“On it!” she shouts, and the largest pieces of rock start to rise up out of the hole, away from the opening. We discussed this ahead of time. There’s no use opening the cave just to bury it in rockfall again. But thanks to Ana’s orbital powers, most of the debris sails upward and out of the way.
Despite the long road to get here, I can tell the anticipation is keeping us all going. Stratton quickly lights a lamp from his pack, and Hyllus ties it to a rope and lowers it down into the darkness. The air down below is thick with dust, but we can still see the rough shape of a cavern through the gloom.
“I’ll go,” I say, and no one—not even Ana—argues. They know I have to be the one to do this. My father was the last person inthat cave fifteen years ago. It’s only right that I be the one now to follow in his footsteps.
My boots hit the stone floor with a thud. The sound echoes around the cave as I pick up the lantern to get a better look at it.
It’s not big, maybe ten feet long and wide. The walls are damp, shining with water droplets condensed on the craggy surface. There are even a few small puddles below my feet, reminding me of the lake just outside the cavern. I lift the lamp higher, and the golden glow illuminates the far end, where a patchwork of smooth boulders are wedged tight enough to form an impenetrable wall. That must be what I felt on the other side—the stones my father used to seal this cave off.
And seated in front of it is a pyramid of smaller stones, forming a small cairn. There’s something on top of it.
I move cautiously along the cave floor, wondering if my father left any surprises or magical traps. But there’s nothing. It seems he believed the remote location and obscure hiding spot would be protection enough.
When I get close, I see the thing sitting on top of the cairn is a metal box. I immediately recognize the Claerwyn crest, and despite myself, I smile.
“Hello, Father,” I murmur, my voice doubling in the cave’s echo, making me feel for just a moment like someone else is here beside me.
I pick up the box and flip the hinged lid open. The wave of familiar magic hits me with full force as I draw out a metal disc attached to a worn leather strap. The seal is engraved with a scythe, fixed with a metal loop on one side so that the user can press it into wax.
I clasp the object between my fingers. This seal was held by a god once, long ago, but more importantly, it was held by my father. He wanted to make sure the seal wouldn’t be used to bring war and suffering to Tiearland, and now it’s my job to do the same.
I won’t let him down.
Chapter 19
Damia
We ride through the slums of Hallowbane, the scrapheap houses and grime-soaked streets slowly giving way to dwellings with proper front doors and roads that look like they might’ve been swept in the last century. When we pass through a market of pungent foods—smoked meats and raw fish and what might be moonshine being sold out of a barrel—Corrin takes a deep breath and sighs.
“Ah, it’s good to be home,” he says.
I glance around me, taking in the tough-looking vendors and the gaudily dressed men and women who are their customers. Scrappy children lurk around them. They look like they’re playing, but I catch at least one trying to snatch at the purse of a woman in a red dress. She bats the boy away with a sharp warning.
I try to see it all through Corrin’s eyes. At least this place isn’t boring. It’s not sterile and oppressive like Qimorna. It’s diverse and complicated and not always pretty, but I suppose I can understand why that might appeal. Especially to someone like Corrin who grew up in it.
I picture him as one of those scrappy children, turning survival into a game, laughing as he fights his way to climb to the top of the heap that is Hallowbane.
You’re spending too much time trying to work him out. It was one night.
The little voice at the back of my head is stern. She doesn’t have time for my musings—she’s too busy scolding me not to repeat what happened in that pub the night before last.
It was fun…veryfun. In fact, all of Corrin’s boasts and flirtations were borne out, and then some. I’ve never slept with a human, but in Filusia one hears jokes disparaging their size and stamina. All I can say is when it comes to Corrin, all the jokes are wildly wrong.
But it’s been two days since that happened, and I haven’t brought it up. Last night, when we stopped at a different inn, I quickly ordered us separate rooms and said good night, and he took the hint. The strange thing is he doesn’t seem put out by that. In fact, he’s just as charming and cheerful today as he was yesterday. Maybehedoesn’t want a repeat of that night? Maybe he didn’t enjoy himself as much as?—
I cut the thought off. It’s too ridiculous to entertain. Not when we spent most of the night wrapped up in each other, with the landlord banging on the door and yelling at us for keeping the other guests awake.
The memories return vividly, making my skin tingle. It was a battle of wills at first, each of us trying to dominate the other. I didn’t mind that; it made things interesting. But when we found our rhythm, it was even better…
That’s not the issue. And get your thoughts out of the gutter.
I grit my teeth at the voice, more intrusive and distracting than Barb whispering in my ear. It’s right, of course. I need to remember the reason why I haven’t touched Corrin since that night. No matter how badly I might have wanted to.
His cause is different from ours. His mission isn’t our mission, and if I can’t expect him to be as committed to helping the captain and the princess as the rest of us, then I can’t fully trust him. He got where he is in life by putting his own interests first, and he’s not going to change the habit of a lifetime just for me. I suspect that now we’re back in his domain, he’ll fall right back into his old ways. Then I’ll feel like a fool for treating that night like anything other than the fling it was.
“Something’s different,” Corrin frowns. We’ve left the slums properly now, and the streets are emptying the further we get into the city. In any other town, that would be normal enough—the slums would be the most crowded part. But Hallowbane’s different. It’s the pricier parts of town that are meant to have the most bustle, the most activity, since those are the places where all the money is made. I remember our last few visits here, where these neighborhoods were alive with people, working girls hanging from balconies and merry makers tripping their way along the avenues.
But now, the streets are eerily quiet. Far too many buildings are boarded up or burned out. Faces peer at us from windows before quickly disappearing again like frightened rabbits.
