2. CHANGE OF PLANS
I had precious seconds to work.
The moment I materialized, and the red stone of Benmoor’s gateway pavilion glared up at me from under my feet, I fell into the same rhythm I had practiced.
Eyes closed, mind blank.
Dive . . .
The gaping chasm within me yawned open with no end in sight. I dipped into it, feeling my power flood my veins.
Picture the wards—command them.
I reached out with my essence, searching for the wards. When I sensed them—their presence like an oily sheen against my mind—I didn’t hesitate.
Fall.
Then, a hand was gripping mine, and I was thrust into nothing again as we moved.
When I materialized once more, the five of us stood in front of a splintered and worn wooden door attached to a rundown sandstone building. Thankfully, the street we were on was quiet, but Morah didn’t hesitate to knock rather anxiously.
Everyone seemed intact, and I sighed with immense relief.
I’d gotten us through.
Had it been a second or two longer, Ramil might have glimpsed exactly who was at the gate, and we would have been held there against our will.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment and checked on myself. My power still felt like it was at full capacity.
Strange. I hadn’t spent as much as I’d anticipated. The Desert Court’s wards had fallen much easier than Calledan’s, which meant that either I was getting more efficient at using my power by not overthinking and just acting on it, or Ramil’s magic was weaker than he let on.
Roirdan’s hand landed on my back in a congratulatory pat. “Nice job, little one.”
“Thanks.”
“You all right?”
“Never better.”
“I literally cannot believe that we’re in Benmoor right now,” Maeson whispered.
“I know . . .” I replied, still taking in our surroundings.
“Bypassing wards like this, Auren . . . that’s never been done—not that I’ve ever heard of, not without Old Magic. Shields, yes. But wards—” She fell silent as the door creaked open.
A set of pale, hazel eyes peered out at us from the shadows, widening upon recognizing Morah, then darting frantically over the rest of our group. A swath of deep orange fabric covered the lower half of the fae’s face and swept up around their head, concealing their identity.
We were quickly ushered inside an unfurnished room, and the mysterious figure leaned out the door one last time to check the street, making sure no one was watching or following. Satisfied there were no witnesses, the figure beckoned to us with haste and said, “Follow me.”
None of us spoke a word until we were several hallways and two sets of stairs down into what seemed like a safe house.
The room that we descended into had red stone walls that were all bare—save for a few maps and sheets of paper that were tacked to the sandstone above a small wooden table.
Candles lit the space, revealing several sacks of what looked to be supplies and weapons leaning against the corner next to a large hatch in the floor.
The pale-eyed stranger finally turned and wrapped Morah in a friendly embrace. “I am so glad to see you again, my friend.” The voice was female, smooth and warm.
“Likewise,” Morah replied. “I know it’s short notice, but my friends and I need your help.”
The female looked over to the rest of us and then made quick work of unwrapping the cloth from around her head and shoulders, as if she’d forgotten her manners.
Her hair tumbled out in thick, light brown waves, framing her small, heart-shaped face and complementing her skin, the color of rich caramel—smooth as porcelain.
But it was her eyes that claimed all the attention.
They were such a pale hazel that they looked yellow in the candlelight, nearly blending into her skin tone.
Morah introduced us. “This is Zofia. Her father is one of the chieftains behind the movement I told you about.”
“Hello.” Zofia inclined her head to us. Her eyes lingered on Remic, widening slightly, as if she was trying to decipher what, exactly, he was.
Morah turned back to her. “We’re in need of access to the catacombs. It’s urgent, and I don’t have a lot of time to explain, but we must get there quickly and unseen.”
“Is this about your brother, Fallon?” Zofia asked, confused.
“My father has taken someone else hostage—someone crucial to the realm.” Morah gestured toward all of us. “I’ve . . . formally chosen my side.”
Zofia looked back and forth between her friend and us, noting our clothing, which clearly gave away that we weren’t from Benmoor.
All of us, even Morah, were clad in the same form-fitting black leathers that Calledan’s warriors wore in combat, complete with reinforced boning along areas covering vital organs, and the Mountain Court’s sigil emblazoned over our hearts in gleaming gold thread.
