Page 19

Chapter 17

Morgana

I don’t ask Alastor any more questions. I don’t know how much more I want to know. As the mountains loom closer over the next few hours, I spend the time contemplating what this information means for how I view Leon—and my parents.

Is that why he was so hostile with me from the beginning? I think about the time he held a sword to my throat when I accused him of their murder. Was he angry because I was wrong—or because I was right, and he saw what he’d done as justice? Or was his anger simply that I have my mother’s face and remind him too much of the woman he blames for the loss of someone so precious to him?

Part of me wants to come out and ask him, but we’re at the base of Mount Kalas before I can work up the courage.

The brown mountains I saw from far away look grayer up close, the rock shaped in tight ridges that form gullies and narrow cavities between them. We skirt the base of Mount Kalas for about half an hour before Leon and Alastor locate what they’re searching for.

When we get close, I can see an opening in between two spurs of rock—a cave that must lead to the tunnels Alastor talked about.

We dismount, and I feel again Leon’s eyes on me as I accept Alastor’s hand down from the horse. I find it hard to believe he’s actually annoyed by me accepting Alastor’s help after rejecting his. Maybe he just hates not being in control.

It must piss him off, then, that I refuse to follow when the fae remove their packs and supplies from the back of the horses and start to walk away from them.

“You’re just going to leave them here?” I ask, appalled.

“Yes,” Leon replies, not breaking his stride toward the cavern.

“You can’t just abandon them,” I call after him.

Alastor stops, giving me a sympathetic look.

“We can’t take them into the tunnels. They’ll panic. But there’s plenty here for them to graze on, and water in that brook over there. People come this way all the time; soon enough, some lucky smuggler will discover them and become the proud owner of two new steeds.”

I cross my arms, still refusing to budge.

“You said you used these tunnels back in the war—how do you know that they’re still used regularly enough for someone to come by?”

Leon finally stops walking and turns. He gives me an assessing look, his eyes traveling up and down my body. It’s warmer in this region, which must be why I suddenly feel hot under the thick material of my cloak.

“The tracks,” he says simply, pointing to the ground. I flush, embarrassed to admit I hadn’t noticed them before they were pointed out. I can’t read the trail well enough to know exactly how fresh they are, but it’s clear the earth’s been disturbed fairly recently. Of course seasoned soldiers would know what to look for.

“Alright.” I give in, following them toward the cave. On the way, I can’t help but lean in and pat Alastor’s horse on the neck. “Good luck,” I whisper to her. She was very gentle with me during my clumsy attempts to use the reins.

As I join the fae, I think I see the corner of Leon’s mouth twitch.

I ignore him, focusing on the way the shadows creep up around us as we step into the cavern, leaving the sunshine behind. I’m relieved the tunnel is bigger than I’d imagined, able to fit half a dozen men across. It means I don’t feel too trapped even as we move deeper under the mountain.

It’s quickly obvious that someone uses these tunnels regularly, because there are incendi torches running along them—lights kept burning by small allotments of magic. They don’t take much power, but they do burn out eventually. Someone must have come through and replenished these in the past few weeks.

“What happens if we run into smugglers?” I ask. Criminals might not take kindly to strangers using their secret delivery route. On the other hand, I doubt any criminal would be a match for these fae. I’ve seen exactly how effective Leon is with a blade, and that’s without using magic.

“There’s hundreds of these tunnels—we’re unlikely to meet anyone,” Alastor says. “And if we do, we’ll easily be able to handle them.”

I realize abruptly that I don’t know what Leon’s terrial power is. The history books probably mentioned it, but I can’t remember. He must have one—all fae do, even if they’re more known for their sensic abilities. Whatever it is, I have a strong suspicion Leon’s terrial magic will be just as powerful as the rest of him. Which means if we come across an enemy, I worry much more for the humans than us.

Soon the tunnel branches off into new passages, winding away into the shadows. Some of these have incendi torches, but others disappear into the darkness. Every now and again I’ll spot other signs of use—an abandoned water skin or marks scratched into walls, presumably to help the smugglers navigate their way under the mountains.

Alastor and Leon sometimes stop to confer at a fork in the paths, but on the whole, they seem confident they know where we’re going. Both their moods have lifted since we arrived at the mountain, and I guess they’re eager to be reunited with the others.

As I focus on keeping up, I wonder if I should be more nervous about that reunion. Two fae are one thing—but seven?

We can’t have been moving for more than thirty minutes when the fae freeze. I stop too, startled, but don’t speak, waiting for one of them to explain. Only when I see them reach for the rings that cast their glamours do I hear it: footsteps, moving swiftly in our direction.

“I thought you said we wouldn’t run into anyone?” I whisper to Alastor.

They both look unconcerned.

“It’s only one human,” Alastor shrugs, but I see his hand flutter toward the sword at his belt.

“Don’t kill them,” I warn.

“Not your call, princess,” Leon murmurs as the footsteps grow louder.

“Just…don’t do anything unless it’s necessary,” I hiss. I only hope they’ll practice restraint unless the situation becomes dangerous.

In the next instant, a man appears out of the gloom, running a hand through his dense black hair. The gold ring he’s wearing in one ear glints in the torchlight. He stops a few feet away from us, eyeing Leon and Alastor. At first, I don’t think he even notices me hanging at the back. He seems too agitated, his hands fluttering around the dagger in his belt as he shifts from one foot to another.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he demands.

