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“But they’re all jammed up and anchored,” Otto rambled. “Tanner won’t let anyone in or out, will he? I figure there ain’t much a woman on the run wouldn’t do for escape.”

“A tale as old as Idia,” I said darkly. “Men have always believed the way to win a war is to hold a woman hostage.”

Patrick shook his head. “Then you misunderstand me. You’re no hostage. Partner with me, and I’ll get you on a ship out of Hoaklin by the end of spring.”

My entire being coiled at the thought of that ship headed away, headed anywhere. But it was impossible. As Otto said, I’d tried every port, every fisherman, every vessel manned by a Crafter.

But no one could leave, and certainly not someone who looked strikingly like a wanted bulletin.

The canary screeched. I shivered. Somewhere above us all, a distant bell rang.

Seven years I’d avoided this. Avoided these impossible choices in a fight that would likely never end.

I didn’t believe Patrick Colson. No one had a way out of the Trench.And as for running, if I were to leave Kenton Hill now, I’d find myself in shackles soon after, I was sure. “What is it that you want me to do?” Not an acceptance, but not a denial, either.

“Talk,” Patrick said. “I need information. Things you might know about the House.”

“And?”

“And, I need your tunnelin’ expertise.”

“A miner asking an Artisan to build a tunnel?” I muttered, shaking my head. “Where will the tunnels lead?”

“That depends,” Patrick answered, voice snaking into my insides once more, “on how much you talk. Do we have a deal?”

He waited. Otto and Scottie were silent. Even the canary paused its tirade.

I wavered. “I need to know that you’ll fulfill your end of the bargain. There are no ships in or out of Belavere Trench. How will you get me out?”

“There is one ship that continues its passage. It won’t be stopped at port.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it won’t make port at all,” Patrick said. “The ship will hold some supplies I’ve purchased from far-off lands. It will anchor briefly for one hour in late June, east of Hoaklin. You’ll be ferried to it.”

I chewed on my tongue, shifted my feet. Hoaklin was a fishing village. Its boats still trundled over lazy waves a short way south. If it were true, if he could get me out, then it would all be over. No more war. No more running.

I’d been running for too long. “I won’t kill anyone.”

“I won’t ask you to,” he stated. There was no humor in his voice now.

“And I won’t blow anything up.” I thought of Aunt Francis.

He nodded. “Just tunnels. You have my word.”

I sighed deeply, reigned in a shiver that went bone deep, and glared at Patrick Colson. “Then find me somewhere to sleep and something to wear,” I said, wrapping my arms around my torso. “Maybe something to drink.”

I thought I saw his shoulders sag some. “After you.” He gestured to the ladder behind him.

I felt his gaze on me as I climbed, rung after rung, and it made me clumsy. My foot slipped on the iron, and my pulse sprinted as his hand enveloped my ankle.

He doesn’t know who you are.

I clambered out into warmth and light, and Patrick followed.

“Welcome to Kenton Hill,” he said again as he rose to his feet. Together we stood on a knoll where the setting sun above burned the clouds and made titanic shadows over rolling hills, chestnut trees, and the silhouette of a town in the distance. “Hope your swank legs have strength enough for a short stroll.”

I tore my eyes from the town in the distance, looking back over my shoulder. Otto and Scottie did not emerge.