Ulrik’s hand clamped briefly on his shoulder. “Make it out, lad. Your sister wouldn’t forgive me otherwise.”
Alexander stepped over the threshold into air that was immediately more frigid, staler, thick with the scent of crystal dust. His boots crunched over shards as torchlight flickered over damp, jagged walls.
He moved with haste, map in hand. “We follow the main shaft to the left fork. This extension is new.”
“You trust it?” Darion grunted.
“No. But it’s all we have.”
They passed crates of shattered limyerite, edges glinting like bone, and newer beams propping ancient walls. The passage narrowed, then widened in silence until it forked.
Alexander paused. The red line pointed left. They followed.
The tunnel sloped downward, but a gnawing unease made him stop. “Something’s off.”
He turned back. The left fork was staged—crates too neat, a pickaxe clean of dust. “They meant to send us this way.”
He turned toward the right tunnel, the one the map dismissed. It was narrower, swallowed in shadow, but the air carried a faint, cold kiss of a breeze.
“Feel it?”
Darion closed his eyes. “Barely.”
Alexander crouched, finding a shallow, recent scuff on the stone. They followed the trail as the walls narrowed and a draft stirred his hair. The tunnel ended in a smooth wall. Raising his torch, Alexander revealed a nearly invisible vertical seam. He pressed his palm against it. Nothing. He listened—a whistle of wind from behind the stone—then pressed lower. A mechanism gave, and the wall opened just wide enough to pass.
“A hidden passage,” he rasped.
This is how they hide.He slipped through without another word. Darion followed. The wall shut behind them, sealing them in darkness. Sealing off everything but the hunt.
CHAPTER 54
JINGYI
The soup had simmered long enough. JingYi gave it a final stir, then stepped back from the hearth. It looked harmless: thin broth speckled with barley, marrow, and limp root vegetables. No scent betrayed what now coursed through it.
She ladled the stew into a black iron pot and stacked the bowls and spoons beside it. Right on cue, one of the masked guards appeared at the threshold. He barely glanced at her as he lifted the pot, muttering something about ‘another thin one.’ She watched him haul the evening meal down the corridor to the dug-out recess they used as the dining hall.
Her fingers trembled as she arranged a smaller tray—one silver bowl and spoon, a folded linen napkin, and a crystal tumbler of tepid water. Tedric’s meals were always delivered privately. Tonight would be no different.
She carried the tray, fingers locked tight around the edges to still their trembling. The corridor outside Tedric’s chambers was dim and hushed. He never bothered with guards, as if confident in his ability to protect himself. He also never wore a mask, and she’d often wondered if it was foolishness or bravery.
She rapped the edge of the tray softly against the door, the way she always did.
“Enter,” he answered.
The door gave with a reluctant creak. Inside, Tedric lounged in the chair behind his desk, a gleaming blade resting on the polished wood before him. He dragged a whetstone along its edge in slow, deliberate strokes. Steel sang against stone.
“You’re late,” he said. He didn’t glance up.
JingYi stepped forward and lowered the tray with care onto his desk. “I apologize.”
He sighed. “You always apologize. It’s tedious.”
He finally looked up, eyes skimming her face before landing on the bowl. His lip curled. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I let you handle the kitchen. Still not much of a cook, are you?”
“There isn’t much to cook with. It’s a challenge to create something passable with dried tubers and bones. The last of the substantial ingredients ran out yesterday.”
Tedric propped his chin on a fist and huffed. “It’s foolish to attract attention by bringing in supplies.” He dipped his spoon into the stew, lifting it just high enough to watch the broth drip back into the bowl. “The sooner you accept my offer, the sooner we can leave this hole.”