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I pushed the wall open. Behind it was darkness, and a narrow, dusty staircase leading down, down, down. I’d known the tunnels were underneath the manor, but seeing the descent in person made my stomach swoop with anxiety. I swallowed. At least there was a dusty old torch mounted on the wall. I’d have to hurry back into my quarters to get a match to light it—if it was still intact from years of disuse.
When I reached out to check the torch, to ensure the wick wasn’t disintegrated, magic crackled over my fingers.
I snatched my hand back like I’d been burned. I gasped, my eyes widening with shock as the torch flickered to life of its own accord. Atop the dusty wooden handle, behind a delicate glass encasing, a warm yellow light glowed and sparkled like a trapped star fluttering to escape. Then, more torches flickered to life along the staircase, one after another, like the torches were awakening each other in a chain. The lights glowed until the tunnel turned a corner at the end of the descent.
So no matches needed, I guessed. Curious, I reached for the torch again, and as my fingers neared it the magic danced around my fingers again. It was similar to what I’d felt in the artifacts room, like the magic was reaching out toward me.
Point of no return.
A thrill of anticipation raced through me. If I’d thought coming to Efra was exciting, this was, in a way, better. Because this was my decision—my exploration. However it ended, at least I’d done something for myself. And for Griffin. I was getting us out of this.
I stepped onto the landing and pulled the secret door closed behind me. The tunnel was silent, and even as the lights in the torches flickered and moved, they made no sound like a fire would. I made my way down, down, down, until I reached the end of the staircase. The silence was unnerving, pressing down on me like a weight. It was almost like being underwater. Was I yet underground? At the end of the stairs, the tunnel turned sharply to the left. It was on a grade, too—a slow, subtle decline.
There was only one way to go. A torch flickered to life at my shoulder. I began to walk.
And walk. And walk.
The tunnel seemed endless ahead of me, winding straight ahead without any turns or tunnels splitting off. That seemed to align with what I’d seen on the map, but the more time passed, the more I began to doubt it. How far had I gone? And how deep underground was I? I’d been descending slowly the entire time—had the tunnel system changed since the map had been drawn? Perhaps it’d be wiser to turn around, then risk stealing the map from the library. It’d be an unpleasant ascent, certainly, but the deeper underground I went the more my anxiety spiked.
After about a half hour of walking, I was moments from turning back when my nape prickled. My wolf sensed another presence. I didn’t know who it was, but after all this silent walking, finally we were approaching other wolves.
Then, in between two of the distantly placed lamps, a barely visible glow of light flickered from a crack in the wall.
A seam. Had I been missing doors this entire way? No—I would’ve sensed something, the same way my wolf was sensing another presence now. She was on high alert in the quiet of the tunnels. I approached the seam carefully, my feet silent on the earthen floor of the tunnel. Then, carefully, I pressed my ear to the wall of the tunnel. Through the earth I could hear murmurs of voices, but nothing distinct enough to make out. There was someone there. Someone on the other side. The tunnels were still in use.
I had to be near the center of the manor by now. Was the space I’d seen marked on the map of the dungeons? The center of the entire tunnel system?
Gently ,I pushed on the wall. It gave much easier than I expected, clunking back like it had been waiting for my fingertips to activate it. With a clunk, it slid back, and light flooded the tunnel. I leaped back, eyes wide and wolf on alert. But no one barged into the tunnel to find me. The voices were still only murmurs.
I peeked into the space the door had created.
The tunnel doorway opened into a hallway. It wasn’t the earthen-floored darkness of the tunnel system, but more like the servants’ hallways that snaked on the lower floors of the manor. It was narrow with stone walls and dim lighting. I pushed the secret door to the tunnel closed behind me. The cold air was permeated with a terrible stench of ammonia and iron – piss and blood. Then, a wail cut through the air, low and long. A weak cry of pain. Behind that, a howl sounded. A thump like a body being struck. The scrape of metal on metal.
Cold fear crawled into my throat. The dungeons weren’t just a holding place—people were being hurt. I pulled my knife from my waistband and crept down the narrow hallway, toward the terrible sounds calling me like a dark siren. The hallway led to an immense archway. There wasn’t even a door. The dungeons were just open, as if I were already in the dungeons now. I most likely was. The tunnels had been a secret entrance. I’d bet that behind me, at the far end of this hallway, there was a great locked door to keep the prisoners inside.
I pressed myself to the wall to try to hide as best as I could, and peeked around the archway.
It was only the fear of being caught that kept me from crying out. The main center of the dungeon was immense, as if whoever had built it had expected to keep and torture half an army. A huge wooden table was just off the center of the dungeon, half in shadow, surrounded by rolling tables dotted with saws and flogs and knives and hammers.
A skinny man was strapped the table by heavy leather straps, and he tugged ineffectually and lethargically against them. Occasionally, he stilled, so only his chest moved with his breaths, and then suddenly he’d jerk back into wakefulness and cry out. He didn’t seem to notice my presence at all. Nor did the others held in the dungeons, in the tiny, dank cells that lined the walls. They were all wolves, in their animal shape, in various states of sickness and injury. Most were pressed into the far corners of their holding cells, making themselves small. Internally, my wolf cried out at the sight.
Who was doing this? Was this all the work of the Bloody King? Certainly these all couldn’t be Daybreak wolves. And for what reason were they being held?
“Reyna,” a familiar voice whispered. “Is that you?”
My heart soared, whiplash from the despair of a moment ago. Griffin. He was here—he was alive. We had to get out of here, and fast. Whoever had strapped that man to the table… I had a feeling they would be coming back to finish the job. I hurried across the dungeon. Some of the wolves stirred at my presence, baring their teeth and raising their hackles, but some didn’t even have the energy to lift their heads.
In the furthest cell, Griffin was still in his human form. He reached through the bars, and I took his hand.
“Griffin,” I said. “Are you hurt?”
“You’ve come for me,” he said. He sounded almost awed. A gash marked his cheek, and his tan soldier’s uniform was streaked with dirt, but he seemed okay. “How’d you find this place?”
“Of course I came.” I squeezed his hand. “Did you think I’d leave you here to die?”
“Die?” Griffin’s brow furrowed. “The only one who is going to die is the King of Nightfall.”
“What?” I pulled my hand away. “You can’t be thinking of going through with this challenge.”
