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“He’s planning something big for this quest we’re all going on,” Daimis says. “He claims it’s to stop the shadow demons.”
“You don’t believe it is?”
“After seeing what’s in here,” Daimis asks holding his hands out to the secret cavern. “Do you believe that’s his goal?”
Everything in the cave of horrors is geared toward war against the other races. And if this quest is so important that the Regent feels the need to come himself, then it must be for something big. My mind sees the words he wrote again:Annihilation is near.
I look at Daimis. His jaw is set with determination, his brows knit, and his whole body is rigid. I know that look from our childhood.
“You’re planning to stop him,” I say.
Without blinking he says. “Of course I am.”
“And you don’t hate the other races? You don’t see their magic as evil, like everyone else here does?”
He takes a step closer, challenging me. “If you thought that, you wouldn’t have revealed to me that you’re a sorcerer.”
“I took a chance,” I counter. “I had to. To try and save him. But now that you know, what will you do with the information?”
He cocks his head to the side like he’s analyzing a painting, trying to decipher what he’s seeing in the strokes of paint. “Have I reacted in a way that has you worried about my intentions with the knowledge of your secret?”
I think about how he was after I revealed myself. There was no reaction at all. In fact, he was unusually calm about it. He still is, it’s almost as if. . . “You already knew.”
The corner of his mouth curves up. “I had my suspicions.”
“And it doesn’t bother you,” I say as a statement, still surprised even if I know the truth in my words.
“You asked me if I think magic users are evil. I don’t think any one race is evil. I think evil can rest in anyone, regardless of if they wield magic.” He spreads his arms to encompass the room. “What the Regent is doing in here is evil. What was done to your friend—evil.” He picks up the journal. “This is evil.” He tosses it back on the stone slab. “The Regent needs to be stopped, but I can’t out right declare it. I have to go behind his back and find ways to stop him that won’t jeopardize my place on the throne. Because only once I’m there, can I make real changes.”
“Your coronation isn’t for another two months, that may be too late.”
“Which is exactly why I’m going on this quest to stop whatever the Regent really has planned.”
I think of Baxon and how if I had only stood up for him, he wouldn’t have been caught in the first place. I think of the jar of pointed fae ears and imagine they’re Des’, of the troll hand that could be Tuuk’s, of the baby pixie that could have been Elsie had she been caught after the Blood Moon. I remember everyone I left behind in Hydenglen. All the beautiful magic users who the Regent wants to rid our world of. I won’t let that happen. They’re not perfect, but they’re my people, and they deserve to live.
I’m done hiding and letting evil prevail. I’m done only thinking of my own survival. My people need me. Gods above and below, I’ll probably regret this, if I live long enough to.
“I’m going to help you,” I say.
Daimis smiles, it’s full and unguarded and entirely breath-taking. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
We talk more about how we’ll have to find out what the Regent is planning, then find a way to sabotage it without being discovered. Then we look through the magic books, but only find one that Daimis hasn’t already read.
I start to turn to leave this cursed place and never come back when something on a shelf catches my eye. My heart skips a beat as I close in on it. A leather-bound book with my family’s symbol rests on a low shelf. I recognize it immediately. It’s my father’s journal. I look over to Daimis, who is currently immersed in one of the books. I snatch the small leather journal and slip it into my boot. Daimis might know I’m a sorcerer, and I’m learning to trust him all over again, but he can never know my true identity.
We leave the caves, covering our tracks as we do.
When we get back to the narrow hole we’ll have to climb to get out of the caves, Daimis reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You did it once, you can do it again. Ready?”
“Well, I can’t very well stay down here,” I say, and yet already my heart is beating faster and my breathing quickens.
Daimis grabs the rope and holds it out in front of him. “Every time you reach up and grab the rope, breath in, when you pull yourself up, breath out. While you do that, I’ll tell you a story, okay? You don’t have to listen to what I’m saying, just let my voice be a reminder that you’re not alone.” He hands me the rope, and I nod.
I do as he suggested and breath in when I reach up, out when I pull myself up, over and over, while Daimis tells his story below me. I don’t plan to listen, instead focusing on my breathing, but when I realize what story he’s telling, I listen as if his words are the very air going in and out of my lungs.
“When I was ten, I’d heard a story about a troll who guarded a bridge and that if you could get past him to the other side of the bridge without being caught, he’d have to give you anything you chose from his treasure chest. So of course, my best friend, Sahra, and I snuck out of the castle and went right to that bridge. We had a solid plan and thought nothing could possibly go wrong.” He chuckles, and I smile remembering exactly what had gone wrong.
“I won’t get into the details,” he continues. “But basically, we ended up chained in a human-sized cauldron. Leave it to Sahra to save us both. She bargained with the troll that if he let us go, she would give him strawberry tarts. Lucky for us, trolls love dessert even more than they love to eat children. He let us go and Sahra gave him our pack which had several tarts in it, that we had swiped that morning from the kitchens. And when he was busy stuffing his face with the tarts, did we run away, back to the safety of the castle? Oh no, we gave each other one look and then both ran across that rickety old rope bridge of his.”
