“I’m fine, just cold.”
She didn’t seem aware of her uneven tracking, the wooly look in her eyes, or the concern behind my question. Though she needed time to rest, that was a luxury we could not afford, and I settled for keeping closer watch on her.
Factories cropped up around us with an abruptness that confirmed the existence of distinct districts in the city of Tairmor. I hoped we wouldn’t encounter any alley guards like the brothers who had tried to rob me near the Fae-mily Home. It looked like this was exclusively a work district, however, and not populated at night.
“The entrance should be around here somewhere,” Shea said, clutching my arm for balance as she scanned the buildings. “Rumor held there was one inside an abandoned warehouse building.”
“Okay. Where should we start?”
“Do you want to split up to cover more ground?”
This didn’t strike me as a good idea. Shea could forget where she was or pass out in the street.
“I don’t want to split up. What if we lost track of each other?”
“I’m pretty sure I could find you both again. I haven’t had much trouble following you so far.”
A male voice had entered our conversation, and I pivoted in its direction, muffling a scream with my fist while Shea fumbled for her pistol. I squinted into the snow, and Tom Matlock strolled into view. I cursed the continuing deterioration of my senses toward those suffered by humans—I hadn’t had an inkling that he was behind us. Then it clicked into place that he was the Constabulary we’d seen earlier on the street, and I further bemoaned my stupidity. It was my failure to make this connection that had enabled him to follow us. But the most distressing part of his appearance was that I didn’t know whether to be relieved, for he had proven himself a friend, or panicked, for he was also staunchly loyal to Luka Ivanova.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SAVE US ALL
Realizing that Shea was reaching under her overcoat, Officer Matlock rushed forward to snatch a fistful of her cloak, yanking her so hard she almost fell to the ground.
“Don’t,” he warned, steadying her before he released her. “The gun—just don’t.”
“Are you going to arrest us?” I demanded, heart hammering, while Shea shuffled behind me, apparently of the belief that I was better equipped to handle this particular Constabulary than was she.
“That’s what I’m trying to decide.”
His answer disappointed me, and I didn’t bother hiding it.
“Look, Officer Matlock, my only offense is carrying false papers, something Luka Ivanova wasn’t concerned about when we met him at the Governor’s mansion. And Shea hasn’t committed any crime—she was only taken into custody because of something her father did. Neither of us is really a criminal, and neither of us is dangerous.”
“I assume when you say Shea you mean Mary,” he said sharply, and I rubbed my temples, only catching the tail end of the smirk that dashed across his face.
“Fine. We’re both using false passports. But she’s only using one because she’s been forced to do so by a law you can’t possibly support.”
His reaction was unreadable, his face carefully composed, no doubt from practice in his official position. He slowly extended a hand toward me, finally resting it on top of my forefinger and pushing it downward. Until that moment I wasn’t even aware I’d been pointing at him.
“At ease,” he said, and I forced myself to unclench my jaw, feeling the pressure leave my temples.
He sighed and smoothed the hair on one side of his head, his manner more blasé than when he had intercepted us.
“The law you’re referencing is meant as an incentive to the actual guilty parties to come forth in place of their family members. It’s really not intended to punish someone like Shea. It’s supposed to appeal to a criminal’s conscience, which I know is a little oxymoronic. Sadly, that seems to be proven by your circumstances.”
He eyed Shea, valiantly trying to disguise that he felt bad for her, and I could feel myself calming down. Sympathy on his part was a good sign. But it bothered me that he was defending the government’s rationale. It didn’t fit with what I knew about him. Still, he was a Constabulary. I supposed buying into the doctrine came with the job.
“I was called to the jail to talk to the two of you,” he resumed. “The Lieutenant Governor thought I might have more success in gleaning answers from you or in convincing you that protecting Thatcher More isn’t the best decision.”
Shea unexpectedly spoke up, and her vitriolic words did nothing for my case.
“What do you know about it? Absolutely nothing! So consider this—would you betray your father?”
Tom shrugged. “I haven’t so far. And that’s why I tried to tell Ivanova all this effort is pointless. He already knew, of course, and I’m also doubtless that he detests the measures he’s been forced to implement with you. If I take it upon myself to interpret that liberally, it means everyone would be better off should the two of you disappear.”
I beamed at him, relief rushing through me. I wanted to hug him and tell him that Nature would repay him for his kindness, though I retained enough control not to do either of those things. Shea’s reaction was more subdued. She had settled against a doorway for support, clearly affected by her head wound, and I wasn’t even sure she was still following our conversation.
