by Beth Alvarez
The woman flinched, but said nothing.
Firal closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to take it out on you. Temar, how many stations still hold multiple mages?”
“Not many.” The Master crossed to the desk and leaned over the map. “These two, for certain, but the largest outpost was the chapter house in Wethertree.”
Firal marked each station indicated with colored chalk. “Are you able to retrieve these clusters of mages by Gate?”
Temar pursed her lips. “I thought we'd decided not to try.”
“Well, I need as many loyal mages as possible now, or I'll have no hope of pushing back.”
“Pushing back against what?” Kytenia slipped in from the hallway, as graceful and beautiful as ever, despite her stained yellow dress.
Firal opened her mouth to answer, but her jaw hung open in surprise when someone followed Kytenia through the door. With the news of Vahn's capture, Rune was the last person she wanted to see. Yet there he was, like a thorn in a tender part of her she couldn't reach. “What is he doing here?”
Kytenia blinked at him over her shoulder. “Given everything that's going on right now, I thought he should be involved.”
All the anger Firal had tried to suppress came roaring back, heating her blood until she thought she'd explode. “If I wanted him present, I would have summoned him.”
Rune scoffed. “Then why am I here? I could be comfortable at home in Roberian, but instead—”
“Firal, Vahn thought he could help.” The Archmage drew herself up to an imposing air, stained dress and all. “He called him for a reason.”
“Wait.” Rune raised a clawed finger and stepped between them. Firal drew a breath to deflect questions, but he turned his back to her, his attention on Kytenia. “Vahn was the one who summoned me?”
Exasperated, Firal turned back to her maps. “I don't have time for this. We need to act now, and unless he's going to lift a finger to help—”
“Lift a finger, or fall at your feet while you order the stars to align to your pleasing?” Rune sneered. “You've yet to present even a halfway thought-out plan, but still expect me to make miracles happen.”
She gaped. Ordin and Temar shifted uncomfortably beside the desk, avoiding looking at either one of them.
Ruddy light flashed in Rune's violet eyes. “Speechless? That's unlike you.”
Heat crept up her neck, alongside her rising temper. Her heart thumped against her ribs as if it meant to beat him itself. “I am a queen. You will not speak to me that way.”
He almost laughed. “Or what? You'll hang me? That's what you wanted me here for in the first place.”
Flustered, Firal crumpled another paper in her hands. “I didn't want you here at all!”
“Why not?”
“Because I hate you!” The words tore free by their own power and left her throat raw. They bit hard and cut deep, cooling his expression to neutrality.
Rune lifted his chin and the light faded from his eyes. At first she thought him wounded. Then his lips curved with a hint of amusement. “Took you long enough.”
He turned to offer a stiff bow to Kytenia, ignoring the others present. “Excuse me, Archmage.”
“You are dismissed,” Firal added weakly.
“I wasn't waiting for permission,” he replied flatly as he let himself out the door.
Brooding silence weighed on her until she collapsed into her chair and covered her eyes to hide the burning tears.
Ordin cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Your Majesty,” he murmured, “I think we may be rushing. If we are to act, we will need the support of the council.”
Temar nodded. “Captain Straes is correct. If we are forced to act against a group of mages invading the temple, it's best to discuss the matter thoroughly before action is taken.”
“We can summon the council members and speak at dawn,” Kytenia added. “It would be best if you had some idea of what you wish to say before then.”
Her throat constricted and Firal swallowed hard, willing herself not to cry. “We can't wait that long, can we?”
“We must.” Temar spoke gently but firmly, compassion in her eyes.
“I don't mean to take sides, my queen, but he was correct in that we need a clear plan.” Ordin leaned over her desk and removed a weight from the corner of the map. He turned it over in his hand before he planted it atop the symbol that marked the temple's location.
“I will see what mages I can gather, but their number will be small.” The court Master gave a gentle curtsy. “By your leave, Majesty.”
Firal stared at the weight on the map and blinked to dissipate her tears. She hadn't chosen the heavy figurines for any particular reason, they'd simply been what was at the top of the box. The tiny obelisk that stood atop the temple marker seemed to loom over the rest of the map. “You are all excused.”
Ordin bowed and followed Temar to the door.
Kytenia lingered, her eyes on Firal like a leaden weight. “If you mean to involve him, he will need to be in council tomorrow morning. Regardless of how you feel, it's clear Vahn wanted him included and thought he would make a difference. Otherwise, he wouldn't have gone through the trouble of finding him.”
Unable to look at her friend, Firal closed her eyes instead. “He refuses to help.”
“To be fair, you've not been the kindest in your method of asking.” Kytenia smiled sadly, picked up her skirts and made her way to the door. She paused halfway and looked back. “Perhaps you could soften your tone, just to see what happens.”
The silence after Kytenia departed bred bitter discontent, her words hanging heavy in the air.
Firal clenched her teeth and buried her face in her hands. Rune had always been difficult and often frustrating. But he had, it seemed, gone to great lengths to irritate her as deeply as possible since his arrival. Yet she couldn't blame her reaction solely on him, and the knowledge twisted up her insides until even mint tea could offer no relief.
