Chapter Thirty-Three. Eban #2
Voices. Coming from somewhere in the laundry. “I want a thorough check,” a man says. Blackcoats. “The two who took down the Octoblade. They’re still missing.”
“Yes, sir,” another replies.
Gin reaches out and shuts the closet door as quietly as possible, leaving us in darkness once again.
I take a single step, heart racing, between the guards behind us and the unknown in front of us.
There’s no time for hesitation. The guards can open that door at any moment.
I gather as much bravery as possible and step down again to give Gin space.
Together, we pull the shelf back in front of us. There’s a clatter as items fall.
“What was that?” we hear one of the guards say. Then the two of them are silent.
We rush down a few more steps, then crouch in the darkness. We wait and wait, but don’t hear the guards.
As we start to move, the closet door flies open and a guard shouts: “In the name of Lacon! Show yourselves!”
He shuffles around in the closet. But he sees nothing, we’re hidden behind the false wall. “Nothing here,” he calls to the other.
That one replies: “Mouse. As I said.”
The guard leaves and closes the door behind him.
“Let’s go,” I whisper. As we stand to go, Gin trips over the step.
I grip her waist to steady her. For a second, we freeze that way, and I resist the urge to wrap my arms all the way around her.
The air between us is charged. I can hardly make out the shape of her, even as she stands mere inches away.
For a moment, I wonder if I should kiss her, right there on the stairs.
But then the spell is broken. “Thank you,” Gin says, clearing her throat. She hurries down the steps again, and my hands fall back to my sides.
The staircase doesn’t go straight down, it curves around, nearly a spiral, and quite narrow. Water drips somewhere, plinking in the distance. There’s a strong scent of dirt and water. I brush cobwebs away. I have a feeling no one has used this passage for a long time.
At the bottom, we duck beneath a low opening, framed in splintered old wood. There, we’re faced with yet another door. Gin and I exchange a look, I nod, and without any further hesitation or warning, she yanks the door open.
Nothing happens. There are no guards. We’re greeted with yet another dim passageway, stretching out in both directions.
There’s some light, at least, from the yellow glow of oil lanterns hanging here and there.
So even if there isn’t anyone present at the moment, the passage is definitely in use. We creep into it. “Which way?” I ask.
Gin turns back and forth between the two, then she says, “Right.”
I turn to shut the door behind us and see that, like others in the palace, it’s disguised. There’s thin stone applied to make it look like the rest of the wall. I use a crack to pull it shut, should a guard happen by and notice it open.
We walk as fast as we can without making too much noise. The ceiling is so low, I can reach up and touch it. There are occasional indents along the wall, and I wonder if those are also secret entrances.
Something clangs shut, stopping us in our tracks.
Boots on stone. Frantically, we search around for somewhere to hide, settling on one of those indentations in the stone wall.
We flatten against the wall as the steps come closer and closer, walking at a steady clip.
At that rate, while we’re focused on our destination and nothing else, it’s possible someone could walk by and fail to see us lurking in the shadows.
But should the guard decide to look in our direction, it’s all over.
The guard is mere feet away. I brace myself.
The steps stop.
We hear him fussing with the lantern. Refilling the oil. That means he’ll stop directly next to where we are. I wait with bated breath. Come on.
Footsteps again. Gin reaches out to squeeze my hand. The gesture makes my heart soar, and gives me the extra jolt I need to do what I do next.
The guard stops right next to us. He puts his oil canister on the ground and whistles as he removes the lantern on the wall.
When he reaches down to pick up the canister, I leap out from our hiding place.
The guard doesn’t even have time to cry out.
I grab the canister off the ground and slam it into the side of the guard’s head. He falls to the ground immediately.
I grab the unconscious guard under his arms and Gin picks up his feet. We drag him to the spot where we’d been hiding and situate him so he sits up against the wall, hidden from view. “By the time he wakes up, we’ll be long gone,” I say.
We continue on in silence through the depths of the palace.
Soon enough I hear movement again. Our eyes meet. This isn’t just one guard. Multiple footsteps, pacing. Something scraping against the floor. Low mumbling. Tapping. All right around the next corner.
“Sounds like we made it to the vault all right,” Gin whispers. “That sounds like a group of guards.”
“How many do you suppose there are?”
Gin shrugs, then holds up her hand.
“Five?” I mouth.
She nods.
That isn’t bad. We could take on five, if we do it right. We backtrack a bit so we can make a plan. “Maybe we can lure them out one at a time,” I suggest.
Gin agrees.
How should I do it? I remember how the guard was whistling right before I knocked him out. Maybe if I whistle, one of the others will come out looking for him. And even better, he wouldn’t be prepared for a fight.
I put my hands up to my mouth to project the sound, then let out a quick, shrill whistle.
Some of the noise in the room goes quiet. It’s working. I do it again. Then we wait, braced for battle.
Nothing happens.
“Try again,” Gin whispers.
Once more, I whistle. Now there are no sounds coming from the room at all. And yet, no guards appear, either. My eyebrows furrow. What’s going on?
Gin makes a high, screeching whistle, like she’s trying to call someone over.
That doesn’t work, either.
“Maybe we should go in,” Gin suggests.
I don’t like that. “It could be a trap.”
