“No,” he said, gold eyes glinting. “I was being polite. And believe it or not, I'm actually sorry that this whole situation has been thrust upon you. I'd like to make your involuntary stay as pleasant as possible.”
Alina was momentarily stunned. The gall of him! The audacity! “Thrust upon me? That's rich. If my memory serves—and it does—you personally hauled me out of my home while I was kicking and screaming. Don’t pretend you’re just an innocent bystander in all this.”
“I didn't haul you. I tactically relocated you. There's a difference.” He sighed and his expression grew serious. “Look, I know this sounds like villain dialogue, but I genuinely had no other choice. You're more important than you realize. I know right now I'm the big bad wolf in your story, but eventually things will make sense. When you have all the information, you can judge me however you want. In the meantime, can I get you anything? Better blankets? Less terrible food?”
“Oh, how thoughtful! Perhaps you could fetch me my freedom?” Alina snapped, sarcasm dripping off every word. “No? Then kindly take your consideration elsewhere and find someone else to play hostage with.” With her best courtly flourish, she flicked her wrist in dismissal as if he were a particularly disappointing footman. Kael held her gaze with those unnerving golden eyes for a beat, nodded once, and walked away.
Alina remained in place for a while. That man had her vexed like no other human being ever before. She tried very hard to calm down and sort her feelings. She was furious! The audacity to first kidnap her, and then act almost gentlemanly? How dare he! A ball of rage formed in the pit of her stomach, fiery and hot, fueled by everything she had to endure these last few weeks: the shock of the abduction, the constant fear of these people, this horrible, scratchy clothing they put her in, her helplessness, and his cruel mockery! Her fingertips started to tingle, and she felt like her hair was standing on end, as if wind from nowhere was lifting it outof her face. Against her chest, her amulet began to grow warm, vibrating against her skin. Within a few moments she realized that it really was hot—so hot, in fact, that it burned her skin. In one fluid motion she ripped it off her chest, over her head and flung it to the ground. She breathed heavily and started to shake all over. The tingling was gone and so was the phantom wind, but it had been there! She had felt it, as clearly as she saw the packed dirt under these hideous boots.
What in the name of the ever-loving Gods was going on?
Quite shaken up, Alina picked up the amulet and went back inside to her room—or rather the hole that passed for one. Again her annoyance flared up at this dump they had shoved her into. How on earth could these people live like that? Like animals, crawling about in their burrow. Upset, she flung herself on her cot. For a moment, she stared at the ceiling. Then, she sighed and closed her eyes. What was happening to her life? How could it have been so upended? True, there were things she did not like about her life—the endless courtly duties, the lessons with Lord Rowan, her loneliness—but at least it was hers. She knew her way around it. Her routines, her feelings and thoughts were intimately familiar, and there was comfort in that.
Her thoughts went to her conversation with Kael and from there, gratingly, to the man himself. How could his physical appearance and his behavior be so at odds? Or better: how could she find a person like him attractive? Because, if she had to be honest, she did. Those eyes were so golden, it was almost shocking. Every time he looked at her, her stomach dropped. His voice, deep and cultured and probably very velvety in certain circumstances...of which she forbade herself to think because this was ludicrous! This man was a criminal, a kidnapper, a traitor, andthe Gods only knew what else. One did not engage in fantasies of large, strong hands following one's own body contours, a velvet voice moaning one's name in one's ear, a large body pressing oneself into the mattr—
Alina jumped up. Pacing her room, she decided it was time for action. First, she needed to find food, though. So, first task of the day: get some sustenance. Then, she would work on a plan to return home. “That's settled, then,” she said, and strode from the room.
The hour was black, the kind of night that seemed more alive than any day could ever be. The rebel stronghold had slipped into its nocturnal hush. No drills, no council arguments, just the low pulse of water dripping somewhere down the stone and the breathy shuffle of sleeping bodies beyond her door. Alina was kneeling on the chair at the battered table, a sitting position that would have horrified everyone at the palace, from the king down to the last scullery maid. Being abducted and thrown into a black hole for a room apparently did have its perks. She worked by the stub of a candle, its flame wavering in the cold air, her own shadow moving across the wall like an impatient wraith.
