Behind me there’s a small pause. Not an offended one. Just… thoughtful.
When I glance back, Varek’s silver eyes have narrowed slightly, and he’s studying me the way he studies most things—like I’m a puzzle with a few missing pieces he intends to find.
“I have never believed you to be stupid,” he says.
I snort. “Good. Because if this turns out to be some mysterious monster-logic problem, I’m going to be very annoyed.”
His mouth almost curves. “Then I will explain.”
He shifts his weight slightly, folding his arms across his chest. The movement pulls the leather across his shoulders, and the dried blood on the strap creaks faintly. “The city is watching.”
I frown.
“More than usual,” he continues, voice low and steady. “Since the citadel incident.”
Right. Kael and Sonny. Breaking into the royal citadel to dig up records the Queen would rather burn and nearly turning the entire palace security apparatus upside down.
It’s hard to forget that, given that the patrols started the same day. Palace guards have been everywhere since then. Patrols thicker than flies around meat. Armour gleaming, bows strung, tempers short. The people at the markets whisper about it constantly.
I ease away from the table. “You know you could leave through the tunnels.”
Or at least he does now. Three weeks ago, he didn’t. When he showed up at my front door with Kael and Sonny half dragging trouble behind them, he had no idea about the access points to the city’s forgotten canal network.
I showed him after that, which was probably the smartest and stupidest thing I’ve ever done in the same week.
“They are not for me,” Varek says quietly.
I frown. “They’re for anyone who needs to disappear.”
“They are for escape,” he corrects. “Not for command movement.”
I know what he means.
The tunnels are narrow in places. Unstable in others. Half-flooded sections that require careful timing to cross. Some passages collapse if too many bodies move through them too quickly.
They work for small groups.
Refugees.
Desperate people trying not to die.
Not for the leader of a rebellion moving back and forth regularly.
“They lead to you,” he continues.
My stomach tumbles.
“If I use them, and they are discovered…” His gaze drifts briefly around the warehouse. “…this place burns first.”
He doesn’t say it dramatically, just as a simple fact. And that cuts deeper than anything else he’s said today.
Because he’s right. These tunnels are the reason people escape. If the crown ever finds them, the city’s only quiet exit closes.
“And if the Queen ever finds it,” I mutter, staring at the grain jar, “that’s the end of the rebellion.” I’m absolutely referring to the tunnels and Dathanor.
I blow out a breath. “So you’re hiding here,” I surmise.
“Observing.”