“We can’t stand here whistling all day, either.”
She’s right. We have enemies behind us; enemies in front of us. But victory lies only in one direction. The only way is forward. “Let’s go, then.”
We sneak up to the bend and peek around, but we can’t see anything. Some of the noise from before returns, the scraping and mumbling. I’m not sure what I’m hearing now. I have no idea what to expect.
As we come around the corner, there’s a shout. We both startle, ready to fight, and search for our attacker. But it’s not a group of Blackcoats or estate guards. It takes a while to understand what we’re looking at. Then it sinks in. I put my fists down.
It’s a series of cages. Jail cells, crammed full of Ophir prisoners. Faces peer out at us. Men and women and even a few children in shackles.
One of them cries out when they spot us.
It’s Silva. The barmaid from the pub who told us about the secret passageway. Gin and I rush over to her.
“They found out I was skimming from the top,” she says, when she sees us. “Hauled me off here with all the others. Aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m alive. Over there.” She points to a hook on the far wall. A large brass key on a heavy ring hangs from it. “Get us out of here.”
I grab the key and unlock the cell door, then go to work freeing her from the chains that bind her ankle to the floor.
“Did you come up from the tunnel from the beach?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Long story. No. But we’re still trying to find the vault. That’s how we ended up here.”
“Well, you’re close.” She points beyond the cells. “You’re nearly there. Go through that door and you’ll find it.”
Gin tugs on my arm and motions to the other cells filled with Ophir prisoners.
“There’s no time,” I whisper. “We can’t unchain them all and get the relics before the Blackcoats catch us.”
Silva overhears. “You must. Or else they’ll be used in the tournament. Look, just help free a few of them and then we’ll help each other.”
“Gin set the arena on fire,” I say. “There is no more tournament.”
Silva shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. Once the fire’s put out, it will be business as usual.
Nothing will come between them and their bloodlust. They have guests to entertain.
They throw the biggest party in Lacon every year.
There are expectations. A reputation to maintain.
And whenever there’s a rebellion, they make the spectacle twice as big to prove a point.
It will be up and running in no time. Once they assure the audience that all is well, it will be back to the usual. Or even worse.”
Right. Of course I can’t leave all these people to face the same fate I almost did. I try the key on another cell. It doesn’t fit. Same for the next, and the next. “This is the wrong key. Where are the others?”
Silva wrings her hands. “I don’t know.”
The Ophir prisoners are a sorry bunch. They don’t even look back at me.
They have no hope left; their eyes are blank, empty.
If I abandon them, they’ll die. The vision of Uncle, betrayed and bleeding out, flashes through my mind, the way it has over and over again ever since the trials, nonstop, alongside the promise I made, to never do that again.
And never again is right now, or else my promise means nothing.
“Come on, we did what we could. We need the relics,” Gin insists. “Without those, all the Ophir are doomed. If we save them and fail to secure the relics, it’s all for naught.”
She isn’t wrong. But I can’t abandon them. I think of Uncle. I can’t do that again.
“You go,” I tell her. “You head to the vault.”
“Alone?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll stay here with the prisoners in case guards return to take them. Until we can get them all out.”
“No. I’m not going without you,” she says, her voice raised, in either anger or panic. Likely both. “I can’t do it without you. You’re the thief, remember?”
“Of course you can,” I say patiently. “You don’t need me to pick a lock. Not when you can break one with your mind.”
“But—but—” Then I see the fear in her eyes. She thinks that if she goes to the vault and leaves me here, I’ll die trying to defend the prisoners.
“I’ll be all right,” I tell her. “I promise. Now go. Get the relics.”
“What about you?”
“I’m a thief, remember? If anyone can steal these people out of here, it’s me,” I say with a grin.
She grits her jaw as she looks from me to the prisoners and back again, clearly torn.
“Go to the vault and collect the relics. I’ll meet you and Darius at the eastern garden as planned. Hurry, it’s almost sundown.”
“Okay. You’ll be there?” Her eyes are hopeful, searching.
I want to reach out and hold her, but I resist. If we have a dramatic farewell, it feels permanent. Instead, I conjure my most charming smile and say, “Yeah. Of course I will. I’ll be there.”
Then, I can’t help it. The pull toward her is too strong, magnetic, inevitable.
I step closer, and she comes willingly, falling into my arms like she was always meant to be there.
I cradle her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing softly over her cheeks, memorizing the shape of her, the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers.
How strange to think I didn’t know her just a few days ago.
And yet, somehow, I feel like I’ve known her forever—that I’ve spent my whole life waiting for this exact moment, for her.
She tilts her face up to mine, her eyes wide and searching, and for a beat the world holds its breath.
My heart pounds like a war drum in my chest, and then I lean in, closing the last inch between us.
Our lips meet, and the kiss is electric—lightning cracks through me, flashing from her mouth to mine, igniting something deep in my core.
It’s as if fireworks are exploding behind my eyes, and the whole world falls away, shrinking to this single, perfect moment.
Her hands clutch at my shoulders and I pull her closer, deepening the kiss, because I don’t want to stop, not yet, not ever.
When she pulls away, lightning is glowing in her eyes, little streaks of gold. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You better be there. The eastern garden. Sundown.” Then, without another word, Gin runs off into the dark, alone.