lanternlight. “I am sure she will be.”
His kindness, even though it’s wrapped in irritating confidence, puts the smallest bit of warmth back into my chest. More than I’ve felt since stepping foot inside Castle Frostwyn.
“So Veins Two and Three. They’re active… safe?”
Pax nods. “Safe enough.”
It’s not a comforting response.
“That’s all you need to know for now,” Luceran says sharply. His fur cloak flashes as he turns, and somehow, despite the fact we’re in a cave, snowflakes drift from overhead. “We’re returning to the castle.”
And he walks off again, expecting me to follow like some obedient dog.
If only he knew how quickly I’d turn savage and rip his throat out if I had half the chance.
Pax gives me a sympathetic shrug, but I ignore it. He is trouble, and trouble is the last thing I need.
I’ve barely taken two steps when a horrible scream tears through the mine.
The sound echoes against the stone, shrill and ragged. Every miner freezes mid-strike, picks hovering in the air before dropping to the floor in a clatter. All eyes swing to the shaft beside the forbidden Vein Four. Vein Three.
The sigils there are not red, so in theory it should be safe. But the man clawing at the cage as the platform rises tells a very different story, terror etched across his face.
When the platform finally grinds to a halt, he tears the cage door open and stumbles forward, nearly falling. Pax lunges to catch him, gripping his shoulders before he can collapse.
“Rollin,” Pax says urgently. “What is it?”
“I’m not going back down there!” Rollin sobs, shaking so hard his teeth clatter. He grabs Pax by the coat collar. “I can hear it in the dark. Scratching at the walls.”
His voice drops to a trembling whisper.
“It called my name.”
Pax gulps, his eyes flashing to Luceran just as the Fae lord turns and stalks back toward us. The moment he sees Rollin crumpled on the ground, his mismatched eyes ignite, blazing bright enough to cut through the dark. Cobalt mist spills from his clenched fists.
“Get up and get back to work,” Pax hisses through his teeth, trying and failing to haul Rollin upright. He flicks a nervous glance at Luceran, then back to Rollin. “Get up. He will kill you if you don’t.”
But Rollin only shakes his head, refusing to rise, and the terror in his eyes hollows something inside my chest.
“Let him,” Rollin whispers, voice breaking. “If I go back into that tunnel… I’m dead anyway.”