The only person who seemed totally comfortable being down here for large periods of time was Avalon. Apparently, it wasn’t that much different to the bowels of Boellium. She’d also spent a portion of her younger years hiding in the attic in her family’s manor up north. I hadn’t met the Baron of the Ninth Line, but given the murderous expressions that crossed Hayle and Vox’s face at the very mention of the man, I wouldn’t like him.
The more time I spent with Avalon, the more I understood why she was special. Not because she was the chosen championof the Goddess, or the girl of some prophecy that the Votresses back home insisted would be important to the survival of Ebrus.
No, it was because despite everything she’d been through, it hadn’t made her hard, or bitter, or distrusting. She had a right to feel any single one of those emotions, but instead, she was kind to Iker so he didn’t feel on the outside of our little tryst. She was soft but also firm with Vox, challenging him to feel, but not pushing so far as to make him shut down. She didn’t protest the way Hayle always had to be touching her, and she trusted me, despite the fact she’d had no reason to at the beginning. She’d let me into their lives like I was always meant to be there.
She was everything that was good in the world. She was kind and fierce in equal measures. She was funny, even when she never intended to be. She was gentle, but would happily wrestle on the couches with Hayle, even if those wrestling sessions ended up naked more often than not.
No, Avalon was special, and it had nothing to do with any prophecy put to paper by Ellanora Halhed.
Alucius went rigid beside Hayle, her hound senses picking up a potential threat before their presence even flickered against my own power. I slid my hand over the knife I’d been oiling. However, Alucius relaxed as Moran Ingmire appeared from the tunnels. He had a wooden box filled with food, and a jovial smile on his face, like he’d seen the sun in the last week.
I was tired of hiding down here like a rat. But it wouldn’t be for much longer.
Vox and Avalon appeared from the room we’d designated the war room. We’d gone over every major player in Fortaare, and Moran Ingmire had managed to get us blueprints of the Hall of Ebrus, as well as the attached palace. For his part, Vox had truly turned on his own Line, listing the weaknesses of his family members, like they were ingredients in a recipe for the downfall of the Vylan family.
Moran waved the box. “I’ve brought food, and word that despite the obvious threats to the First Line, fucking Yaron Vylan is still having his Solstice Party.”
I curled my lip at calling what happened on that boat in the middle of Lake Vale a “party.” It was debaucherous and treacherous in equal measures, depending on whether you were upstairs partying or below deck serving. It was imperative that we get Powell Ingmire out of there, before Yaron Vylan’s gathering got too far underway.
“The guest list?” Vox asked tightly.
Moran pulled a sheet of paper from the box in his arms and handed it to me. Some of the names seemed familiar, but even more were a complete mystery to me. I’d done as much research as I could before starting out on this mission; I’d memorized key people, the Barons and their direct descendents, the upper echelons of the Dawn Army. But the party boys and girls of the fucking Court of Fortaare hadn’t been high on my list of required reading.
Vox knew them, though, and his grunt of disgust told me everything I needed to know. “We should sink the whole boat to the bottom of Lake Vale,” he muttered. “Ebrus would be better for it.”
I couldn’t disagree with the statement. There were people in my Line who believed Ebrus would be better off without the First Line at all. I used to be one of them.
Now I’d met Vox and he was… not what I’d expected. He was empathetic, even if he couldn’t show it. He was kind, even though it was a trait he kept well hidden.
And he wasn’t just an anomaly—his cousin Shay was just as worthy. No, I had to admit that the First Line was worth saving from itself.
It was time to go over the plan again. I also wanted to work on Avalon’s precognition. I knew she had the skill. It was inthere, but like an unused muscle, it had atrophied. We could bring it back, I knew. We’d been practicing, and she was getting better. I just hoped that when she needed it, it would be enough.
Hayle jogged back into the room, puffing softly, Braxus at his heels. He looked at Moran, then down at the list still in Vox’s hand. “We’re on?” he asked no one in particular, but it was Vox who answered.
“We’re on.”
The plan was relatively simple. We’d use the small vessel that Moran Ingmire had acquired to come up beside the flagrantly ostentatious ship that Yaron Vylan used as a floating torture house, sneak onto it, take back Powell Ingmire, get back down to our smaller, faster vessel, and run north as fast as we could.
While the north was mostly inaccessible from Lake Vale, due to the large rock formations that created the Vale Stairs, there was a small pathway that led up toward Rewill. We’d drop the boat there, climb the cliffs, and hopefully be in the relative safety of the deeper parts of the Ninth Line Barony before Yaron Vylan even realized Powell was missing.
Avalon and Iker would stay on the smaller boat. Avalon, because the idea of her being anywhere near Yaron made both Vox and Hayle freak out, and Iker, because I needed someone on that boat who could captain it out of there as fast as possible. Neither one was happy to be left out, and it was hard to decide who was pouting more as we sailed into the darkness from Cyne.
It was a five-hour boat ride from Cyne to Fortaare, but the middle of Lake Vale belonged to no one, which was why Yaron used it for his Solstice Parties. There was no one out here but the other deviants and sadists. No one to tell him to stop, or to fetchthe Dawn Army, or tattle to the other Barons, who might have insisted that the Baron of the First Line dosomething.
“Dim the lights,” Hayle ordered.
I couldn’t see the ship’s lights yet, but I trusted Hayle’s intel. He had senses that outstripped even the most veteran of sailors. I put out all the lanterns, which made us blind in the middle of the lake, but we’d sailed in darkness before. I could cloak our presence, but not until we were closer to the other boat. It would take just one observant person on deck to ruin our surprise, and the whole plan hinged on that.
We were also completely silent, and I could sense Avalon’s trepidation beside me. I sent a soothing wave of calm in her direction—not mind manipulation per se, but a gentle, calming feeling that my Line often sent loved ones in distress.
While it felt like we had lost momentum over the last two weeks, I knew that a war was won not by outright aggression, but with careful planning. That had been drilled into me by my father, by my instructors, by the Votresses and histories of my ancestors.
I couldn’t even regret it, because while my crusade might have stilled momentarily, I’d made a grave tactical error.
I’d fallen in love.
It would be easy enough if it had just been for Avalon Halhed. I’d expected that; it had almost been a foretold conclusion. An inevitability that I hadn’t wanted to fight against.
