I scoff. “Your life doesn’t mean much to you, does it?”
“I’m the fatherless son of a traitor.” He shrugs. “My life doesn’t mean much to anyone.”
I scowl in disagreement. But I can sense his desperation and—reluctantly—understand it. This is personal for Cygnus.
He’s not just fighting for the Evermoreans; he’s fighting forhimself.His future.
I know how it feels to long to be a part of something bigger, to ache for belonging so badly it becomes a physical pain in your chest. I know the sorrow of a stolen future.
Compassion swells as I consider all that Cygnus has endured. I’m an expert on loneliness, and it’s not something I’d wish on my worst enemy. I have always had Mother. Even in the palace, I’ve managed to find a sense of community with Finn and Daisy, but who does Cygnus have?
“I’ll help you unlock the gates,” I finally say slowly. “Ononecondition.”
“Yes?”
“You start telling me the truth abouteverything.And you promise to never lie to me again.” My nostrils flare. “I’m done making decisions without all the information. If we’re working together, then I am your partner. Anequalpartner, who is equally informed onallthings. Is that clear?”
A knot bobs in his throat. “I can try.”
“Is that a yes or a no? Because those are my conditions.”
He takes a deep breath. “Fine,” he says at last. “I promise not to lie to you.”
“Good.” I stand up. “Now, let’s go see about these gates.”
Cygnus, it turns out, came prepared for our adventure. From his satchel, he procures torches, flint and steel, writing materials,three days’ worth of food, several spools of white thread, and three round bottles of a green potion I don’t recognize.
“What’s this?” I ask, picking one up.
“It’s drakesbane.”
I almost reflexively chuck the bottle in alarm. “What the hell?” My gaze snaps back to Cygnus. “Were you planning on mentioning that?”
I know of drakesbane from my mother. The liquid explodes when it makes contact with oxygen, and was used liberally by Verdin’s soldiers during the Long War. It’s one of the few potions she’d never teach me to make.
“I had a friend source it for me,” Cygnus explains. “In case we encounter anything worse than the scorpions.”
“Worse?”I feel dizzy. “You shouldn’t be hauling that around. It’s a miracle you haven’t blown us up already.”
Cygnus takes it back gingerly, placing the potions back into his bag.
“You didn’t bring any other weapons?” I ask, holding out the torch.
He lights it. “I brought you?”
I scowl. “Very funny.”
The underground lake is fed by a cold, swift-moving river flowing from the deeper part of the cave. We walk close to the bank, following its curve as we ascend into the void. We crest a ridge after several minutes, and as flames illuminate the darkness, the darkness transforms.
My breath catches.
The path before us appears to stretch on and on for miles. The walls have been carved out of the cavern itself, in the same dark, silver-veined marble that surrounds us. From this vantage point, we have a perfect bird’s-eye view of the labyrinth layout. In some places, the walls look unnatural—sharp angles and perfect curves—but in others, the path follows the natural rockformations. Stalactites plunge into it, with stalagmites rising from other places, so the path looks as old as the cavern itself. It might be. There is one wide entrance, an arced gate guarded with a crowned statue. As we approach, I recognize the Goddess Elowyn, and my flesh tingles.
At the entrance, Cygnus stops to tie one end of the white thread to a boulder. He unspools the bobbin until he has a loose length of thread in one hand.
“After you,” he says.
Reluctantly, I step through the gate.
