Page 138 of Of Masks and Fury

“We should send spies into the wasteland to see what they can discover,” Malcolm said, not knowing that I already had. “I could give you a list of warriors who’d be best suited for such a task. I assume you infiltrated Caldrith Court with a magical disguise. Could you create one for this person or persons that would hold long enough for them to travel among the Skathes to discover who the controllers are?”

Malcolm had always been clever. But I noticed what he’d actually asked, not whether we should send spies, but whether my disguise magic could be replicated, transferred, or applied to someone else. How long it would hold. Its limits.

The question of a tactician.

Or the question of someone who wanted to know exactly what I could and couldn’t do.

I nodded approval. “Give me a list, Malcolm. Lead the spy selection.”

“I’ll put it together right away.”

“As for those awaiting the Day of Mercy,” I said. “We’re going to break them from the dungeon and steal them like we’ve taken many of their magic-wielding children. They’re condemned for thesame gifts we celebrate here. They’re warriors, healers, and scholars. Regular people like us. Potential allies if we can earn their trust.”

Malcolm’s face remained thoughtful. “And if they don’t trust us? They may see Syllavar as another cage.”

“We’ll give them a choice.” I met his gaze. “We’ll show them how life could be here. Let them see our villages, our people, and the happy, healthy children we’ve already rescued. Then we’ll let them decide their own fates.”

Silence fell again, but this time it carried weight, consideration rather than shock.

Coralee tapped her fingers on her arms crossed on her chest, her expression calculating. “Magic wielders who survive the Rite could bond with beasts. We’d gain warriors we desperately need.” She paused. “But will Caldrith’s people fight their own neighbors and families?”

“Some might,” Naveah said quietly. “Others won’t. But offering sanctuary is still the right choice, even if only a handful accept.”

Grayson’s owl fluttered his wings as the advisor frowned. “The logistics alone are rather complex. How would we get them all here without being captured in their territory?”

“We’ll use dragons. Fast in, fast out, with minimal exposure.”

“I assume the prisoners are heavily guarded,” Malcolm pointed out.

“They’re in Caldrith’s dungeon.”

Naveah’s eyes widened. “Not confined to their own homes? What made Cyril change his mind about that?”

“Even with dragons, you’ll need a way inside that doesn’t alert every soldier in the castle,” Malcolm said.

Naveah straightened in her chair. “There are tunnels. Forgotten passages under Caldrith Castle.”

Every eye turned to her.

The information was almost too useful. I filed the thought away. I wasn’t suspicious yet, but it paid to be aware. In a room where I trusted no one completely, convenient knowledge deserved examination.

“I’ve been inside one,” I said, relenting in that. “It’s painfully narrow and that one led only to the kitchen or the west tower, though it does open into a closet at the end of the hallway housing cells. As far as I know, there’s no outside access, so this may not work for our plan.”

“You found one, did you?” Naveah’s sly smile rose. “I wasn’t speaking of that tunnel but others. These sound different from the tunnels you used. They’re old, more foundational passages.”

“How do you know anything about this?” Grayson asked in a huffy tone.

“You forget,” she said, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “I was born in Caldrith. My parents fled when my magic manifested, though I was barely old enough to understand what it meant. They brought me here, and while they’ve since passed, I’ve remained. I’ve been loyal to this court since I was that frightened child.” Her gaze met mine. “My father was a mason. He worked on the castle’s foundations before we fled. He used to tell me stories about the passages. I doubt many know they exist. I can draw you a rough map of those passages I had access to.”

Hope flared in my chest. “Do any exit the castle itself?”

She frowned down at her hands. “I believe I remember my father mentioning one that exited through a hillside behind the castle. He said he tried to find it but couldn’t. The entrance may be overgrown or collapsed by now.”

She’d said her father was a mason who worked on the foundations before they fled. She’d been barely old enough to understand what magic meant when they left.

Yet she’d just described the specific directional exit of a passage her father had never actually found.

A mason’s bedtime stories to a small child didn’t usually include precise compass bearings.