Chapter 6
There's a Difference
Alina crept along the curve of the corridor, steps muffled by a layer of moss that softened the stone but made her toes itch.
The hour was late, late enough that most of the rebel encampment had retreated to their makeshift beds, leaving only the hiss of lanterns and the tired murmurs of guards half asleep at their posts.
If anyone asked, she’d say she needed some air, a lie no one would question; after all, the air in the Caves was just this side of a punishment in itself.
But so far, nobody had asked, and she doubted that anyone would.
Nevertheless, she kept to the shadows, pressing her body to the cool wall, counting her heartbeats with every turn.
In the two weeks she had been here, she’d mapped the stronghold in her mind: the central shaft with its perpetual bonfire used as mess hall and gathering place, connected to it the echoing kitchen with its perpetual aroma of boiled roots and the row of communal sleeping chambers.
But there was one passage she had yet to explore, tucked behind a curtain of stitched hides and guarded not by arms but by an unspoken aura of importance.
She’d watched Kael enter it once, trailing a cluster of lieutenants, each carrying stacks of documents and a look of burdened purpose.
He had not noticed her—he rarely did, anymore, unless they passed directly in a narrow corridor.
He would nod and greet her with a respectful “Princess”; she would reciprocate with a stony “Abductor”, face set in her best courtly arrogance.
His stern face showed nothing, but his eyes always seemed to hold a spark.
Of what, she could not say. Apart from that, he ignored her completely.
She resented how efficiently he could do so, how easily he seemed to move on from their charged encounters, as if she were just another bit of flotsam swept into his current.
And she resented even more that she should care about it.
The corridor narrowed, and she crouched low, ears straining for any hint of approach.
Nothing. She reached the hide curtain and eased it aside, careful not to let the leather slap against the wall.
Beyond, a door stood half-ajar—a door, here in the Caves, was a curiosity in itself, and this one was carved with swirling lines that caught the glint of torchlight and twisted it into unfamiliar runes.
She inched closer, her breath shallow, and hid in the corner behind it. Through the crack between the hinges, she peered into the room.
The council chamber was warmer than the rest of the stronghold, a small blessing of its placement next to a natural steam vent.
The air inside shimmered with a faint, moving haze.
Through the slit, Alina could make out a wide, battered table at the center of the room.
In the space visible to her, it was cluttered with rolled parchments, bits of coal, a map, and something that looked a lot like a half-eaten loaf of bread.
It was reasonable to assume that the rest of the table looked the same.
There were quite a lot of people in the room, probably all gathered around the table.
Alina could only see Seraphina and Finn move in and out of her field of vision, but she heard at least six other voices, though none of them Kael’s.
The light in the room was rather dim, only the table properly lit by a swinging lantern that cast moving shadows up and down the bit of wall she could see, dark stone glistening with condensation.
The atmosphere in the room was tense; not one of peaceful discussions, but of battle strategy. Every motion, every word, hung with the weight of consequences.
“—worthless if we can’t eat,” a woman hissed. “The north routes are empty of game, and the villages have long since sent their grain downriver. If we don’t hit the palace outpost, we’ll be gnawing leather for breakfast by dusk.”
A rustling sound, then a deep male voice. “Raid the outpost? Do you want to lead us onto the butcher’s block? Their patrols circle that gate like starving wolves.”
Seraphina’s low voice cut sharper than a blade: “Better to strike at their larder than starve waiting for a miracle. We sneak in under the crescent moon, smash the granary door, grab what we can carry, and vanish before dawn.”
Finn shrugged, idly carving at a slab of cheese. “All well and good, until the garrison rouses. Then what? We haul back sacks of grain with cannon fire chasing us?”
A rasping sigh came from the far end. A man spoke. “We risk too much, and if we fail, we’re little more than prey. But without food, we’re already dead.”
Before anyone could argue, a soft cough sounded from a corner. Alina heard the rustling of clothes, then a few steps. “There’s an old service tunnel beneath the stables,” another man said quietly. “Unguarded by design. It opens into the supply vault corridor. We slip in, fill our packs, slip out.”