How could she soften her tone with all the resentment she still harbored?
21
Deeper
Sweat rolled down Edagan's temples and between her shoulder blades, making her squirm. She paused to wipe her brow on a sleeve that would never be white again. Her robes clung in uncomfortable places and her gray-white hair stuck to her face and her neck. For a fleeting moment, she regretted the sliver of vanity that demanded she keep her hair long. Her stern bun had come undone some time ago, but frustration kept her from tying it up again.
Magelings milled behind her, restless and nervous, whispering among themselves but reluctant to speak to her. She’d snapped at them more times than they deserved, but she was unwilling to apologize yet. The less they bothered her, the sooner they’d reach their destination.
Digging out the collapsed tunnel they’d taken shelter in had been easy. It was what came after that gave them struggle. The winding corridors beneath the ruins doubled back on themselves like twisted snakes, impossible to navigate. Not long after they began, Edagan and the other Masters decided it best if they forget trying to remember which turns they'd taken. Instead they had decided to push down through the earth, split rock and break through the walls that separated the tunnels. Steep drops opened before them more often than Edagan liked, forcing them to pause and lower magelings into each new passage a few at a time.
Even worse, the air was damp and stale. The smell of mold made her nose itch and her eyes water. Her mouth was dry despite the water Balen pulled from the air for them to drink—the man was all but useless when it came to shifting earth—and the sweat on her skin grew icy and clammy in the cold underground air.
Edagan struck the wall of the tunnel with the flat of her palm and grimaced as stone split, but failed to fall away. She was growing tired, and the magelings were already too exhausted to help.
“Perhaps we should reevaluate the situation,” Balen murmured, giving voice to thoughts she didn’t want to admit.
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She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes as she leaned against the wall for support. The earth hummed to her senses, teasing her with visions of the world both above and below. It was disorienting, but helpful, and was also a trick none of the magelings had conquered. Neve was some help, but most of her energy was devoted to keeping the magelings organized.
Edagan swore they had to be close to a passage that would lead them to the underground city, but the looping tunnels muddied her perception of the earth. For all she knew, they’d been going in a slow spiral instead of the angled downward descent she’d intended for them to take.
Balen rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned close to offer more water. It was pure and tasteless, and the only part of their trip that had worked as planned.
Truthfully, she’d been surprised the man was adept with water, given his opposing elemental affinity. It made little sense, but she was grateful. She accepted the sphere of liquid and watched its surface as she took over the energy needed to hold its shape. It wobbled but held, the ripples serving as testament to how weary she really was.
Swallowing back a sigh, Edagan drank from the sphere’s surface until it dwindled to nothing. Then she licked her lips to speak. Before any words escaped, Balen spun a small ward around the two of them. Bless the man; at least he’d kept his composure.
“I believe we may be in trouble,” Edagan said. “We can't possibly continue on like this, and we have no supplies.” She didn’t sound as defeated as she felt. Though she would have liked to claim composure, more of it was pride. Balen was young. She had been Master of Earth for longer than he’d been alive. Showing cracks in her facade simply wouldn’t do.
“I’ve been watching for foraging options,” Balen said, “but we’re too deep for roots and I haven’t seen any fungi.”
“I don’t know how much farther we can go. I will rest, but there are more tunnels here than I realized.” She glanced toward the cracks in the stone wall and frowned. They had worked their way through more walls than she’d been able to count. All the temple's books on the ruins said the catacombs underneath were vast, but she’d never anticipated what that really meant. The combination of natural and manmade corridors created more passages than there were tunnels in an anthill. Looking back the way they’d come, the multitude of openings reminded her of holes in a sponge.
He followed her gaze and dropped the ward. There was little else to discuss. Going back to the temple wasn’t an option, especially not after they’d fled.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Balen said as he studied the open tunnels above. “No wonder the ruin-folk were able to hide here so long.”
“And no wonder they developed such wealth. A number of these passages held running water at some point. Anyone with time to dig in the gravel would find corundum and gold by the handful.” Edagan smoothed back her hair, ignoring the streaks of dirt her hands left at her sweat-dampened temples. “With fortune, we’ll reach the city soon. I think I’ll sit and trace the tunnels to see if I can find any shortcuts.”
Balen chuckled and lowered himself to the floor. “How fortunate we are. Of all people to be with in the underground, we're led by Edagan, the legendary Master of the House of Earth.”
The false bravado made her sniff, but she didn’t miss the way the magelings behind them seemed to relax. He really was good with the children. She couldn’t think of a Master she’d rather have trapped with her for this disaster.
“Yes,” she said, elevating her voice so the magelings would hear. “We’re very fortunate, indeed.”
She sank to the floor with a long exhale and tried to ignore the tingle of mold in her nostrils when she drew breath again. Her palms flattened against the cool stone beneath her. Closing her eyes made it easier to concentrate. Had she not been so tired, she would have warded out the sound of the murmuring magelings as well.
