Chapter 30
Riella fell several times her height and landed on something soft.
Jarin climbed down into the circle of light above her. He hung from the sides of the manhole by one hand while dragging the grate back into place. Realizing he was about to jump, she scurried out of the way.
“Are you alright?” he called down, unable to see her.
“Yes! You can jump.”
He dropped through the air and managed to land on his feet, unlike Riella.
Already, her eyes were adjusting. She’d fallen onto masses of fabric piled beneath the grate for a soft landing. They were in a tunnel with stone floors and walls. It was large enough to stand in, and branched off in five directions.
“What is this place?” she asked in wonder.
“Asterius. Underground city.” He cocked his ear toward the grate, listening. “I don’t know if the guards are aware of this entrance, but we should keep moving. There’re plenty of places for us to surface, far away from here. We’ll meet the rest of the crew at the inn later.”
Riella followed him down one of the tunnels. “I hope Berolt and Drue make it past the gate.”
Jarin gave a dry laugh, which echoed slightly in the confined space. “After our entrance, I bet the guards are too distracted to pay them much mind.”
“How do you know about this place?”
Torches shone from brackets in the walls and the tunnel was remarkably clean. At each intersection, gusts of air blew through the adjoining tunnels. Some brought the briny scent of the ocean, while others smelled like spices or perfume or firelight smoke. Riella tore off her scarf and stuff it in her pocket.
“I lived down here for a while,” he replied without turning around. “Back when—“ He cleared his throat. “Back before I found my way onto a pirate ship.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”
“Don’t be sorry. It was a better education than any other I received. I had no other family, after I lost my parents, and I was a pariah above ground by virtue of what my mother did. But down here, it’s different. It doesn’t matter where you come from or what you’ve done.”
The labyrinth was extensive, and Riella marveled at how innately Jarin seemed to know his way. Then she noticed hand-painted signs hammered into the walls at each intersection, resembling street signs. She touched one of them.
“They’re a mirror of the street names above,” explained Jarin. “Still, it’s easy to get lost down here. Some tunnels are caved in, some are dead ends. Now and then, when the rains are heavy, the network floods. Most Klatos residents never come down here. But the tunnels have been mighty helpful to the Dark Tide Clan, for transporting goods around the city undetected.”
“Do royal guards not patrol them?”
“The tunnels were mostly built by the palace during the Zermes-Morktland war, decades ago. The resistance fighters used them to sabotage and attack the invaders. Since they were made for guerrilla warfare, the royal guards mostly leave it alone. They know a different law operates down here.”
He and Riella kept walking, slower now that they’d put distance between them and the royal guards. The walls had been painted in some stretches, depicting magical beasts and poems and warnings about what lay ahead. One rhyme in particular caught her eye and she read it aloud.
“Tides will turn and tears will flow. As above, so it is below.” She frowned, feeling vaguely unsettled by the words. “What does that mean?”
Jarin put his hand on the back of Riella’s neck, looking over her shoulder at the poem. “That change is constant. And whatever happens on a cosmic scale happens on the earthly plane, too.”
She looked at him in puzzlement. “How’d you come to that conclusion?”
He smiled slightly while gazing at the rhyme. “My mother was obsessed with understanding the forces that govern our worlds.”
“Oh. Well, I wish I understood.”
“Don’t worry. No one really does.” He leaned down and kissed the top of Riella’s head. “Come. I’ll get us some weapons at the market up ahead. Then we’ll go to the surface.”
Music drifted through the tunnel, mingling with the hum of many human voices.
Riella and Jarin followed the sound and arrived at a large gallery, held up by floor-to-ceiling stone columns.
The gallery was home to a crowded array of stalls, each selling peculiar wares and food. Beyond the gallery were countless alcoves, which appeared to be residences. Jarin had not lied when he’d called it a city. There was a whole other world down here, and she would’ve never known it existed if he hadn’t shown her.
No one paid them any attention, except for the odd cursory glance. Holding Riella’s hand, Jarin wove through the crowd toward a stall with an impressive weapons display. Daggers, swords, and crossbows lay on tables and hung from a backboard.
“Jarin, old friend,” said the stall holder with a grin. He was a skinny older man with dark skin and blue eyes. “Been a while since I clapped eyes on you.”
“Aye, that’s the truth,” replied Jarin.
The men launched into a conversation, catching up on each other’s lives. Soon bored, Riella began to wander, the other stalls drawing her curiosity. There was a man selling lithe black snakes, a herbalist whose stall emanated pungent aromas, and a woman selling bottles of what she claimed was the breath of elves.
“The breath of life,” called the woman to passersby. “To revive your body and mind.”
Annoyance rippled through Riella, thinking inevitably of Seraphine. She hoped the woman was merely a charlatan who sold empty bottles to guileless shoppers, and not some kind of trafficker.
The human preoccupation with harvesting life and power from other creatures—and even each other—was bizarre. They already possessed great magic and might. Why were they never satisfied?
