Upon seeing the Holy Fire, one cannot help but kneel in reverence. For here in Sayon, we have been blessed with the gift of the gods. Fire is the mainstay of civilization. If it perishes, so shall we.
—from the ancient scrolls of the first priests of the Fire Order
The tunnel entrance should be here, somewhere,” Yassen said.
They walked through the forest, leaves crunching underneath their boots. Elena shivered, despite the heat. The woods were eerily quiet, with a scattering of birdsong, but Yassen did not seem to mind the silence.
His hand was on his hip, above his gun, but Elena noticed a lightness in his step. He was humming again, softly to himself. She glanced around, but she spotted no soldiers, no assassins lying in wait. She did not have the heart to tell him to stop.
Elena caught his gaze, and a small smile played across his lips.
“What?” he said.
“Nothing,” she said, but in truth, she could not make sense of what she felt. Of what to make of him, this man who had betrayed her, saved her, and revealed himself to her. Who knew both hardness and mercy. Who made her chest constrict and yet also ease whenever he came near.
“How much farther?” she asked, recovering her voice.
“Not far.” He pointed to the right, toward a cropping of thick pines. “There’s an entrance just below one of those trees.”
“Who built it?”
He shrugged. “They used to be mining tunnels, but now they’re barely used. I remember my father saying that they surveyed this part of the mountain for ore, but then they found the deposit farther down the range.”
“Was there a rig here?” She looked around, studying the forest. The trees were thick, heavy with leaves. It seemed impossible that an ugly metal contraption had once towered over them, blocking the sun.
“They never got around to it,” he said. “Come on.”
They stopped before a cropping of pines. One was taller than the rest, skinnier too. Bark flaked off the trunk in patches, and Elena could see the pale, fragile skin underneath.
“It’s dying,” she said.
“And it’ll protect the entrance with its last breath,” Yassen muttered as he studied the roots. He knelt slowly, and then pointed to a knot bigger than her fist. “See that? See how it’s larger than the rest?”
Elena studied the other roots. They were knobby and thick, but he was right. This knot was different than the rest.
“Why did they hide the entrances like this?” she asked.
“To hide the mines from any raiders and thieves,” he said.
As Elena moved to kneel, her foot slipped on the root and she lost her balance. Yassen reached out to grab her, and she fell into him. They landed in a tangle of limbs and leaves.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said.
But then Yassen laughed. It was a clear sound, throaty and sweet, and she could feel his chest reverberate with it where her shoulder kissed his skin. She found herself smiling. Laughing with him.
She began to sit up and reached out an arm to help him. He grabbed her hand and pulled her back. Elena stilled. His face was inches from hers, and his eyes watched her, held her, and she could not break away.
He touched her cheek.
“If the Arohassin or the Jantari find us on this mountain, I want you to come here,” he said. His voice was soft yet urgent. “Press this knot, and the tunnel will open.”
She nodded, slowly. “And you’ll come with me. Right?”
“I’ll be right behind you,” he said.
As they made their way back up the hill to the cabin, a sudden drone filled the mountain. Elena froze. Yassen drew his gun, and they watched, hearts leaping in their throats, as the silver hull of a hoverpod grazed over the trees in the distance. It was heading toward the mines.
“Mother’s Gold,” she whispered.
