“Who goes there?” he calls.
A smile appears on my face, and I walk faster. It’s been years since I last saw the warden of Voidseal. The familiar gravel of his voice softens a part of me I never thought could warm in this chill. How Kel and I idolized him when we were younger. Irahn wasn’t much of an uncle, in and out of Kel’s life at random, but he was magnificent. Compared to our fathers—both honorable men to be sure, but strict and intense in their own ways—Irahn seemed like a hero from a folktale. He’d leave on adventures all his own, then return with trinkets and stories unlike anything we’d heard before. Though I was Kel’s friend, no blood relation to the Winter warrior, he always found something special for me.
A memory floods back to me. Kel and I had run off into Keinänen Woods, chasing a story of a caribou with a pure white hide and antlers made of gold. We couldn’t track the caribou, but we did find too-loose snow. When we disturbed it, a great avalanche crashed down through the woods, burying us deep. Unknown to me, Irahn had followed. He dug us out and pulled us to safety. And not only did he never tell Erivor of our foolishness—who would have ripped us to shreds with his words—he encouraged us to keep trekking. There, just over the ridge, we saw that caribou. And yes, it had horns of gold.
My smile widens at the memory, of the three of us peering over the snowbank. Irahn’s hair was black then, and Kel hada look of ease he’s long forgotten. I can picture how the snow glimmered over my armor?—
Where warmth had once flooded my chest only moments ago, now a chill runs through it. The boy in my mind’s eye has a helm, not a face. Irahn will not recognize me. Yet another hero from my past will know my shame and look upon me with disgrace. Or worse, pity.
I wish I could pull my hood tighter, wrap the scarf around me until there was nothing to be seen.Don’t look at me, I want to scream at the Deep Guard, even though they don’t know who I am. Don’t care.
Irahn approaches us with a commanding gait. Though he’s shorter than me and thin of bone beneath his many furs, he has the air of a giant. He stops before us, searching our faces—or what he can see of Caspian’s—for the man he was expecting.
Hands trembling—from the cold, surely—I lower my hood and unravel my scarf. The wind bites my skin and tousles my dark hair. “Greetings, warden of Voidseal. It is I, Ezryn, sent by High Prince Keldarion.”
“Ezryn.” Irahn studies me, then reaches his gloved hand and cups the side of my face.
My heart hammers in my chest, awaiting his judgment.
Then Irahn smiles, and all he says is, “You haven’t changed a bit.”
I release a cloud of breath. “It’s good to see you, my lord.”
“My lord?” Irahn snorts. “The last time you called me that, you were a lad rattling in your silvers. You’re my nephew, sure as any blood. Call me Uncle. Stars know I couldn’t get rid of you back in the day!”
I put a hand over his. “Uncle.”
He looks at Rosalina. “Now, this must be the famous Golden Rose I’ve heard so much about.”
“It is wonderful to meet you, my lord.” She bows her head.
“You will call me Uncle as well. As mate of my nephews”—he gives me a smile—“that makes you my niece.”
Rosalina’s face brightens, and she nods.
“And who is this?” Irahn tilts his chin, examining Caspian.
“A friend,” I say lowly. “One who is here to help us with the briars in the tunnels.”
A beat of silence passes between us. Irahn’s gaze narrows. The icy wind whips his gray hair before his eyes, but he does not blink. Caspian holds his stare, purple gaze gleaming out from the dark void of his hood.
“A friend, is it?” Irahn growls. “Aye, then keep your cloak on, boy. Some of the folk ’round here will slit afriend’sthroat if they catch half a sniff of the Below.” He gives me a pointed look. “Kel sent him with you?”
I nod.
Irahn gestures for us to follow him up to the bridge house. “High prince or no, I sure hope that boy knows what he’s doing.”
I put my arm around Rosalina as we ascend the stone stairs. “He’s got quite the advisor now, and I can confirm, she is as clever as she is stubborn.”
Rose gives me a joking sneer, made all the cuter by her nose, flushed from the chill.
As we settle in Irahn’s office, dropping our furs, taking off our boots, and warming ourselves by the fire, Rosalina and I take turns explaining the situation with the assassin. How he fought with a god’s strength and skill, how it took all six of us to bring him down. How he was fae and yet not fae, goblin and yet not goblin.
Though we’re alone in the guard tower, Caspian keeps his hood up, scarf wrapped tight around his face, as if he could still hide himself from Irahn. He lays the map out on Irahn’s desk, the one we found of the Great Chasm and tunnels of the Below.
“I know the paths well,” Caspian says quietly, tracing the routes with his fingers. “But these ones here are unknown to me. Have your crew knowledge of these tunnels? Where they go? What’s within them?”
Irahn strokes his close-cropped beard, then shakes his head. “I know where these are, but we’ve never traveled down them. There’re briars, too thick for us to chop through, blocking the whole path. I couldn’t tell you if there’s a wall or a tunnel behind them.”