Polinth expressed the desire to conquer the laws of Nature. Sirens were raised to nurture and protect the ocean and all its mystical forces. Aside from anything else, the ocean was too powerful to conquer. It would always humble any adversary, in the end. Perhaps humans were taught differently about the earth.
One stall caught Riella’s attention, despite being tucked into a shadowy gap between alcoves. Patterned bolts of fabric were decked above a woman, who sat cross-legged on a cushion behind a tiny stand. On the stand was a candle, glowing tall and bright and still, and a cloudy crystal ball.
She seemed to notice Riella, too, because she followed the siren with her vivid yellow eyes, and then beckoned.
Riella hesitated, glancing back at Jarin, who was still deep in conversation with the weapons merchant. Figuring she had time to pass, she went to the woman, dodging children playing games and elderly folk in chattering groups.
“Hello,” said the woman, smiling up at Riella. “You found me.”
Her age was impossible to determine—her hair silvery-gray, but her skin smooth and tanned. Riella didn’t recognize her accent.
“Are you a Seer?” asked the siren. She patted the pockets of her trews. “I’m sorry, but I have no coin.”
The woman shook her head. “You don’t need coin. Please, sit.”
Riella did not particularly wish to hear any more predictions, after what Ferrante told her, but this woman was clearly telling fortunes for entertainment only. So, the siren kneeled before the stand, sitting back on her ankles and inspecting the crystal ball.
The woman held out both hands, palms facing upward, indicating for Riella to take them. Feeling a little bit foolish, she did. Immediately, the flame of the candle turned blue and flickered.
The woman’s eyelids fell closed, her wide mouth slightly ajar. The crystal ball remained unchanged, and Riella wondered how it was supposed to work, or if it even did.
At first, the siren felt nothing except the smooth, cool flesh of the woman’s palms. Just as she’d started to relax, her mind wandering, a distinct surge of heat traveled from the woman’s hands into Riella’s. In the same instant, the crystal ball turned perfectly clear.
Disconcerted, Riella wrenched her hands away. The woman kept her palms facing up and her eyes closed. Riella frowned in confusion. Should she simply get up and leave? This was nothing like her experience with Ferrante. The fortune teller was clearly a time waster.
“You shan’t find it,” said the woman, her eyelids beginning to flutter violently. “You shan’t find it, because another already has. You will lose all you hold dear. You will lose more than you ever imagined you could possess. You will lose your life. You will lose your love. And when?—”
“That’s enough!”
Jarin appeared beside Riella, interrupting the eery foretelling. A tear had rolled down her cheek and hastily she brushed it away. While he placed a few copper coins on the stand, she scrambled up, glad to be leaving. She shouldn’t have stopped here in the first place. Her idle curiosity got the better of her.
The candle had returned to an orange flame and the crystal ball was clouded over. The woman didn’t seem offended by the disruption, smiling serenely as she swept the coins from the stand and dropped them into a grubby tin on the floor next to her.
“Ready?” Jarin asked Riella, taking her hand.
She nodded, and didn’t look back as they moved through the gallery to a tunnel on the far side.
“Pay no mind to whatever nonsense she spoke,” said Jarin, giving Riella’s hand a firm squeeze. “It’s all smoke and mirrors and darkly vague pronouncements. The con-artists are out in force because of the wedding festival crowds. Plenty of victims around.”
“Of course.” She forced a smile. “Smoke and mirrors.”
The woman’s prediction really had been vague. Her words could apply to any number of scenarios and appear to make sense. It was a simple deception.
But then, why hadn’t she wanted payment from Riella? If the woman was a con-artist, that seemed like a fairly monumental oversight on her behalf.
“I bought discreet weapons,” said Jarin, handing her a knife sheathed in leather. “Better to arm ourselves covertly, to avoid attracting any more attention than we already have. We’ll change our clothes, too.”
Riella tucked the knife into her boot. The farther they traveled through the tunnel, the less shaken she felt by her encounter with the fortune teller. Her impatience to surface increased, like a human who’d been underwater for too long without a breath.
They exited the tunnels on a ladder made of rungs hammered into a wall. At the top was another grate, which Jarin heaved to the side before helping Riella to climb out.
The courtyard she emerged into was blindingly bright after the darkness of the underground, despite being overgrown with vines and shaded with trees.
Riella turned on the spot, trying to orientate herself. The golden turrets of the palace were closer now, as was the sea. Seagulls cawed nearby, and the scent of the ocean was strong.
Jarin hauled himself out, and then kneeled to tuck his dagger into his boot.
“We need to find the rest of the crew,” he said, standing. “Or they’ll assume we were captured and they’ll storm the jail.”
The pair left the courtyard and entered the street.
This part of the city was markedly different from where they’d entered Klatos earlier that day. The streets were clean and wide and rather devoid of crowds, which made Riella feel exposed. She’d turned to Jarin to ask about the location of the inn when an irate shout came from a few paces behind.
“Oi, you two! Stop right there!”