Page 50 of The Darkening (The Darkening)

I frown. “Why?”

The feathered boy shrugs as the other unties the cat. “Run!” the little one yells, slinging the cat under one arm and grabbing his friend’s hand with the other. The cat yowls as they run back into the fifth, disappearing into the dark.

I face the Storm. It watches me back. One day, it promises, everything and everyone will belong to it. And there’ll be no more pain.

I turn my back on it and retrace my steps to the gray market.

I’m surprised when I find a cloaked figure sitting on the ground at the entrance to the secret passage. His head lolls against the stone, and a lock of long dark hair escapes his hood. A small black kitten watches me from the cradle of his folded arms.

Izamal wakes with a touch to his shoulder, his pupils sharpening to slits. He relaxes when he sees it’s just me. The kitten leaps to the ground and pads away, its nose in the air.

I offer him a hand and haul him up. He clutches a bag of weapons,a bag that should’ve been emptied. Did he wait for me instead of handing them out?

His voice is hoarse with sleep. “You okay?”

I give him a grim smile as he opens the door and we slip into the dark. “Never better.”

“Bit of an odd thing to say, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

The ikonlight flares to life.

He bites a question back, but I can hear it rattling around his head. After the third time he inhales as if to speak and then thinks better of it, I take pity on him. “It’s simple, for me at least,” I say. “You’ve got to save everyone. I’ve just got to save my father. If there’s going to be a Trial... all it means is that I’ve just got to work faster.”

“We’ve,” he says.

“What?”

“We’vegot to work faster. I’m with you, remember.”

Something warm blossoms in me. Matched by guilt that rises when I remember that I’ve lied to Izamal about Pa’s willingness to fight.

Izamal presses his ear to the door to the third.

He leans in and breathes, “Get back and wait for my signal.”

“Is someone—”

He takes the ikonlight from me, presses the bag of weapons into my hands, and pushes the door open. It nearly shuts behind him, leaving me with a thin sliver of a gap to see through.

“Dalca!” Izamal says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

I inch forward, pressing my eye to the gap.

“I could say the same,” Dalca murmurs.

“I was visiting my mother.”

Dalca’s voice grows stilted, formal. “Oh. How is she?”

“Oh, you know.” Izamal waves an arm. “She says you sent her a package of palace sweets.”

“I—I did. Were they all right?”

“Her favorite.” Izamal takes a few steps away, and Dalca follows. “Thank you.”

Dalca inclines his head. He’s wearing only his Wardana-issued loose white shirt and black trousers, no red in sight.