I raise both brows and still, filling my lungs as I muddle over the perfect sentence structure to impress my new best pal. Tricky, given I haven’t reabsorbed all Kaan’s lessons yet.
“Hallon dóh gruin”—I wince, contemplating—“surin dahn … fu?”
Pretty sure I fucked that up.
My entire body tightens as I wait to be physically flicked off like a parasite.
To my pleasant surprise, the wall dimples before my chest; a vertical sinkhole sucking deep. It opens like a mouth, yawning big enough that I’m able to hang off my hands, lift my legs, and swing through into the dark abyss.
I land softly, hand whipping to the handle of a dagger as I wait for my eyes to adjust. See I’m in a long room, making out numerous hollows in the stone, each stacked atop each other. Each filled with a pallet and blankets and—
I’m in a slumber quarters.
Shit.
Dagger poised, I drop to a defensive crouch. Pointless, I realize, my gaze adjusting until I can make out just howemptyeach nook is, the blankets tossed back, left in disarray.
I creep forward, head swiveling, taking note of personal belongings, books, items of clothing lumped on the ground, but no actualfolk.
Odd, given the time.
Seeing a mug still brimming with mead on the ground beside a pallet strewn with game shards, I pause, a rush of unease making my skin tingle.
It’s like they all upped and left without warning. Ripped off their casual clothes. Donned their armor. Theirweapons.
I stuff mine away and jog toward the door. Not sure where everyone went, but I don’t want to stick around to find out. I need to make this the most efficient slaughtering of my fucking existence, because if I get caught off guard in here—
Best not to think about it.
I look both ways down a dimly lit tunnel, something urging me to turn right, then cut left down a twisty stairway. Another long tunnel leads me past more slumber quarters;alsoempty. Like the entire place is pulseless.
Something that makes my nerves feel sharp as blades.
Another swooping stairway spits me into an area that’sdifferent—the hallways lofty, floors tiled with colorful mosaics, walls brushed with the pastel hues of The Fade. I move through grand rooms that make me feel tiny, pitched with stone columns carved to look like Moltenmaws perched on their hind legs, holding up the ceiling. Suggesting this was once a place of art and worship, not molded for military use.
And still, I sense not a single folk. Not until I’m jogging down a vast corridor, struck by the sound of someone coughing.
I dance backward across azure tiles, stilling with my back pressed against the powder-blue wall, breath held.
Silence.
Creeping forward, I’m about to peek around the edge of an open double doorway when the distinctclangof metal on metal has me reconsidering my options. I chew my bottom lip, contemplating my new arsenal of verbal tricks, trying to think of something appropriate. Something subtle enough to go unnoticed should anyone be on the other side.
Pulling a blade free, I murmur to Bulder—soft and low.“Heil uhndah … burlin—”Forgetting the phrase for directional indication, I tap my nail against the wall, hoping the request translates.
Almost immediately, a peeping hole the size of my finger forms, quiet and perfectly round—though not in the spot I tapped.
Right beside my head.
How chivalrous.
I’m definitely growing on him.
I close one eye and peer through the hole, blood icing as I look past the helmeted heads of numerous soldiers wearing the bloodred garb of Fade militants. Every folk is armed, still and stoic, looking toward the doorway I was just about to pass through.
“Creators,” I mouth, then wince, noticing three male fae toward the back of the room. All boasting the unmissable white armor of a beaded Bothaimian guard, their pauldrons gushing heavy cloaks that broaden their shoulders and decorate them in formidable grandeur.
Surely it can’t get any worse …