“Just travelers passing through,” says Leon. His voice is low with a don’t-ask-questions-you-don’t-want-the-answer-to warning.

The man doesn’t get the hint, squinting suspiciously at the fae.

“No normal travelers know about these tunnels.” He takes a step forward, then stops, throwing a look over his shoulder. His eyes dart between us and the tunnel stretching behind him. Then he makes a decision, grabbing his dagger and darting toward us.

The faes’ hands go to their swords. I think we can all see we’re not what has him so agitated. There’s something else going on here.

“Stop,” Leon orders, but the man keeps moving. He tries to dodge us, but of course he’s too slow. Leon grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and pins him to the wall. The man’s dagger falls to the ground.

“What’s that noise?” Leon asks him.

I strain my ears for the sound Leon mentioned, but all I can hear is the man’s panicked breathing.

“Sound? There’s no sound,” he says, mirroring my thoughts. “Just let me pass—please.”

Leon nods to Alastor, and the blond fae steps closer, addressing the man.

“There are several sets of footsteps approaching from the way you just came. Who do they belong to?”

It’s the first time I’ve seen Alastor use his magic on someone else, and it’s fascinating to watch. The man’s face relaxes, the panic disappearing as his eyes go slightly glazed. I remember the sensation of being flooded with trust, thinking Alastor was my best friend.

“It’s the Temple.”

“Who from the Temple, and why are they following you?” Alastor presses.

The man’s eye twitches, like part of him is trying to resist answering, but his mouth opens, and he starts to speak again.

“It’s the cleavers. I’m moving some loot. Stolen Temple property, gold votives and the like. They’ve been hunting me since Xatus. Even coming into the tunnels didn’t shake them. So when I heard you, I ran your way, figuring I could lead them to you and then use you as a distraction to buy me time to escape.”

“The cleavers?” Alastor throws Leon a look. “They didn’t have those when we were here last. Which ones are they?”

My blood ran cold as soon as I heard the name, and I answer before the man does.

“The cleavers are the Temple’s hunters,” I explain. “They use them in the purges. They’re not like normal clerics.”

“You’ve met one?” Leon asks.

“No, but I’ve heard the stories.”

Leon curses. “We don’t need a confrontation with the Temple right now.” He turns back to the smuggler. “You’re going to show us the route you were planning to take out of here.”

He roughly drops the smuggler to the ground, who scrambles to his feet and, without another word, bolts back the way he came. Even I can hear the cleavers’ footsteps now, marching in perfect unison like a loud drumbeat striking the earth over and over.

“Move faster—we have to follow him,” Leon says to me. “And on the way, tell us what you know.”

We sprint after the smuggler as I give them what little information I have.

“The cleavers are trained like soldiers—and their focus is hunting blasphemers.”

“So far, not scary,” Alastor says. “Plenty of soldiers in the world. What’s so special about them?”

I struggle with how to get across the sheer, icy dread everyone feels when they so much as mention the cleavers. “Their name is only ever whispered, like saying it too loud would summon them…and the evil they bring with them.”

“Like some sort of nightmare,” Alastor says and Leon’s back tenses.

“I don’t know for sure exactly how they train them. The rumors are…” I grimace, “…varied. But they say that by the end they’re not truly human anymore. More like puppets—empty shells. Some people have tried to bribe them, plead with them, seduce them. But the cleavers have no conscience and no mercy. All they have are their orders, and they follow them to the end, no matter what. The high clerics lead the purges, but the cleavers do the dirty work.”

The marching is only getting louder as the smuggler darts down a side passage. We turn left after him, along a narrow offshoot with no torches that eventually leads us back out into a main passageway.

“Anything else?” Leon asks, grabbing my wrist and pulling me in the right direction when I almost take a wrong turn.

“A lot of them are twin-blessed,” I explain. “But they select for the most dangerous combinations.”

It’s a unique privilege to be one of those rare people born with two powers. It means the patron god of your element has gifted you twice over. You might be a geostri who can charm rabbits but also grow grapes, or an aquari who can summon dew and purify water to drink. All twin-blessed are automatically recruited by the Temple, but not all of them become cleavers. That’s reserved for those with the deadliest powers.

“Slow down,” Leon orders the smuggler after he disappears around a particularly sharp corner. But when we reach the turn, he’s gone. Leon runs ahead, and I hear him curse again.

“Bastard knows this labyrinth like a rat in a sewer,” he growls. When we reach him, I see we’re at an intersection of four different passageways, with no indication as to which way the smuggler went.

“I can’t hear him over that damned marching,” Alastor says, glancing back the way we came.

“We won’t find him again now,” Leon says, raising his sword. “He left us behind on purpose. He’s back to his plan of using us as a distraction for him.”

A row of figures appears at the end of the tunnel to our left. Alastor and Leon step in front of me, pushing me back a few steps. Leon pulls something from his belt, handing it to me. It’s my knife—the one he took from me in Elmere. The same one he used to kill the man in the forest.

Seeing it again, knowing he thinks I might need to protect myself, sends my heart thudding.

“Time to find out how many of the stories are true,” Leon says as the cleavers close in.