“Why?”
“She harvested his daughter.”
Kharvek goes still. His hand stops moving on my arm.
“He watched,” I continue quietly. “They made him watch. Said it would teach him the cost of disobedience. His wife hung herself three days later.”
Silence. Then: “And he kept working for them.”
“What choice did he have? Run, and they’d hunt him down. Fight, and they’d kill him before he could accomplish anything.” I turn my head, meet Kharvek’s gaze. “He chose to wait. To watch. To gather information until he found people who could actually use it.”
“People like us.”
“Exactly.”
A flash of light from the valley below. Return signal—Tomek acknowledging receipt. Three flashes back: meet at the secondary location.
“He’s coming.” I rise, brush dust from my robes. “The entrance to the drainage tunnels is half a mile west. If we move now, we can be underground before full sunrise.”
Kharvek stands. Reaches for my hand. Our fingers intertwine—automatic now, instinctive.
“Lead the way.”
THIRTY-FOUR
IMARA
Tomek is waiting at the tunnel entrance.
He’s thinner than I remember—gaunt, gray, with the hunched posture of a man who’s spent too many years in confined spaces. But his eyes are sharp. Alert. The eyes of a survivor.
“Imara.” He doesn’t smile. Neither do I. “Didn’t think you’d actually come back.”
“Neither did I.” I cross the distance between us, Kharvek a solid presence at my shoulder. “What’s the situation inside?”
“Chaos.” His gaze flicks to Kharvek, assessing. Taking in the massive frame, the scarification, the predatory stillness. “After the Sacrificial Pit, after Grokh—the Matron pulled all remaining forces to the inner Sanctum. Blood-wards strengthened on every level. Attendants patrol in pairs.”
“The Harvest Guard?”
“Mostly dead or scattered. She’s running on skeleton staff.” He produces a folded paper from his coat—a map, hand-drawn, marked with symbols I taught him years ago. “The drainage tunnels are still accessible. Wards are weakest there. She never bothered reinforcing infrastructure she considered beneath her notice.”
Kharvek takes the map. Studies it with tactical focus. “These access points—watched?”
“The main ones. But there’s a secondary entrance here—” Tomek points. “—that feeds into the old processing channels. Nobody uses it anymore. Too cramped. Too foul.”
“Perfect for us.” I trace the route with my finger. The tunnel winds beneath the Sanctum’s foundations, emerging near the Womb Chamber’s lower levels. “How long to reach the Chamber?”
“Two hours through the tunnels. Perhaps less if you move fast.” He hesitates. “I should warn you—the underlevels are… difficult. Even for people who know what to expect.”
“Difficult how?”
“You’ll see.” He pulls a bundle from behind a nearby rock—supplies, by the look of it. Water skins, dried rations, a set of dark robes that might pass for Attendant’s garb. “I’ll meet you at the junction where the drainage system connects to the main tunnels. I have more intelligence to share. Patrol schedules. Ward configurations. Things you’ll need before you reach the Chamber.”
“Why not give us everything now?”
“Because some of it I haven’t written down.” His expression darkens. “Some of it I can only show you.”
I glance at Kharvek. He gives a slight nod—trust her judgment.
