Alaric whips around, staring back into the larger cavern we came from, which somehow filled with miners while we were arguing. Or negotiating. Or whatever it is we’ve been doing here in the dark.
“Not at all. Your timing couldn’t be better,” Alaric says with a bit too much enthusiasm. “I’ve just opened a new connecting shaft.” He gestures to the small tunnel, but the miners don’t look convinced.
“What isshedoing down here?” a man with a scraggly beard points at me. “What business does a gardener have in a mine shaft?”
“More than you think,” Alaric explains. “Indira has kindly agreed to use her abilities as a master gardener to light our shafts with a type of glowing moss rather than lanterns. It’s much safer and will allow us to excavate the silver ore we currently use to reflect light.”
“Why would she do that?” a middle-aged woman asks, eyeing me with suspicion. A chorus of voices agree—their dubious expressions cleaving away my confidence the same way the picks in their hands shatter rock.
Alaric appraises me too, but the softness in his expression is even more unsettling. Even more dangerous. “Indira has agreed to help us because she’s kind, savvy, and invested in this relationship—between our countries,” he clarifies with an awkward cough.
My toes curl inside my boots, and I stare at the ground, certain mycheeks must be glowing brighter than the goblin’s gold.
“Follow me, and see the moss for yourselves.” Alaric gestures down the new tunnel. “If you’re still skeptical then, we’ll put it to a vote.”
For what feels like the hundredth time today—which is a lot, given it’s barely sunrise—the Vanzadorian prince has surprised me. It would be so easy for him to bark orders and impose his will on the miners. But he doesn’t. And they clearly respect him for it. A good many workers pat his shoulders as they shuffle into the tunnel, and he patiently answers their questions, which feel endless.
I hang back to give them space—so they feel comfortable sharing their worries and opinions. And so I have time to scour the larger cavern for the gemstone triad. This might be my only chance. I should take advantage of every second. But I keep getting distracted by the echoes of surprise and delight coming from the tunnel as the miners admire the otherworldly beauty of the goblin’s gold. And when I hear Alaric recount how I nourished the moss—making the process sound far more exciting than it was—I linger near the tunnel, grinning stupidly, and before I know it, my opportunity is gone.
And I’m not even mad about it.
The wondrous smiles on the miners faces as they reemerge are worth every wasted second. They’re mesmerized byme.By something other than bagrava.
Alaric’s beaming brighter than them all—almost brighter than the moss itself—and it completely transforms the harsh angles of his face. For the first time, I see flashes of the confident, carefree boy from his earlier memories—before Besnik’s death—and I know I’m staring, but I can’t seem to look away. Not even when he catches me.
To my surprise, he doesn’t smirk or tease me. He simply grins back—a wide, genuine smile that’s far more enticing than the seductive looks he flashes around the palace.
“As suspected, everyone is most eager for you to cultivate goblin’s gold in all of our mines,” he says proudly.
The miners shout and stomp their agreement, the echo near deafening as it rattles around the chamber. And rattles around my soul.
Men and women eagerly reach for my hands and clap me on the back, thanking me for my generosity and compassion. And with every kind word, the lump in my throat swells larger and hotter because I didn’t come here to help them. I came to find and steal the source of their power. They’re giving me everything I’ve secretly longed for: adoration like my people had for my sister, acknowledgment of my abilities beyond the bagrava. But I’ve never felt more undeserving.
Tears pulse behind my eyes, but I’m not about to let them fall in front of Alaric and so many people, so I turn and sprint back through the twisting tunnels of the mine, praying I’m fast enough to outrun my guilt.
Thirty-Two
I’m slipping down an icy street, halfway back to the palace, when Alaric catches up with me.
“Indira, what’s wrong? Why did you sprint away like the tunnel was on fire?”
“I’m just tired,” I say, which isn’t a lie. “I need to return to my rooms and rest. Cultivating such a large amount of goblin’s gold took a lot of energy.”
Alaric nods with understanding, but he continues stealing worried glances at me as we walk. “Are you sure you’re okay? We can stop and rest if you need.” He bites his lower lip, and I find myself wondering how I failed to notice how full and soft and utterly enticing his lips are.
My boot catches on the edge of a cobblestone, and I curse myself for noticing his lips at all. This is complete and utter madness. I need to squash it. Or outrun it at the very least.
Alaric reaches out to steady me, but I brush him off and trudge ahead faster, looking anywhere but at him.
The city around us is beginning to wake. Curtains pull back from windows, sleepy-eyed people emerge to sweep ice and snow from their walks, and hordes of miners make their way to work. Their eyes widen, and they immediately begin to whisper and point when they realize who we are. I expect Alaric to pull on his confidence like armor and slip back into the cliched role of how he thinks a strong leader should act, but he continues chasing after me, seemingly oblivious to our audience.
“Indira, wait! I don’t understand.” He jogs alongside me. “Is it something I said or did? I know we were supposed to be gone before the miners arrived, but I lost track of time. I wasn’t trying to make a spectacle or force your hand.”
I keep marching, determinedly ignoring Alaric, who’s wringing his gloved hands, growing more agitated by the second—wringing his gloved hands and pulling at his hair, willing me to look at him.
“You’re regretting your offer to grow goblin’s gold, aren’t you?” he blurts out, his voice unexpectedly rough.
I’m regretting a lot of things—like letting him get this close, and opening my eyes to the Vanzadorians’ struggles, and mostly for thinkingI could help. For allowing myself to picture how it might be to have a place among them.
