Chapter 9 #3
My hand was on my dagger before my eyes fully opened, body lurching upright. The cot. The crate. The blanket. I was still in the alcove. Still behind the crates where anyone could have—
A wooden tray sat on the floor beside me. Bread. Cheese. Some kind of dried meat. A pitcher of water, still cool with condensation.
Someone had been in here.
Someone had watched me sleep.
"Serenya." My voice cracked with sleep and fury.
She was already awake, sitting on one of the crates, nibbling a piece of bread like this was perfectly normal. Like we hadn't been found.
"They didn't kill us," she said mildly. "Eat something."
"They were in here. While we were—" I couldn't even finish the sentence. The violation of it crawled under my skin, hot and wrong. I'd been unconscious. Defenseless. And someone had walked right in, set down a tray, and walked right back out.
"It was Maxx." Serenya took another bite. "I woke up when he came in. He winked at me and told me not to tell you."
"And you didn't?"
"You needed sleep more than you needed to stab someone." She shrugged, utterly unrepentant. "Besides, he left chocolate."
I blinked at her. Then at the tray, where a small, dark square sat beside the cheese like a peace offering from someone with a death wish.
"I'm going to kill him."
"Eat first," Serenya said. "Then murder."
I ignored the tray. I ignored the steam rising from the bread and the rich, dark promise of the chocolate. Instead, I reached into my own pack and dug out a strip of dry-cured beef that was harder than the sole of my boot.
Serenya sighed. "You know that hasn't been poisoned, right?"
"I know this hasn't been poisoned," I muttered, ripping off a piece of the jerky with my teeth.
I was halfway through gnawing on the leather-meat—my jaw actually aching from the effort—when knuckles rapped against the stone wall beside our alcove.
"Knock knock, little hiding spot."
Brannick's voice. Because of course it was. Did anyone in this stronghold have a hobby that wasn't finding us?
He propped himself against the archway, eyeing the fresh bread on the tray, then the sad, grey strip of meat in my hand.
"We have a bakery, you know," he said, amused. "You don't have to eat roof shingles."
I swallowed the lump of beef; it fought me all the way down. I grabbed my own waterskin—not the pitcher on the tray—and chugged all of it before answering.
"What."
"Kaelen's ready for us.”
I raised my eyebrows.
"First mission briefing. You, me, and a few others."
I sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
Because nothing says 'welcome to the family' like a suicide mission before breakfast.
Serenya smoothed the corners of her blanket, bringing her relentless order even to a broom closet. I crammed the last of the meat into my mouth and kicked the crates aside, emerging into the corridor with what I hoped was dignity and not crumbs on my chin.
Brannick waited against the opposite wall, arms crossed, that perpetual almost-smile tugging at his mouth. He didn't comment on the alcove. Didn't ask why we'd abandoned perfectly good cots to sleep behind a pile of dust and forgotten mops. Just pushed off the wall and started walking.
"This way. Try to keep up."
I trailed behind him, Serenya at my side. The stronghold's corridors twisted and branched like the roots of some massive, buried thing—stone worn smooth by decades of rebel feet, torches guttering in brackets that looked older than the realm itself.
"So." Brannick glanced back over his shoulder. "Sleep well?"
"Like the dead," I said flatly. "Which I nearly was. Thanks for asking."
"Funny. Maxx said you looked peaceful. Almost sweet, even."
I was going to kill that bastard. Slowly. With the dullest knife I could find.
Brannick's almost-smile stretched into a full grin. "Relax, little flame. He's like that with everyone. It's his love language."
"His love language is a death wish."
"Yeah." Brannick laughed—a warm, genuine sound that bounced off the stone. "That's about right."
We rounded a final corner, and the corridor opened into a wider chamber. Kaelen stood at the same rough-hewn table from before, maps spread under his hands, his eyes lifting to meet mine as we entered.
The decor never changed—maps and candles and the same grim faces you'd find in every rebel hole from here to the coast. You'd think someone would at least bring a chair with a cushion.
Maxx was already there. Sprawled in a chair with his boots propped on the table's edge, tossing a knife and catching it without looking. He winked when I entered. I ignored him.
Brannick stood beside a female I didn't recognize—sharp-featured, with a thick scarf that covered her neck despite the warmth of the cavern.
A crossbow hung at her hip like an extension of her arm.
Beside her, a barrel-chested male adjusted her harness strap, fingers brushing her shoulder in a touch so casual it had to be habit.
The female—Ryla, I'd learn later—didn't acknowledge him.
