CHAPTER 17 — “The Emperor’s Eyes” #3
I keep talking. Detailed, meandering, absolutely useless directions that loop back on themselves and reference landmarks that don’t exist. The scout’s smile gets more strained with every sentence.
“—and that’s the short version,” I conclude. “Want me to draw you a map?”
“That won’t be necessary.” The smile is gone entirely now. “We’ll find it ourselves.”
“Suit yourself. Oh, but watch out for the Spore Badgers on Floor 2. Nasty things. Had a whole family of adventurers get wiped out by them last spring. Well, I say spring, it might have been late winter, the seasons blur together when you’re my age—”
“We’ll be fine.” He’s already walking away. The other scouts follow.
I watch them go.
They don’t recognize me. Why would they? I’m wearing a different face, living a different life. To them I’m just some rambling farmer who doesn’t know when to shut up.
But they’ll find the dungeon. They’ll find the seal on Floor 4 that won’t let them through. And they’ll report back to Anton that something strange is happening in this village.
The clock I knew was ticking just got louder.
“They’re gone,” Garrett says that evening.
“For now.”
“You know they’ll be back.”
“Yeah.”
We’re standing on the porch, watching the sun set. Mariella’s inside, helping Mira with something. I can hear them laughing through the window.
“How long do we have?” Garrett asks.
“Depends on how fast they report. How seriously Anton takes it. How busy the Emperor is with other problems.” I do the math. “A month, maybe. Six weeks if we’re lucky.”
“That enough time?”
“For what?”
“For whatever you’re planning.” Garrett turns to look at me. Old eyes in an old face, but sharp. So sharp. “Don’t pretend you’re not planning something. I’ve known killers my whole life. You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re waiting for the right moment to burn everything down.”
I don’t deny it. No point.
“One more floor,” I say. “One more floor and I get back what was taken from me. After that—” I shrug. “After that, things get complicated.”
“They’ll come for the village.”
“Probably.”
“These people—Granny Thorn, the farmers, the kids—they can’t fight an Imperial force.”
“No. But maybe they won’t have to.” I’ve been thinking about this. Running the scenarios. “If I move fast enough, hit hard enough, make myself enough of a problem that I’m worth dealing with personally—”
“You’re going to make yourself the target.”
“Better me than them.”
Garrett’s quiet for a long moment. Then he laughs, low and rough.
“You know something? I came to this village to die. Figured I’d earned it. Figured I’d spend my last years in peace and then slip away quiet.” He shakes his head. “Didn’t expect to find a reason to fight again.”
“I’m not asking you to fight.”
“Didn’t say you were. Said I found a reason.” He claps me on the shoulder. “One more floor. Go get your power back. We’ll hold things together here until you do.”
That night, Mariella finds me on the porch.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks.
“Thinking.”
“About the scouts?”
“About what comes after.” I make room for her on the step. She sits close enough that our shoulders touch. “They’ll report back. Anton will connect the dots. And then—”
“And then my brother comes here.”
“Yeah.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Processing.
“I should run,” she says finally. “That’s what I’d normally do. Pack up, disappear, start over somewhere else. Let this be your fight, not mine.”
“But?”
“But I’m tired of running.” She leans against me, warm and solid. “And I’m tired of letting him control my life. Every choice I’ve made for ten years has been about getting away from him. I want to make a choice that’s about something else.”
“Like what?”
“Like you.” She looks up at me. No walls. No defenses. Just her. “Like staying. Like fighting. Like building something instead of always running from something.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“I know.”
“You could die.”
“I know that too.”
“Mariella—”
She kisses me.
It’s not a dramatic kiss. Not the kind they write songs about. Just her lips on mine, soft and warm and tasting faintly of the tea she drank at dinner. Brief. Real. A statement more than a question.
When she pulls back, she’s smiling.
“I’ve wanted to do that for weeks,” she says.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re very slow, you know that? For a genius.”
“I’ve been told.”
She stands up. Offers me her hand.
“Come inside. It’s cold out here, and tomorrow you’re going to clear that dungeon and get your power back and probably start a war with my brother. You should at least sleep first.”
I take her hand.
Let her pull me to my feet.
Follow her inside.
Tomorrow, Floor 10. Tomorrow, everything changes.
But tonight, I let myself have this. One moment of peace before the storm.
Johnson’s waiting inside, curled up by the fire. He opens one eye, sees us holding hands, and makes a sound that’s pure judgment.
“Shut up,” I tell him.
He closes his eye.
Mariella laughs.
We don’t sleep much that night. Just talk. Hours and hours, about everything and nothing, about the past and the future and the terrifying uncertain present.
When dawn comes, I’m ready.