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“Dillon,” she asked, “how good are you with explosives?”
“Pretty good,” he returned. “Why?”
She returned to surveying the quarry. The explosives were just one element. They wouldn’t do much good against flying foes, or the larger enemies—there were at least six giants. Most of them could brush off an explosion like a scratch. Dillon was right when he suggested a flood—but she knew of no lakes nearby, nothing they could drain quickly enough for the Unseelie to be taken out in one fell swoop…
Her eyes settled on the dense, powdery snow of the mountains nearby.
“How’s your maths?” she asked him.
“Also sharp. Why?”
“We don’t need water to flood this place,” she told him, pointing. “We have snow.”
“For the record,” Dillon said, face tightly set, “I still think this is insane.”
“You said the numbers added up.”
“The numbers adding up and this being insane are not contradictory points.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Do you really want me to answer that? Because I have a list. Alongone.”
Juliana was already aware of the dozens of things that could go wrong with this plan. Death by capture. Torture. Accidentally blowing themselves up. Deciding to blow themselves up to take some others out with them. Being crushed to death by snow. Freezing to death. Dying of wounds.
The mortal lands being invaded.
No one coming to save Acanthia.
Ladrien ruling.
Hawthorn waking up alone.
If she perished, would the connection between them snap? Or would Hawthorn find himself appearing next to her corpse when night finally fell? What if he never found her body at all, buried beneath the snow, and assumed she’d discarded the pendant and fled?
Her gut churned with the awful thought that she’d never given him enough reason to doubt that was something she was capable of.
I’m not going to die,she told herself, double-checking all her weapons. She and Dillon had taken refuge in a cave not far from the quarry. It was a good place to plan their attack and store their supplies, and Dillon estimated it would be out of the way of the trajectory once they set off the explosives.
“Ready?” Dillon asked, patting her shoulder.
“Born ready!” she declared.
Dillon sighed, rolling his eyes. “Born a liar, more like.” He yanked her into a brief, tight hug, holding on a little longer than he should have. “Be safe.”
She held him back, savouring the broad, sturdy weight of another human being against her. “I’ll do my best.”
Juliana fled outside of the cave, Dillon not far behind her, stringing a bow. He admitted he wasn’t the greatest of archers, but as Juliana was the far smaller target, who could creep around rocks like a wraith, it made far more sense for her to steal the explosives than him.
“I’ll try not to shoot it whilst I’m covering you,” he’d said as they’d planned.
“If you do,” she’d returned, “just make it quick.”
She walked down the path, keeping to the shadows, ducking under awnings, carts, flimsy structures. Ladrien must have used all manner of charms to keep this place hidden—the thorn wall itself must have been enchanted and riddled with spells. He’d only let the glamour drop now because he was moving out his army—and he wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.
She wondered, not entirely for the first time, if her father had merely been tracking her when she’d discovered him. Was he coming back here? And if so, was it to help or to hinder?
No way of knowing now, and no time to waste. Hewasn’there. He hadn’t stayed.
