“What do you think?” He chuckles softly.
Feed and fuck. He seems like the type who might end up in a back alley. As much as I despise Jarek, I can see how others might find him physically appealing. “I think you might be in luck as long as you don’t speak.” I doubt he’ll have time for taverns once we find Ianca, but he’s in an oddly upbeat mood, so I’m not about to burst that bubble.
The path ahead has closed in with undergrowth. Abarrane, who leads our line—eight of us in total, on six horses—hops out of her saddle. “We must continue on foot. Loth, you will remain here to safeguard the horses and our weapons.”
The legionary collects reins from each of us as we dismount and follow the path leading into dense forest.
To our right, beyond the trees, the main entrance gate to the city of Bellcross sits open. Distant shouts, clomping hooves, and squeaking wagon wheels suggest a bustling city. But within this thicket, only the twigs snapping beneath my boots and the leaves brushing against our cloaks make a sound. No one seems in the mood to talk, too focused on dodging branches.
Eventually, I find myself trailing Zander. We’ve avoided each other—or rather, he’s been avoiding me—for days. Despite the tension between us, I itch for conversation. “So, how do you know about this other entrance into Bellcross? And don’t tell me it’s because you’re the king and therefore you know everything.”
“Have I become that predictable?” He glances over his shoulder, and to my surprise, flashes a smirk. “As boys, Theon and I spent our days sneaking around the city. He’s the one who showed me this.” Suddenly, we’ve reached a dead end, the trees and bramble butting against the city’s exterior wall. Zander yanks away vines that clamber up the stone, intently focused on the blocks beneath.
“Looks like this escape route hasn’t been used in some time.” He ducks beneath tree limbs, smoothing his palm along the stone as he searches for something. “Every large city has at least one secret entrance. I’ve heard Kettling has many, though my spies haven’t been able to find them yet. That information should always be guarded. Foolish to reveal such secrets, but I suppose Theon assumed it was okay to reveal this to his friend and future king.”
He stalls on one stone in particular—a square stone in a sea of rectangles. Bracing his feet against the ground and his other hand on the wall beside it, he gives it a shove. A cascade of clicks sounds, followed by a deep scraping, until a narrow doorway opens.
A curse slips from my lips, laced with awe.
“I thought you’d like this little trick.” Zander’s hazel eyes twinkle. It feels like eons since I’ve seen any hint of playfulness in them, not since everything between us fell apart.
“This is the work of a talented stone caster.” Gesine edges past the others to peer inside. “They are rare and fascinating intellectuals. It requires a certain aptitude for architecture and construction and a strong affinity to Aminadav. I could not begin to wrap my brain around the complexity of this puzzle work.”
“You mean, you couldn’t do this?” She has an affinity to Aminadav too.
She laughs. “No, there is training, and then there is capacity. Some skills can be taught, like mending flesh and bone or sparking a flame, but the way a caster’s mind works allows them to bend the affinity to their will in certain ways. This must have been created before the Great Rift, when Islor still had casters in these lands. Where does it lead?”
“The last I used it, to a small courtyard garden,” Zander says. “I assume not much has changed in that regard, but I could be wrong. We will find out shortly. Is everyone ready?”
Quiet grunts answer the king.
“Behind me, Romeria.” Zander steps into the darkness.
A glowing orb appears above his head, casting light in an otherwise pitch-black space. “Thank you,” I whisper, knowing Gesine has done that for herself and me more than anyone else.
The stone wall is far thicker than I imagined, and the path through is not linear, weaving first left and then right. In single file, we move along quietly, the space narrow and low, forcing Zander to bend his head in some spots.
“Any chance this maze will shut on us while we’re in here?” I whisper.
“Not unless someone triggers it to close.” Zander pauses. “Then again, Theon once told me a story of a thief who somehow discovered this passage, and after stealing jewels from the queen’s bedchamber, tried to escape through here. Only he must have gotten trapped inside. They found his skeleton years later, still clutching a handful of gems. I assumed it was a tall tale, a way to deter us from using this route too often, but I would not linger long enough to test its truth.”
“That’s encouraging,” Jarek mutters, tension in his voice.
I can’t help but smile. Finally, something the fierce warrior is unsettled by. “So you and Rengard are good friends, then.” Maybe I don’t have to be so worried about his plan to march right through the lord’s gate with an enemy-to-the-crown banner hanging over his head.
“Bellcross has always been a staunch supporter of Cirilea and my family. Whether that extends to Atticus, we shall soon see. But Theon has, on many occasions, expressed admiration for my vision of Islor. I do not know how he feels about Atticus’s latest edict, especially after being targeted by Tyree.”
Zander’s vision is one where mortals have freedom and choice, their blood a commodity they own. But not one where the mortals rise up and scheme murder.
We’ve reached a part in the wall where the stone blocks haven’t fully parted, jutting out in a zigzag pattern. Zander turns sideways to shimmy between. “I do not recall it being this way before. But I was much younger and smaller back then.”
“It’s as if the mechanics failed here.” Gesine sends the globe floating above him. “It’s been thousands of years since the caster constructed this tunnel. Some of the logic within it could be deteriorating.”
I mimic Zander, holding my breath as I edge through. On the other side, the path bends into a cramped corner that meets a dead end. There’s barely enough room for us, our bodies nudging each other.
“I should go back …” I make to rejoin the others, to give Zander more space, but his hand lands on my hip, stalling me.
“Stay there, Gesine. There isn’t enough room.”