It’s thanks to that light that I spot the sacks full of rock against one wall. Another whispered prayer turns them into a simple—albeit dirty—minidress, one with pockets to keep the crystal in. Wary of Acelin’s warning about salt, I take great care with the fabric, lacing it with as many whispered enchantments as I can to protect it.
After the first few steps, I almost wish I was nude again. The cloth agitates my still-healing wounds and pulls at the scabs with every step.
But it’s something.
Not being naked seems like a luxury after what I’ve been through.
When I start to see the salt panels from before, I slow down.
I need to come up with a plan.
What I wouldn’t give to have a cauldron right about now.
Destroying the Claw won’t be simple, even with magic. Unlike a mage, I can’t just call power and destroy things with blasts of the stuff.
Witches use herbs, spells and prayers.
And curses.
I stop dead at the thought.
Cursing the Lunar Temple of Ilyani almost wiped me out completely, and that was when I was healthy and directly in the moonlight.
Trying the same thing here, while wounded and completely alone is stupid. There’s no Opal to stand guard while I recover. I’m more likely to be pulled from the mine by the Queen’s men and imprisoned somewhere else.
So why can’t I think of a different option?
The athame in my hand pulses and I grimace.
There isthat, I suppose.
Athames are advanced magic. Far beyond what anyone else my age would dream of attempting, even with a full coven of witches there to assist.
This one was Glenna’s. It’s not even attuned to my magic properly.
Using it will invite chaos.
Good thing that’s what I’m after.
I keep walking, following the transmutation-circle-covered panels until I reach the first glow of light.
I extinguish my own sigil and pray that it’s not dawn aboveground as I pass the first prisoners, hefting pickaxes over their shoulders and into the rock.
“The witch is back.”
“She’s got her cuffs off,”
“Do the guards know?”
My sigils flare with power, cloaking me in the darkness, camouflaging me. But their whispers don’t stop.
It doesn’t take me long to reach the pit that forms the centre of the Claw. The place where I was left for dead.
I was lowered down on a rope, and I can’t see a way back up. The light from the tower above spills down, illuminating the three guards in charge of overseeing this section.
There must be a way up.
They were quick enough to drop guards down on ropes when they wanted Glenna’s athame.
