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Chapter1
Alindra
A HORRIBLE IDEA
This is a horrible idea.
It’s the only idea I have.
My foot taps incessantly on the floor beside my bed, almost as if it wants to run away without me. I press down on my knee, trying to force that foot to stop moving, as I frown at my wardrobe’s open door. My traveling bag is in there, yawning open in the flickering illumination of my lantern, whose wick is turned down as low as it can go without guttering out. I’ve shoved my sheet up against the door to hide the light; still, it might not be enough.
Because it’s past lights out. I’m courting punishment here. I should be asleep, like the rest of the prisoners. Magicians. Magician prisoners. My lips twist into something like a smile, and I turn to stare at the wall above my bed. Sometimes I pretend there’s a window in that wall, something that lets in light. Something that can open. Something that leads to another place.
Windows are earned, of course. And I’ve only been a magician in the Kingdom of the Summer for a handful of decades. I’m practically still a child.
My hands drop to my belly and wrap around my waist. Practically a child? I’d be an adult anywhere else, responsible for my own life. Making my own decisions. Looking out of my own windows. Packing my own bags.
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I turn my attention back to the waiting traveling bag at the foot of my wardrobe. It can’t look too full. That would raise suspicions, and suspicions might lead to someone trying to investigate. We’ll only be gone a day, just long enough to travel into the foothills of the Dragon Pass, locate the anomaly in the barrier that our dear Prince Folwynn somehow blundered his way through last month, and then shut it down forever.
My gut clenches in a way that makes me think maybe I shouldn’t have had any dinner tonight. I close my eyes and try slow breathing, in and out, just like I’ve been taught, until the panic bubbling inside my chest simmers back down to a manageable level.
Because I won’t be shutting down the anomaly. I’ll be going through it.
The thought sends a trembling shiver up the back of my neck, something like I imagine magic would feel, if I had my own magic. If I wasn’t a vulture, like King Grathgore describes his magicians. My jaw aches, and I realize I’ve clenched my teeth together, as if just thinking of Grathgore was enough to make my entire body pull tight in anticipation of pain.
No. Breathe. I force my eyes closed and pull another long breath through my nose, then out over my lips. I need to be calm tonight. I need to be focused. I need to make a plan.
Which is, admittedly, a bit difficult when I don’t actually know much about where I’m going. Sweet stars above, I know more about the old gods of the woods and water than I do about what’s on the other side of the anomaly off the Dragon Pass. Grathgore has always discouraged research into the barrier between our world and the Lands Below, or the records chronicling the War Between the Kingdoms, and he’s sought to destroy any references to the Kingdom of the Fall. One of the king’s magicians once helped Grathgore’s daughter, Queen Eirina, with some complicated series of experiments regarding the barrier. Maybe he thought he was irreplaceable, or perhaps Queen Eirina just found the right levers to apply the right type of pressure to make him crack.
Either way, he hung from the palace walls until the crows picked his bones clean.
I shiver, then pull my blanket up over my shoulders. All I know about what lies on the other side of the anomaly, in what’s called the Lands Below, is this: it’s cold, it’s filled with elves who hate us, and my sister is there. Or at least, she was sent there weeks ago. Maybe she’s even still alive.
And it’s where I’m going to spend the rest of my life. If my plan works.
I frown down at the wardrobe as if I’m expecting things to have changed. Nothing has, of course. My bag is still open, holding my warmest cloak on top of a single change of clothes, the secret piece I knit, and all the stolen gold coins I’ve jammed below the false bottom. The lamplight flickers and sways in a strange way, as if there’s a draft in the room. Or perhaps I’m just exhausted. I blink, rub my eyes, and reach for the lantern.
The light goes out before my hand touches the damper. Another shiver dances along my skin, lingering on the back of my neck. There’s a sudden, strange, metallic tang in the air. It tastes like magic that’s been forced into something made of silver, one of King Grathgore’s particular favorites.
Fear winds around my ribs, rising like cold smoke. I turn around very slowly, my eyes lingering on the crack beneath my door. My sheet is still there, untouched. Nothing could have slipped under my door, at least.
But under my bed? My breath catches on my lips and my heart skips inside my chest. King Grathgore has so many secret little magical objects, so many pieces of fused silver and magic and hatred, just waiting to explode. And my room is small, sure, but even a very small place is full of secrets. Something could be buried inside my mattress, hidden in the folds of one of my dresses—
The stench of magic thickens. The air grows hotter. A strange glow begins to pulse in the space in front of my door, and it grows until it’s almost as bright as the lamplight. I yank the traveling bag out of my wardrobe, then push my body back against the wall, the bag held over my stomach like a shield. This magic feels thick and oily, almost sticky; I don’t recognize it. It seems volatile and dangerous, like nothing I’ve ever worked with.
The air between my wardrobe and my door begins to fold in on itself. There’s a sound, so low it’s almost inaudible, and then, with a long, slow hiss, a portal gurgles into existence at the foot of my bed.
I scream.
Almost as soon as the sound escapes my lips, I slam my hands over my mouth, fear of drawing the attention of the Royal Guards overpowering my fear of whatever in the nine hells is happening inside my own bedroom. The air around the portal looks angry, twisting and boiling like water in a pot, and the magic emanating from this thing is enervated and unstable. It bulges outward, almost as though it’s trying to reach me. I press my body into the wall and hold my breath.
Something is coming through. Something tall and hulking, something with a sword on its hip. The body is so huge that, for a heartbeat, I could almost believe it’s one of the old gods. The world starts to go dark around the edges.
“Ithronel’s sister?” the old god growls.
My head snaps up. The strange glow of the portal washes over the man’s face, and I can see immediately he’s not actually one of the old gods. He’s just a man, with eyes that look like they’ve been chipped out of the summer sky and strange, pale skin. He also appears to be soaking wet.
“Y-Yes?” I reply.