Didn't need to. They moved like two halves of the same breath.
Must be nice. Having someone who knew where your straps needed tightening without being told.
Kaelen waited at the head of the table, pale eyes tracking my entrance.
"Good. You're here." He didn't wait for pleasantries. His hand dipped into his coat and emerged holding a small, dark amulet—smooth stone, river-worn, threaded on a leather cord. "Put this on."
I didn't move. "What is it?"
"A dampener. For your Unravel." He set it on the table between us and waited. "Too many here prefer their secrets unexamined. Your truth-sense makes them... twitchy."
My mouth pressed thin. The Unravel was the only thing that had kept me alive in a city built on lies. And he wanted me to muffle it. Walk into a mission half-blind because his rebels couldn't stomach being seen.
But Velish's face flashed behind my eyes. The crack of her body hitting the ground.
I took the amulet. The stone sat cool and heavy in my palm, a collar disguised as a bargaining chip.
Kaelen turned to the map, finger tracing a jagged line along the city's edge.
"The Ruined-City. There's a watchtower on the eastern wall, abandoned since the last Veil surge. Inside is a glyph-key—one of two we need to reach the Codex vault." His eyes lifted to mine. "This is your first task. Retrieve it."
"Retrieve it for what purpose.”
Kaelen didn't bristle at my tone. He just looked at me the way one might regard a child who'd interrupted an important conversation—with patience that somehow felt more condescending than anger.
"The Codex," he said, "is a living ledger and is how the Crown knows who to cage."
He let that land before continuing, his voice unhurried, each word placed with surgical precision.
"Every Shadowmarked soul in the realm is catalogued in its pages.
Names. Locations. Families. It updates nightly and automatically, feeding Enforcer patrol writs, dictating which doors get kicked in before dawn.
" He tapped the map. "The Sortings exist to catch what the Codex misses—hidden marks, forged identities, anyone who slipped through before it could log them. "
My stomach clenched. I knew those doors. I'd heard them splinter at four in the morning—wood screaming before the people inside could. I'd watched a mother shove her son through a window while Enforcers read his name off a writ like it was a grocery list. He was nine. She never came back.
The Codex wasn't a book. It was a hook sunk into a thousand backs.
And this smug bastard was telling me we could rip it out.
He traced a finger along the map, casual as if discussing trade routes. "Control the Codex, and you control the flow of bodies to the Veil Mines. Erase a name, and that name ceases to exist in the Crown's eyes. Alter an entry, and a Shadowmarked child becomes Luminar overnight."
His pale gaze lifted to mine.
"The vault has been unreachable to fae for decades so no one could alter it.
The original keepers required two keys to open it as a fail safe.
One of Light. One of Shadow. Wards that have kept us out for years—because no single-marked rebel can breach both.
" A ghost of a smile. "You see the problem. You see the solution."
I said nothing. He hadn't asked a question.
"Retrieve the first key. Then the second.
And when the vault opens, we take the book that decides who lives free and who dies in the dark.
" He tilted his chin up, eyes sweeping the room like he was daring someone to object.
"That is the purpose. That is the prize.
Does that satisfy your need for clarity? "
"And what's guarding it?"
"Old wards. A Stone-Wight, if the scouts are accurate. The wards are dual-natured—Light and Shadow both. Which is why you're going."
Brannick leaned forward, tapping the map.
"The masonry on the west face is basically gravel holding hands at this point, so we scale the rafters—Ryla and I will have your back, you’ll be going first and we’ll act as a net, but watch your footing, or you’ll ride a landslide straight into a patrol.
" He slid a coil of thin rope across the table toward me. "You'll need this."
"I'll use my own gear."
"Suit yourself." He didn't push. Smart man.
Maxx slow-clapped twice. "Trust issues. Adorable. This is going to go great."
Ryla spoke for the first time. "Cute." Her fingers kept working the crossbow string, not bothering to glance my way. Then she did—and the look she gave me could have pinned me to the wall. "Just remember, this is a team mission. Your paranoia becomes my problem the second it gets someone stabbed."
Her partner—Torin—just watched me with quiet, measuring eyes.
I choked down some of my shame and nodded.
"When do we leave?" I asked.
Kaelen's thin smile returned. "Now."
Resigned, I pulled the amulet over my head. The stone dropped against my sternum, and my Unravel dimmed and muffled. The lies I'd been sensing hedging every conversation faded to whispers.
I hated it already. Half-deaf and walking into a den of liars. What could go wrong.