Without the use of the lifts, I had to sink my magic deep within the rock again, forming a makeshift staircase for us to traverse. But we found an open tunnel—one crafted by those horrible mole creatures perhaps—and crept inside. We know the tunnels lead to the underfae war camp. If we can find our way back there, I can navigate us to Cryptgarden. Thankfully, Farron knows this terrain too, and George seems to always be able to tell which direction Aurelia’s in.
And Dayton’s good for the muscle in case we need it. I’m anticipating a smooth journey until we get to Cryptgarden. From what intel we’ve collected, Sira’s been gathering her forces in the city proper. That must include the underfae as well. I’m expecting an empty camp, but there’s always a chance of scouts lurking nearby.
The slightest clatter of pebbles on stone sounds in my left ear. I don’t turn or slow my movement. But I mumble lowly, “I believe we’re being followed.”
No need to exchange glances. We move as one, even George, pressing ourselves to the rock and ducking into the shadows.
We wait a breath cycle, then two, then three.
Two underfae round the corner from behind us. Each has a single horn, one on the right side of his head, one on the left, so they appear a matching set. They shuffle as they walk, dragging their boots.
Should I let them pass or intercept them now? Though the underfae are incredible warriors, these two aren’t very big.
Just as I’m stretching my fingers up toward the token around my neck to summon the Hammer of Hope, Farron steps out, blocking their path.
“A little far from Coppershire, aren’t we, boys?” Farron growls, putting his hands on his hips.
The two underfae immediately jump to straight-backed position. The dim light ripples over them, revealing youthful faces splattered with freckles.
“Billagin and Dominic, you two rascals!” George says, grabbing the boys by the shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
Well, that would explain the shuffling. Their boots are far too big. I disengage from the wall and round on them. “You two were not assigned to this mission. Do you understand how dangerous this is? You could have been caught or killed!”
“Ah, go easy on them, Ez. I’m sure they have a good reason for being here.” Dayton flashes them a withering glare. “You better have a good reason for being here. Otherwise, you’ll make me look like an idiot for standing up for you.”
“Of course we do!” Dom says.
Billy crosses his arms. “You’re right it’s a dangerous mission. And we made a promise to our big brother we were going to protect him. So that’s what we’re doing!”
Farron pokes Dom’s single horn. “How did you get all this?”
“While I distracted Flavia with my powerful charisma, Billy grabbed all the extra pieces, and we assembled it on the way.”
“Powerful charisma?” Dayton snorts a laugh. “I thought Astrid was your one true love.”
“Dom’s still mourning her latest rejection.” Billy puts a condoling hand on his brother’s arm.
Farron rubs his bearded chin. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you have to turn around. We don’t know what we’re getting into down here and?—”
“—and that’s why you need us to look after you.” Billy nudges Farron’s shoulder, then trudges ahead. “So what are we waiting for? There’s no time to lose!”
I blow out a long breath. “He’s right. We can’t send them back now. It’s too close to nightfall, and we don’t want them on the tundra alone. And we need to keep moving. Guess we’ve got two more in our scouting party.”
Dayton and George seem elated to have the twins with us. I’m constantly reminding them to stay alert. Meanwhile, Farron’s dragging behind.
I slow my pace so he catches up. “What’s wrong?”
Farron keeps his gaze downcast, the long, spiraling horn jutting out before him. “I don’t want to worry about the people I care about. It’s such a heavy burden to carry.”
This helmet has an open visor, so I’m able to stare at his face with my own eyes. To search the dark circles, the slump of his spine. “That’s the price we pay for love, Farron. The worry, the grief. It is heavy.” I place a hand on his shoulders. “But you are so strong.”
“If I were strong, I could have saved them,” he whispers.
“Who?”
“My soldiers. The ones I led into the Briar. Caspian killed them all.” His gaze widens with horror, as if seeing something evil within his mind’s eye. “No. I killed them. They were my orders. My responsibility.”
I feel his guilt as if it were my own. How many people suffered because I willingly passed on my blessing? I stop walking and grab his shoulder, forcing him to look at me. “Youwill bear the scars of that decision for the rest of your life. But those scars are not there to haunt you. They are there to teach you.”