The woman who had spoken first snorted. “Suicide, Maven, and you know it. We lack numbers. And last time half of us returned with arrows in places arrows shouldn’t be.”
“This isn’t last time,” Seraphina countered, voice steel. “If we don’t eat, none of us return at all.”
Finn glanced at the lantern’s flickering. “And once we have the grain, where do we go? The marsh folk won’t share after Jorgen turned their sacred fen into a latrine.”
Another man’s gravelly voice growled from the shadows. “Then we take what we need. No choice.”
Alina pressed her palm to the cold wall, fighting the swirl of dread and shame.
These people were not simply criminals or fanatics; it was much more complicated.
They were desperate enough to debate robbing an outpost for scraps.
It left her stomach hollowed out and empty.
While she had been moving around pastel-colored sweets on her plate, they had been starving all along. She felt more out of place than ever.
A heavy hand swept the map aside, parchment creaking. Alina flinched, unnoticed. The first man’s voice rumbled: “Talk’s waste. We wait for Kael. He’ll choose.”
Kael was gone? Where to?
Finn leveled an unseeing stare at the battered table. “And if Kael never returns?”
A boy’s voice piped up. “Then we starve or we fight. I’d choose fight.”
Silence settled like a shroud. The candle guttered. No one moved, each weighing the cost of hunger versus the risk of stealing right from under the noses of the King’s men.
Alina eased back from the door, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.
She understood now why Kael disappeared into these councils night after night, why the rebels clung to him like a last handhold above an abyss.
These weren't the bloodthirsty fanatics her tutors had painted in lurid detail during her lessons.
They were people with their backs to the wall, gambling with their lives because the alternative was unthinkable.
She felt something unexpected twist inside her—a reluctant empathy, perhaps, or understanding.
Whatever it was, she resented its presence.
She was just about to slip away when a scrape of boot against stone startled her. The sound of feet slapping to the floor and padding to the door, then a boy crossed the space visible to her, head tilted like a curious bird that had heard a worm wriggling underground.
Alina froze, flattening herself against the cold stone as if she could melt into it.
She held her breath until her lungs burned, counting each soft footfall approaching the threshold.
The hinges protested with a low whine as the door opened another inch, and stopped.
The person on the other side stood and was probably listening.
She pressed harder into the wall, still not breathing, eyes pressed shut. don’t hear me, don’t look behind the door, go back inside…
One heartbeat. Two. Three. When she finally dared to look, the door was closing from the inside, the voices muffled through the door.
Alina’s heart hammered so loud she feared it might betray her. She waited until the voices inside rose again, until Finn’s laugh echoed down the hall, before she exhaled and slid away from the doorway.
She moved quickly, retracing her steps, careful not to run or appear suspicious in any other way.
She ducked through the hide curtain, then followed the corridor as it wound upward, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the council chamber.
Only when she was certain she was alone did she allow herself to stop.
She pressed a palm to her chest, feeling the frantic beat against her ribs. She was not safe—she was never safe, not really—but for now, she was unseen. She let herself savor the small victory, if only for a second.
Then she straightened, smoothed her hair, and moved on. If she was to survive in this world, she would need more than courage. She would need secrets. And she had just found a new one to keep.
The Caves spat Alina out into a pocket of night where the air was sharp and cold and the ceiling—high, arched, almost like a cathedral—gave the impression of being outside, even though she knew they were still buried a half mile under the forest’s roots.
Here, the mountain’s skin thinned to a layer of limestone, and the engineers among the rebels had hollowed a space large enough to serve as both drill yard and amphitheater.
The torches lining the walls threw wild shadows, their flames lashed by currents that seemed to have no source but their own violence.
Alina hugged her arms to her chest. The council room had left a bitter aftertaste, the scent of hot wax and sweat clinging to her skin. She needed space, air that wasn’t breathed by fifty bodies before her. The yard delivered, the wide emptiness giving her the illusion of solitude.
Except for the dozen rebels in motion, with three instructors moving between them.