Page 71

Skye’s stomach turned. That meant they were still in there, whoever these men and women had been. He’d known, of course. The Shade Rebellion was as much a stain on the fey psyche as the Schism, but to hear it confirmed… to see the evidence… “Could it be reversed? If one were to procure a living body, could the soul be reinserted?”

“In theory. There was some experimentation after the Rebellion, but the souls recovered…” Ivain shook his head, expression grim. “They’d all gone mad. It was kinder just to let them pass than to attempt revival.”

“Sire,” a woman called from behind them. “We found another breach.”

“I’ll be right there,” Ivain replied. Then, to Skye, “I heard Sarina was at the Swap with food and water. Go back, tell her we’re both still alive, and get some fresh air. You’ve been down herelonger than anyone else. I don’t want you burning out.”

Ivain didn’t wait to hear his answer, already barking orders at the line of mages waiting in the shadows, but Skye didn’t need to be told twice. He wanted to see the sun, smell something besides rot.

So, he made his way back through the tunnels that had already been deemed“safe,”the ground wet but clear of debris as he walked beside the long metal tracks that once guided the trams.Men and women milled about, some carrying supplies, others bodies. A line of torches marked the way home, each one a pocket of light and warmth amidst the gloom.

Hello?

Skye stopped in the middle of an intersection where two tunnels crossed, turning towards the sound of the voice. It was faint. For a moment, he thought he’d imagined it but—

Somebody, please…

There it was again, coming from one of the tunnels that had already been searched. The voice drifted from the inky black, and he strained his aether trying to see, to hear. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, an adult or a child. It was just a whisper, easy to dismiss. He could’ve just kept walking, but—

Anybody…

Other mages passed him by, none of them reacting.

Please, I’m hurt.

Skye grabbed the arm of a nearby woman. Another shadow mage. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

She looked to where he pointed. Over the arch of the tunnel was a small brass sign that read Infinity’s Edge. This line used to lead to the palace.

The voice still whispered—please, please, please…—but the woman just shook her head. “It’s probably the wind. It comes in through the aboveground stations, plays tricks with your head. Jorgie thought he heard his mother calling to him, only his mother’s been dead for nearly a century.”

Help!

That time, there was no mistaking it. The voice echoed from the dark.

But the woman readjusted her grip on the crate she carried, saying, “It’s just the wind,” as she turned to leave.

Skye stood there for a moment, listening to the whimpering cries as they drifted in and out. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was a trick. Just the long hours and lack of food finally getting into his head, but then again… the tunnel had been deemed safe. It would be irresponsible not to look, just to see if they’d missed something.

He felt a tug. That thread from the ballroom had followed him into his waking hours, though he had never felt it as strongly as he did now, like a string pulling him forward.

His feet began to move, away from the mages carrying supplies in and out. The light of the torches faded, and then there was only the algae above and its faint blue glow. If he burned more aether, he could make out the arch of the tunnel as it curved away into the dark.

Skye blinked. There was a flash of blue up ahead, brighter than the rest.

He took a step, squinting.

There it was again. Three flashes that flickered—then faded. Like fireflies.

“Hello?” Skye called. His voice echoed, as did his footsteps as he stepped carefully along the rails. He drew his sword, flicking the switch and letting the flames chase away the shadows. “Answer if you can hear me.”

Something giggled—the sound like windchimes—and Skye’s heart began to pound.

“Who are you?” Wielding his sword like a torch, he peered into a darkened doorway set into the side of the tunnel. An old supply closet. The door had rotted away to nothing. “Whereare you?”

I’m here.

The voice was at his ear, and Skye whirled—