“A torch? So very… human of you.”
Peering over my shoulder, Lyra’s face illuminated by the very torch she teased me for carrying, I slowed my pace. The caverns beneath the palace were built to connect each wing but were strictly forbidden from use without explicit permission from the king.
“To walk the tunnels without decree is to tread the footsteps of traitors. Even by me. Using any sort of Gyorian magic down here would be courting destruction. These walls remember what the palace would rather forget.”
“I don’t understand.”
Nay, she would not. I stopped and turned, once again illuminating her face.
Voren vel’kora. What had I been thinking?
“Lord Thalric, High Minister of Infrastructure during King Vornar’s reign, oversaw these magical channels beneath the palace when they were still used regularly. He also used them to stage a coup against the king, believing himself more powerful. He attempted to steal the Stone of Mor’Vallis to prove his claim after King Vornar denied his request to challenge him during the Rite of Stone and Soil.”
“Vornar,” she mused. “The shortest reign of any Gyorian king.”
“Which makes some believe Thalric may have had a legitimate claim. But he was caught and executed as a traitor so none will ever know. In the incident’s wake, these caverns were seen as cursed, likely by design to keep anyone from using them in such a way again.”
“Do you believe they’re cursed?”
“Nay.” I turned back and began to walk once again.
Pushing all thoughts of my father and Kael, of the princess and her mother… and most especially what I’d blurted to Lyra, from my mind, I concentrated on navigating us below the exit closest to the throne room. It had been many years since Kael and I used these caverns as a way to quietly defy our father when he became so overbearing even Mother couldn’t placate him.
“I believe this is the exit.”
“You believe?”
“As I said, these caverns are rarely used. This way.”
If memory served, the rock stairs carved into the mountain which we ascended would lead to a corridor to the east of the throne room. None, by design, would lead directly inside.
“There will be a guard at the front of the throne room,” I said as we reached the top. “And another now positioned at the entrance to the entranceway leading to the Vault. If something goes amiss, I will?—”
“Nothing will go amiss.”
She said it with the confidence of one who had performed this particular type of mission many times. It wasn’t a loud, boasting confidence but one of quiet resolve. Lyra would do what was necessary to achieve her goals, and this time, our goals were one and the same.
“You mentioned that it will work best on a small number of targets. If other guards are alerted?”
“I will take care of them. You doing so risks discovery.”
I was about to open the door when a bit of the Shadow Diplomat lore came back to me. A story I assumed was legend…
“Performing the rite on too many targets?” I asked.
Lyra was close enough behind me as we stood on a small landing atop the stairs that, if I leaned forward, we would be touching. Her eyes sought mine in the flicker of the torchlight, pleading with me not to ask questions.
My grandfather, who had long since faded, used their legend to keep Kael and I in line.
They are difficult to kill, but a Shadow Diplomat has one particularly gruesome method of doing so, when bested.
“Lyra. We will not move from this spot?—”
“Backlash,” she said, as if that would be enough of a response.
I waited.
“Not unlike any Elydorian who harnesses too much magic. Weakness. Headaches.”
