They’re not the only ones stamped with the gods’ blessings. The more people we pass, the more Marks I notice. The ones on the young children and teenagers don’t glow, but a few of the women and elderly have Marks as bright as Wren’s. They’re shining stars, illuminating the dimly lit tunnel.
The presence of so many Marks, especially on those who have obviously passed the age of being Given, sends shivers racing down my spine. They are reminders that nothing in this kingdom is as it seems, that my father has been lying to everyone.
Unsettled, I reach for my connection with Mist only to remember it’s muted and barely there. Dulled by the shadestone manacles. I hate them, and I want them off. I have no magic, no power—that’s why my father hates me, why I bear the scars of his displeasure on my back.
Anger pulses through me, but I force it away. I can’t think about him right now. Not when Wren is here and she could be in danger. Magic or not, I will defend her from whatever comes our way. I force myself to focus on the situation, cataloging all the people who hurry past us.
There are so many of them, but what really stands out is that there isn’t a single priest or priestess. No one is wearing religious garments, and there are no visible tokens representing Esyn. The air is filled with babies crying, not prayers begging the Mother for mercy.
If Rosebridge was under attack, religious acolytes would be flooding the cobblestone streets, praying at the top of their lungs, begging the gods to save them. There would be gods-blessed in green robes, making sacrifices to the Mother, priests preaching on street corners, and mandatory offerings required from all the king’s citizens—to shield them from harm, of course. A traditional tithe, demanded by the gods and collected by the Protectors.
Wren shudders, her fingers squeezing mine. “The rubies are screaming, Gabe.” She looks up at me, her Mark flaring. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.” I pull my hand from hers, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and holding her close. “It’ll be okay, Birdie. We will get through this.”
“Do you really think so?” she looks up at me, and the way she’s looking at me without a trace of hatred has warmth flooding through me.
“I do.” I squeeze her shoulder. “I promise, I will do everything in my power to keep you out of harm’s way.”
The vow sinks into me, settling right next to the Hunter’s oath I took years ago. I may not have magic, but I can feel the words weaving themselves into the very core of my being, settling as if they've always belonged there.
Even though I don’t know what’s going on, even though I’m sure the king is searching for us and we won’t be able to avoid him forever, I do know this: I will do anything for Wren Nightingale.
Eventually, the tunnels open into a large common area. The space, roughly three times larger than the council chambers we’d been in previously, is brightly lit. There are no windows, but dozens of glowing green, yellow, blue, and pink crystals descend from the ceiling and walls, illuminating the space. They don’t provide much in the way of heat, but the space is plenty warm from the bodies and the four large fires burning in sunken pits. Each is surrounded by a ring of stones, a barrier to keep children away from the flames.
“Wait here,” the male soldier says before stalking off, leaving us with Skyler.
He weaves through the room, passing several cast-iron cooking vessels suspended over the fires. They’re being tended to by older women, who seem to be engaging in equal parts cooking, gossiping, and yelling at the young children darting around the long tables and benches filling the rest of the space.
More people stream in from the hallway, and it’s loud, the noise verging on being too much. It reminds me of the Stalls, the central marketplace in Rosebridge, which is always busy no matter the time of year. It’s nearly impossible to hear one’s own thoughts, let alone someone else.
The only people who aren’t speaking are the ones lining the walls. Soldiers, by the looks of them. Their faces are grim, and they stand straight, shoulders back and heads facing forward. None of them are Marked, that I can see, but they’re all armed.
The soldiers are all surveying Wren and me, their intense expressions making it clear we aren’t trusted. I pull Wren closer against my side as a pale man a few inches shorter than me peelsoff the wall. He exchanges a few words with the gruff soldier who led us here, then his eyes narrow.
His hair is a light blue, like the sky on a clear day, and the way he grasps the hilt of his weapon tells me he’s a practiced swordsman. He stalks over to us, eyes flashing with fury.
“What the fuck, Skyler?” he growls. The way this man carries himself tells me he is important—or at least he thinks he is. “Why aretheyhere?”
Wren stiffens, and I glare at the man. Anger ripples off him in waves, and he’s making no effort to hide his displeasure. A growl rises in my throat as he draws near, and I shift so I’m standing in front of Wren. Before he can get too close, Skyler steps in between us.
“You know the rules, Bellamy.” Her voice is calm. “When an alarm is tripped, everyone who isn’t heading above needs to come here.”
“The rules don’t apply tothem.” Bellamy glares at us with so much hostility, I’m surprised it isn’t dripping off him. “They’re spies.”
This again? Gods fucking above, dealing with the same question over and over again is suns-damned exhausting.
Skyler sighs as if she’s as tired by this line of questioning as I am. “You heard Evelyn. That’s not true. She confirmed it.”
“It could be a trick. They could be distorting her visions,” he argues.
“While wearing shadestone?” She shakes her head.
He growls, “Spies have their ways?—”
“We aren’t spies!” Wren interrupts.
I’ll never get over hearing her use the word “we” when she’s referring to the two of us. Warmth sparks inside me, and despite everything happening around us, a small smile tugs on my lips.