The earth beneath her palms sang to her, a low, soothing thrum punctuated by the percussion of shifting stone. She didn’t often connect to the earth that way. It could be overwhelming, and its power tried to seep into her when her guard was down. This deep underground, that sort of power could consume her. It would petrify her body, if it didn’t burn her up first.
“Tell me, friend,” she whispered, pressing her hands down until stone and soil filled every fingerprint. “Where must I go?”
No matter her connection to it, the stone against her skin would never communicate with her in the way her words implied. But speaking to it made the connection easier, helped her relax, helped her spread her awareness through the cracks and crevices in the stone.
The vibrations of energy were always present, shifting as the world’s plates moved, and each moment she spent connected to that power gave her a clearer visual of what waited below.
Thousands of tunnels created a tangled web of emptiness, places where no energy existed to answer her call. They reached deeper than she ever imagined, sprawling in every direction, muddling her senses until she thought looking farther was hopeless.
Then, what seemed miles away, she felt it: the void of a cavern so vast it could only be what they searched for. Latching onto the edges of that emptiness, Edagan sent one final push of energy, seeking the tunnels connected to it. Light filled her mind and vision and for one glorious moment, she swore she saw everything.
Power hummed in her senses and filled her form until it seemed her heart pulsed in time with its ebb and flow. Land shifted, moved, breathed like a living thing. The outline of the island and the oceans beyond it hung black in her vision and, all at once, a single twisting path burned so brilliantly before her eyes that she feared she'd never see again.
Heat rose inside her head, planted a low whine in her ears. Her hands left the floor and the world departed from her senses as if torn away. Edagan gasped and her body went rigid as her own energy snapped back like a whiplash. Her sun-withered skin rose in gooseflesh as the power surged through her and settled, leaving her dizzy and disoriented. Blinking to clear her vision, she found Balen hovering above her and realized she was cradled in the young man’s arms.
His expression softened into a worried but understanding smile. “I thought you’d gone too deep, my friend.”
Despite the drink she’d had only moments ago, her mouth was almost too dry to let her speak. “Almost,” she croaked, sitting upright but not deterring him when he supported her shoulders. “But not today.”
“What did you learn?” The corners of his eyes grew pinched as he spoke, as close to a wince as she’d ever seen him come.
She patted his hand and pushed herself up. As she found her strength, she closed her eyes and breathed in deep. Her head spun, but she ignored it, and the dizziness went away. “Enough. Come along, children,” she called.
The magelings perked up and climbed to their feet. They looked a bit refreshed. Good; they’d need their strength.
“I’m not sure we’re ready for more digging, Master,” a girl in blue robes ventured.
Edagan sniffed. “No need, child. We’re walking.”
Rune lifted his head from the cushion of his folded arms and growled beneath his breath. Frustrated and exhausted, company was the last thing he wanted. Yet the knock at his door had been firm and insistent. Would these people never give him a moment of peace?
The knock came a second time, harder, and he gritted his teeth as he pushed himself up from the table. The table rocked and the floor felt uneven beneath his clawed feet. Perhaps that last drink had been one too many.
His rooms were clean now; new linens made the bed and the furniture had been polished until it shone. The curtains were still open. Familiar stars glittered in the night. It had been ages since he'd seen them from the island, but he wasn't in the mood to stargaze. He wasn't even certain what time it was. After all their cleaning, the maids had forgotten to wind the tall clock beside his desk. It stood silent, its hands askew. His father had once told him that a timepiece was the most valuable thing a man could own. Clockwor
ks were rare and exceptionally expensive, but their value came from the reminders they offered, rather than the price they could fetch. There were only two in the palace. One in his quarters, and one in his father's office. Firal's office now, he supposed.
Again someone knocked, and this time tried the door. Rune hadn't locked it and it swung open on freshly oiled hinges.
He scoffed and stopped where he was, halfway across the room. “Of course, come in. How fortunate that I'm decent.”
“An interesting word to describe yourself,” Firal murmured as she slipped inside and shut the door behind her. She was alone.
Of all the people who might have come to see him, he hadn't expected her. He shifted on his feet and watched, wary, as she moved closer. She walked with her head bowed, defeated and resigned. A far cry from the defiant queen who'd threatened to hang him just the day before.
Only hours ago, she'd said she hated him. The words tore to shreds what tender pieces remained of his heart. The whiskey clouded his senses, but hadn't soothed the hurt. His jaw tightened. “Why are you here?”
“Because I need your help.” She looked at him from beneath dark lashes, her eyes glassy and troubled. “Envesi has moved into the temple. Our daughter is there and so is Vahn. If you're going to retrieve our child, this is the easiest opportunity you'll have. All you have to do is Gate in and out, and bring them back with you.”
He hadn't expected an apology, but that she crept in with more demands so soon left him incensed. She made it sound as if opening a Gate was so simple. To be fair, he supposed it once had been. He crossed his arms. “Why don't you have your league of mages do it, then?”
“Because I don't know if I still have mages on the other side, and I can't risk sending a dozen through to do it. They'd be noticed. If it's just you, then there's a chance.”
Reasonable, he had to admit. Half of him had hoped for some rash, half-brained notion of what he was supposed to do. But her reasoning was sound, and harder to reject.