The High Lord’s daughter was making a clear statement of allegiance by showing up dressed for battle in the “enemy’s” regalia.
With sudden realization, Zofia sucked in a breath. “Oh! So, it has begun?”
“It had to eventually,” Morah said.
A small grin spread across Zofia’s face.
“We heard about your open declaration at your betrothal. Your father has been beside himself with rage that you left in . . . such a manner. Rumor has it that he is already making plans to move battalions to the border and that he wants to send out a group to hunt for your whereabouts.”
Roirdan shifted on his feet at the information. “If Ramil is planning on sending troops to the border, Aremis needs to be notified.” He looked at Remic. “A war on two fronts is not something we need at the moment.”
Remic nodded. “We’ll get ahead of it.”
Morah smirked briefly. “I have allies in the upper ranks of the infantry.” She jerked her chin toward Zofia. “Her father is one of them. I’ll have it handled.”
Zofia dipped her head. “He will await your command, as always.”
Morah’s face became serious, and she stepped up to her friend, taking her hands in a firm grip. “Thank you both for everything you’ve done.”
“Of course.”
“My father cannot know we’re here.”
“He won’t. We can get you in, unseen. Do you know what area you’re trying to access?”
“We need to get to the prisoner cells,” I answered, pulling the parchment from the hidden pocket that was sewn into the leathers along my flank, and handing it to her.
“This all looks correct,” Zofia said as she examined the map that Aremis had drawn from memory. “The prisoner cells should start right about here, near the catacombs.” She gestured to a general area of tunnels.
Morah leaned in rather anxiously. “This circular structure here”—she jabbed her finger to the center of the map—“is it easily accessed from there?”
“That’s . . . directly under the palace . . .” Zofia said warily.
“Is it easily accessed?” Morah repeated.
Zofia’s brows pinched, but she answered. “Through the newer tunnels, yes, but that is not where your father keeps his prisoners.”
“I know . . .” Morah said. “Or, at least, that’s what I’ve been told.
I was never allowed down there. The guards knew not to let me past any of the access points, and the wards kept me from wraith-walking.
Aremis was the one who made regular trips below.
” She fixed her gaze back on Zofia. “All my information is secondhand . . .”
Zofia shifted her eyes anxiously over the rest of our group before settling them back on Morah. “I’m not sure what you are asking . . .”
“Aremis said the chamber is a dome of sorts, with multiple rooms leading from it. Do you know how many guards patrol that area?”
Zofia shook her head. “I’m sorry, we usually don’t venture that close to the palace itself. We keep to the outlying tunnels—”
“But there is a way to get to it from this section, right?” Morah moved her finger back to where the prisoner cells were said to be.
“I-I would assume so, but—”
“Morah?” My voice was low as I said her name.
Roirdan noted the change in my tone, and his eyes slid to Morah, his shoulders straightening as he picked up on the same thing I had. She was too invested. We were all anxious, but this . . . this was something more.
She hadn’t answered Zofia when she’d been asked if this was about Fallon . . .
“We’re here for Fallon too, aren’t we?” I asked, even though I already suspected what her answer would be.
The room was silent for a long moment, until Roirdan adjusted his sword at his hip, his leathers groaning against his muscles.
Morah shifted nervously on her feet.
I couldn’t recall ever seeing her nervous, even in all the moments she probably should have been. But the look on her face told me she had been dreading this conversation.
“Aremis told me where Fallon is being kept,” she said. “If he’s down there, Auren—if we’re that close . . . I know I should have asked beforehand, but you were focused on rescuing Niall, and I didn’t want to offend you by making it about my brother.”
Roirdan took a step between Morah and I, his expression hardening. “And by telling us now, when we already had a plan, that makes it less offensive?”
She flinched. “I know that waiting until now wasn’t a smart move on my part.” She leaned around Roirdan to look at me. “You told me to ask if I ever needed any help . . . but I just couldn’t bring myself to make it about me.”
