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“You look terrible.” A lie.

He ignored it. “The hole isn’t deep. Only twenty feet or so, but it will feel a whole lot deeper. There are lanterns, so you’ll see well enough. Just breathe. If you feel faint, just say so and we’ll take you back up.”

I raised an eyebrow. Only days ago, he’d had me dragged through the tunnels. “Why the concern?”

He raised one single finger and tapped the back of my hand. “Because you’re scared,” he said. “You ball your hands up when you’re scared.”

I abruptly loosened them. “No, I don’t.”

“You do,” he said simply. “But my guess is that you ain’t afraid of being underground.”

I bit my tongue and shook my head, rather like a petulant child.

“So you’re afraid ofus, then.” He nodded, confirming something I’d never admitted to.

“I’m not afraid. I simply don’t feel comfortable being stuck underground with men I hardly know.”

“Well,” Patrick said. “I’m afraid those are the terms of our agreement, Nina.” He held an arm out. “Ladies first.”

I put my weight on one hip, crossed my arms. “Youfirst.”

He sighed. His tone gentled. “No one will touch you, Nina. They wouldn’t dare. You have my word.”

“And what does your word count for, exactly?”

He gave me a piercing look. “That’s the question, isn’t it, Scurry girl? Exactly how much can we trust each other?”

CHAPTER 30NINA

Wet rot, peppery root, kerosene fumes, and ten bodies stuffed in a small pocket. It climbed into my nostrils and clung. The canary tittered, stressed and desperate.

I wondered if the miners shivered the same as me when they burrowed inside the earth’s crust. I wondered if they heard it hum the same dirge, cautioning the prey that clambered into its mouth. Or was it just the idium in my blood that made me hear the creaks and groans and warnings in the walls?

How did they come below each time, knowing they’d be unable to dig their way out?

My body wanted to crouch, though there was room enough to stand straight. Even Scottie, who was surely one of the tallest men I’d ever seen, stood easily. The timber rafters did not graze his head.

We stood in a narrow antechamber before the shaft. A shaft that would sink a person far deeper than they ought to go. Three dim lanterns flickered gaily, unfazed by the finite air.

They all looked to Patrick as he entered as though it were routine. He wore stained Crafter clothes, just like the rest: a cotton shirt rolled up to the elbows, suspenders, trousers, thick-soled boots.

A picture of my father in identical wear blazed to mind, limping toward me.

The shaft held three people, and it was one person too many. I found myself between Patrick and Gunner, my shoulders pressed so closely to their chests that they could feel every quake of my body. The shaft clanked down interminably in almost complete darkness, save for one insubstantial lantern. The air turned gaseous and torrid.

It wasn’t fear of the tunnels that made me shake. It was pressure. To be encased by so much to which my mind connected sparked fire all over my body, down my spine. Professor Dumley had once told me that when Artisans restrained their magic in the presence of their medium, it was a kind of starvation. That was how I felt now. Starved.

How long had it been since I’d feasted?

Gunner operated the pulley. With each grunt of exertion, sweet remnants of whiskey filtered through his pores and filled the shaft. We descended at a pace that was surely unsafe. I stumbled slightly.

Patrick caught my elbow as I fell into him. I felt the wall of his muscles suddenly heating me. “Just breathe,” came his voice, coiling into my ear. He spoke more softly than I knew him to speak. His hand slipped away from my elbow, down to my waist, and he leveraged me upright again. “Gunner won’t drop us.”

“I might,” the man rasped. “If this Charmer of yours turns traitor on us.”

Bile rose in my throat. My hand reached toward Patrick, unbidden.

“No threats, brother,” Patrick warned. “The lady and I have an agreement.”