She leaned forward, elbows planted on the scarred wood, her hair falling over one eye as she flattened another scrap of parchment. The page was covered in lines and dots in her best attempt at mapping the underbelly of the Caves from memory, observation, and the stolen glances she’d risked in her wanderings. She traced the main corridors, then the side tunnels,the cut-throughs she’d found near the kitchens and the narrow watercourse behind the stone ovens. Every inch of it was a guess, but it was a better guess than nothing.
The amulet pendant—cool again, like it had never been different—pressed into her collarbone as she hunched. She absently traced it with her thumb, expecting the same nothingness she’d always felt. Tonight, it was almost a comfort: a reminder that there was a version of herself, somewhere in a gilded room, that had been real and whole and unbroken.
She set her jaw, dipped the quill, and added a new mark: the ventilation shaft above the south barracks. She’d seen a boy, barefoot and filthy, young enough to make her ache, slide out of the grate with a pilfered apple and vanish before the quartermaster could so much as curse. If he could do it, so could she.
Every so often, the point of the quill slipped, leaving a blot of ink on the page. She swore under her breath, then dabbed at it, her fingers stained black and unladylike. She missed the perfectly sharpened pencils of the palace library, the way her mother would frown if her script wavered even a little. She missed the quiet, the order, the illusion of safety.
But she did not miss the lies.
She leaned back, flexing her cramped hand, and surveyed the work. It felt good to do something, to be active, to finally take matters into her own hands. She’d mapped not just the tunnels but the likely guard rotations, the moments she’d seen them slacken near shift change, the passage that was always left unguarded at the start of the midnight watch. She’d spent days observing, piecing together the pattern, resisting the urge to act before she was absolutely sure.
Her mind drifted to Finn. She heard his voice in her head—”They change everything, don’t they?”—and the way his laugh could turn anger into something almost light. He’d told her once, “Sometimes it’s not about the plan. It’s about whether you’re willing to act.” She wondered if he would ever know how much she’d needed to hear it, or if he would just make a joke about her dreadful handwriting.
The candle guttered, flame shrinking to a blue tongue. Alina pressed her palm flat to the table, feeling the chill of the stone underneath. She rolled her shoulders and went back to work, redrawing the route in a smaller, more discreet script. It was nearly time. She felt it in her heartbeat, the cold clarity of her thoughts.
As she drew the final line, marking a shortcut that led past the laundry caves and out to the forested valley, her hand trembled. Not with fear, not anymore, but with something like resolve. The map was finished. She sighed and looked it over one final time.
She rolled it tight, bound it with a scrap of thread from her sleeve, and tucked it inside her tunic. The pendant thumped against it, the two secrets layered over her heart.
For a moment, she just sat in the silence, listening to the echo of her own breath. She wondered, not for the first time, whether her parents would even recognize her now. Would Kael chase her or let her go? Would Finn help, or watch from the shadows, or simply tell the next story, with her as the villain or the hero—depending on how it all ended?
She rose, legs stiff, and crossed to the door. She paused, listening, and found nothing but the sleep-muffled world on the other side. She checked the bundle—bread, blanket, knife.
She opened the door, the hinges grating only a little. She slipped into the corridor, turned the latch behind her, and listened into the darkness. No alarm. No footsteps.
She padded down the hallway, letting her own certainty guide her. If she was caught, it would not be as a helpless girl. If she failed, it would be at a full run, the kind Finn would admire.
The night opened ahead, and she ran toward it, ready for whatever waited on the other side.
7
I Didn’t Know
As it turned out, it was Kael who was waiting on the other side. He lifted one eyebrow. “Midnight stroll or secret mission?”
Alina was stunned. And furious. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Waiting for you.” A hint of a smile. Golden gaze fixed on her.