“You just did,” Roirdan snarled.
Her eyes widened when I remained quiet. “I-I can get to my brother while you find Niall. If they’re being kept relatively close to one another, the wards holding Fallon should fall when you break the others.
Once you have Niall, he can communicate with me, and I can let you know where I am in relation to you. We have to try, Auren. Please.”
Roirdan stood at the ready, waiting for my answer, probably contemplating all the possible ways Morah might try to betray us.
But I knew she wouldn’t. This was just poor judgment—as she had stated. Her brother had been taken from her long ago, and if I were in her place, and my brother was the one in chains . . .
I slowly nodded. “I understand your motive. I would ask the same if it were my brother.”
Morah’s shoulders sagged with relief. Roirdan settled too.
“Next time, though, don’t hesitate to ask beforehand. I’m not fickle like the other gods, remember?” I gave her a grin, hoping she would catch my reference to what she had previously assumed of me.
She let out a quick laugh and bowed her head. “And I’m forever grateful.”
Zofia took note of the move and her gaze swung back to me. “Wait . . . Who are you?” When I didn’t reply she spoke again. “Is this why you brought a Dionach with you? Because you’re someone important?”
I could practically feel Remic stiffen at Zofia’s observation. But even when glamoured to look like a fae, there would always be something other about him.
“How did you know what he is?” I asked.
She eyed him carefully. “He feels different. Not like anything I’ve ever encountered here.
I’ve heard of the Dionachs—beings of immense strength.
Powerful guardians. He looks like he would be one,” she said, fixing her eyes back on me.
“You feel different too. Even more so than he does. And if Morah holds your needs before her own, then I know you must be someone worthy of it.”
“Gee, thanks, Zof,” Morah said, giving her a pointed look.
Zofia smiled. “I mean no offense. But you can be . . . ruthless when it comes to what you want.”
Morah sighed but she didn’t argue.
I knew that side of her already. “Ruthless enough to hold a dagger to your throat,” I said, grinning.
The four of us females chuckled, Maeson included.
Roirdan and Remic didn’t seem to find it funny.
When we fell quiet again, Morah pitched her voice low and said, “She’s the one who was promised.”
Zofia looked back at me with awe.
“There’s not enough time to explain further,” Morah continued.
“But tell your father that the time has come, and that the Bringer of Light is among us. He will know what it means. In the meantime, we must go. I’ll get a message to you soon regarding my plans.
Until then, make the necessary preparations. ”
Zofia nodded in earnest and gave me a slight bow, before turning toward the hatch in the ground and yanking open the wooden door.
“The tunnel system we use is built off the ones the Ancient Fae used long ago. This is one of the furthest entry points, but it’s better to enter here than to try and cross the city on foot and risk being seen. ”
“We’re going down into that?” Roirdan asked with an incredulous look as he peered into the small hole in the ground.
Zofia gave him a wince and a half-hearted smile. “We’ve done our best to widen them as much as we can with what little resources we have.”
The commander shifted on his feet, already uncomfortable.
“The good thing is, the guards usually never venture very far past the area that stretches below the Old Market. The network of catacombs begin under the palace. They were expanded outward beneath the city over time, but once they reached the Old Market and ran into the older tunnels, each intersection was sealed off. There is one access door in a small storage supply room just beyond the guard’s patrol.
It was opened by Aremis and has remained unlocked ever since.
This entrance will link up to it, but from there, you’re on your own. ”
I nodded. “Thank you, Zofia. I’m sure we can manage.”
She handed the map back to me. “Our tunnels are marked by color to indicate which direction we’re going. Red takes you north; green, south; purple, east; yellow, west. You should only need to keep to the red and purple ones to get you to the access door.”
“Best guess as to how far it is from here?” I asked.
“Half a mile? Maybe less.”
Roirdan groaned under his breath.
“You’ll be fine,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.
“Good luck,” Zofia said.
Morah stepped onto the top rung of the wooden ladder leading down into the tunnel, and let out a nervous laugh. “Hope everyone’s okay with tight spaces.”