“The first move has begun. The dead speak. You need to figure out a way to listen. Trust no one.”
Tate waited as Blade looked at her with expectation.
“That’s it?”
He grunted. “Do you know what it means?”
“Not at all.”
“Something tells me you will soon enough.” Blade lifted a hand in farewell, disappearing into the shadows. Only the soft thuds of his footsteps kept Tate company until even those faded as if they’d never been.
Tate grimaced. How did one go about listening to the dead? And which dead did Ai have in mind?
* * *
Tate wasted no time making her way out of Cliff’s Shadow, thankful when her passage was quieter and less eventful than her arrival had been. One mysterious attack and city-wide pursuit was more than enough for an evening.
It wasn’t long before she reached the invisible boundary marking the end of Cliff’s Shadow, moving toward the soft twinkle of the glow lamps that lined the streets ahead. A luxury the alleyways and streets of the slums weren’t afforded.
For half a moment, Tate was tempted to head home. The events of the evening had been exhausting. Her escape from the palace had left her smelling like smoke and it was beginning to give her a headache.
Instead, Tate trudged toward the cliffs, taking a path that veered away from the public elevators, which were likely shut down given the events earlier.
Not that it would have mattered if they were still working. Returning to the scene of Ilith’s rather dramatic rescue would cause a fuss and invite questions Tate didn’t have the patience for.
Tate wasn’t Ilith. She couldn’t use her large bulk and equally large teeth to intimidate people into silence.
Eventually, someone related to the government would track her down but hopefully not until after she rested. But before she could seek her bed, she first had to make sure Dewdrop and the rest were alright.
Which meant a journey back to the Upper; as if her life wasn’t already difficult enough.
In reality there was only one feasible option. The public elevators were out as was the Hill. Tate didn’t have the time or energy to trek all the way across the city, up the hill, and then across the Upper to the palace. By the time she finished all that, it would be nearing morning, making her efforts wasted.
Switching forms with Ilith was also a nonstarter. For one, her dragon was snoozing in the back of Tate’s mind where she’d checked out since shortly after she assured herself Blade wasn’t likely to kill them. Evidently, ripping an elevator off a cliff, crash landing with it, and converting children into potential acolytes was exhausting business.
That left the emperor’s private elevator. Tate had only ever used it a handful of times and always in the accompaniment of another dragon-ridden or one of the emperor’s own people.
Decision made, Tate moved quickly through the streets, skirting the rougher parts of the city until she reached her destination. A recess in the cliff hidden by the rock’s formation. Perfectly disguised, it would have been easy to miss unless you knew it was there.
Even Tate couldn’t help but second guess herself as she touched the rock face, searching for the opening. Only a small flicker among the shadows alerted her to the presence of those guarding the entrance.
Definitely, the right place.
“I’m Tate Fisher, dragon-ridden. Its urgent I get to the Upper,” Tate said in a voice that wouldn’t carry more than a few feet.
With the attack on the palace, security would have been tightened. No doubt the guards were operating from a heightened state of alertness. She didn’t want any mistakes happening because she startled them into attacking.
A woman wearing a uniform stepped out of the shadows where Tate thought the entrance was located. In the moonlight, it wasn’t difficult to see the emperor’s crest on her chest, a dragon wrapped around a large blue stone.
“Let’s see your dragon,” the woman instructed.
“She’s a little big to bring out here.” Tate looked around on the narrow trail she’d found leading up to this entrance. There was a small slope descending to the buildings butting up against the rest of the cliff.
“Your tattoo is enough.”
“In that case.” Tate shrugged out of her jacket and pulled the sleeve or her silk undershirt up, exposing the sleeping Ilith curled into the crook of Tate’s arm.
“She’s who she says she is.” The woman gestured toward the hidden entrance. “This way, Lady.”
