I’m prepared for a slew of questions when I present the solution I’ve worked out. But to my surprise, he just nods thoughtfully and says, “That makes sense. I think you might be right.”
That may be the closest he’s come to praise.
Between our schedules, it takes a fortnight to get plans in order. With the VIA pushing ever farther into Sontaag, nearly every bed in the hospital has been filled with soldiers or the displaced. Cygnus is needed nonstop for surgery, and I’m almost equally busy in the storehouse. I don’t see much of Daisy, and Sandria hasn’t sought me out again since Sebastian’sparty, which makes me think I must have been even poorer company than I realized. I still don’t know why she invited me in the first place. But at the moment, I have more important concerns than my social life and the mystery that is the princess of Ursandor.
When I meet with the queen to report on my progress on the omnidraught, she informs me that the death count in the quarantine zone has climbed to the hundreds. And, of course, I receive no further word from Mother, which is increasingly concerning with each passing day. It’s getting harder and harder to convince myself that there’s no reason to be alarmed about her silence. I haven’t confided to anyone my theory about her involvement in the rebellion, for obvious reasons. So the worry just gnaws at me. I’m duty bound to finish the omnidraught, so I throw myself into work to cope and avoid thinking of worst-case scenarios. Despite my desperation, progress stalls.
Nights become my consolation. After the trip to Easton, Finn starts taking his dinner in my chambers. We share stolen hours together nearly every evening, sometimes ending up in each other’s arms again. But I always nudge him out the door before either of us can fall asleep. I tell him this is because of concerns about propriety, butreallyit’s so that I can sneak back to the hospital to meet Cygnus. My Talent is needed more than ever. Each night, he guides me to the people most in need of my help, and I do all that I can before dawn.
Finally, Cygnus and I are given a window of opportunity in which to go back down to the gates. As of this evening, there are no patients currently in critical condition, the latest batch of the omnidraught needs to cure under the full moon, and Finn is busy meeting with his family to prepare for the midsummer tournament, so he won’t notice my absence.
After a supper I can barely stomach from nerves, Cygnus and I head back to the Everwillow tree under a starlit sky.
“Ready?” he asks as we stop before it.
“Ready.”
We’ve come more prepared for our second expedition. I have my father’s dagger strapped to my belt as always, plus another three throwing blades that I swiped from the royal armory and my rucksack. Cygnus has his sword and his satchel, which is fully stocked. We brought food and water, more skakabri antivenom, more spools of thread, and a slew of small potions that I insisted we might need, including the drakesbane and the remaining ones in my personal quiver, which tinkle on my belt with every movement.
“Would you care to do the honors?” Cygnus asks.
I shoot him a glare but step forward. Glancing around to confirm there are no onlookers, I grit my teeth, take a running start, and leap into the tree.
Free fall. This time, I keep my feet beneath me. The black hole rises to swallow me, even faster this time, and I force my body to stay stiff, my toes pointed and legs locked. I strike the water like a blade, ice exploding over my skin. And this time, there is no pain, just the shock of the fall and the cold water. I’m treading water when I hear the splash of Cygnus following me. Then we paddle together for the shore.
The string is as we left it. The twisted bodies of the skakabri are untouched as well. I hold my breath, waiting for the sounds of small feet tapping against stone, but none come. We must have killed all the skakabri last time we were here. I step past the corpses with heart-pounding guilt as we head toward the first gate. I wonder how long it will take them to decompose. They don’t stink yet. Are there scavengers in this inhospitable world?
We retrace our steps in silence until we reach the yawning cavern and the great polished wall. I approach the chalice and hold out my palm. I briefly consider making the cut with myTalent, but change my mind and withdraw my father’s dagger. I’d like him to be part of this, in a small way. Grimacing, I make one clean slice. Blood flows. I hold my hand over the cup, watching as the crimson leaks onto the silver. Cygnus and I are quiet.
For a split second, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. But then a great rumbling sounds, and the walls in front of us begin to tremble. Gravel rattles underfoot. I brace against the pedestal as the rumbling intensifies. The doors split in front of us, revealing a gaping chamber beyond.
We walk through the open gate.
Cygnus and I emerge into a cavern even more massive than the first. Giant stalactites hang from the ceiling, and the floor is littered with round pools of ankle-deep water. Dripping sounds everywhere. About a hundred paces in front of us, there is a massive elevated square block of stone with a lumpy figure on top that I at first assume is a stalagmite formed from the dripping water. But as we approach, I realize it’s the figure of an Elven woman, standing with her hand outstretched toward the darkest point of the cave.
“Is that supposed to be Queen Soleste?” Cygnus asks, approaching from behind me.
I shake my head. “That’s Elowyn. Goddess of Life.”
“There’s not a lot about the Elven Gods in the archives,” Cygnus says softly. I hear the words for what they are—an invitation. Perhaps this is how I can break the tension between us, by offering him a piece of his culture he’s never had access to.
“My mother taught me that in the beginning, there was just Elowyn and her sisters, Nocturn and Rashielle—life, death, and time. The three constants,” I explain, tracing my finger down the smooth carving. “Elowyn fell in love with Solaris, God of the Sun, and followed him into the sky. Nocturn followed suit withthe God of the Moon, accompanying him into the underworld to rule over the darkness. The sisters reunite every dusk and dawn at the horizon line.”
“What about Rashielle?” asks Cygnus.
“Rashielle grew lonely in the mortal realm, so Elowyn wove two children for her out of ivy. Those were the first Elves. All our people are their descendants.”
Cygnus nods, and I can practically see him carefully taking note of every piece of new information.
“How do you know it’s Elowyn and not one of her sisters?” he asks.
“She’s got the crown of ivy. See?” I point toward her headpiece, a circlet of vines with a sapphire centerpiece like a sunburst. “If it were a statue of Nocturn, she’d be wearing a crescent necklace. And Rashielle’s always got a big ring on, though I can’t remember why.”
Cygnus looks somber. “What do you think?”
“About the statue?”
“About all of it.”