“Just one more thing, Anya, and this is important. Please be honest so I don’t have to hate myself in the morning. It’s obvious the guard at the jailhouse never sent anyone after you. Did you kill him in your zeal to escape?”
“No. I mean, he won’t be able to work...or walk...for a while, but he’ll absolutely live.”
Tom snorted a laugh, then tried to cover his reaction by pretending it had been a mistake, but he ultimately gave in to a grin. He had an open smile, no tension or falsity hiding within it.
“He’ll absolutely live,” he repeated. “Damn, I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“You do?” I swept snowflakes from my auburn hair, flutters rising in my stomach.
“Sure,” he said, so casually that I felt a touch of disappointment. I internally chastised myself, for he and I were nothing more than acquaintances. And he undoubtedly liked a lot of people.
Shea cleared her throat, having tuned in once more. When I looked toward her, she was tapping her fingers on her upper arm. Suitably checked, I returned to business.
“We need to get out of the city,” I told Tom. “We’re looking for a way into the tunnel systems.”
Tom’s eyebrows lifted so subtlety I might have missed it. Then he shrugged. “I’m not sure how you two know about the tunnels, but since you do, follow me.”
He started down the street and I made to trail him, but Shea gripped my arm and pulled me close.
“How do you know we can trust him?”
“I don’t. But I figure if he tries anything...well, he’s smaller than the other man we incapacitated this evening.”
Shea grinned at this prospect. Ahead of us, Tom paused, swiveling to face us with his palms turned up in an unspoken question.
“Coming!” Shea called, her gait faltering as she set off in front of me.
We were already tired, and the stroll Tom took us on through the tangled streets seemed endless. Shea hadn’t even been close in her assessment of how near we’d been to our goal. At last he stopped before a large, desolate-looking building plastered with hazard signs. In disregard of these, he took a ring of keys from his pocket and used one to remove the rusty padlock that secured the door.
“The keys to the city?” I inquired, and a slight smile curved his lips.
“If only you knew.”
I had no clue what he meant.
The inside of the building was an empty, grimy, open space, which we cross
ed to an unmarked pit in the floor. Tom yanked a torch from the wall and blazed it with a handheld lighter, an invention that was gaining popularity in the Territory. Some Fae were concerned that it gave humans too-ready access to the element of fire. A closer look at the little silver object confirmed what I’d always thought—guns were the bigger threat.
Moving to the pit, Tom let the torch’s light reveal narrow steps that wound down into virtual nothingness. We began the descent without comment, tackling flight after flight, the temperature leveling off when we neared the bottom—there were no drafts anymore, not at this depth. I glanced at Shea, who was shivering, her eyes blank and staring as though she’d forgotten how to blink. I pulled a blanket out of my pack and wrapped it about her shoulders. Perhaps it was just her injury, or perhaps the heightened peril her unsuspecting family faced had finally penetrated the haze in her head.
Tom stopped at last and scanned the rocks that lay scattered and piled on the floor where they’d broken away from the walls. He located whatever he was looking for and knelt, pushing aside a number of heavy stones. I stooped to assist him, a groan escaping my lips as my sore body protested the work.
“Take it easy,” he said, nodding in Shea’s direction. “I think your friend could use your help.”
She was sitting down, head cradled between her knees, and I went to her, rubbing her back to keep her blood flowing.
Eventually Tom uncovered a trapdoor. He lifted it, and the overpowering sound of rushing water met our ears. I’d known we’d be close to the river in the tunnels, but I’d hoped for the farther end of near. It didn’t sound like that wish was going to be granted, and I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. Since the loss of my elemental connection, my comfort with water had violently diminished.
“The caves are safe from the Governor’s men,” Tom told us, rising to his feet. “Follow the tunnels west—that’s to your left—and you’ll leave the city without being seen.”
“Aren’t you one of the Governor’s men?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Are we safe from you?”
“I’m not one of the Governor’s men,” he chuckled, the sound weirdly contained within the rocky walls. “I work for Luka Ivanova.”
“I’m not sure that’s any better.”
“You don’t have to trust him, only me. I have no intention of telling him where you are or even about our encounter. I’ll claim I went straight to the jail and found whatever it is I’m going to find once we’re done here.”
“Do you trust Luka?” I asked, unable to resist one last question.
Tom hesitated, scratching his forehead. “Yes, as much as you can trust any politician.” Then he motioned to Shea. “Judging from her behavior, I’d say she hit her head when you scuffled with that jailhouse guard. She probably has a concussion. Try to keep her awake tonight, and don’t rush. You won’t be pursued, and you don’t want to overtax her.”
In his gray eyes was a level of caring I did not expect, and I gave him a brilliant smile to convey my thanks. For all I knew, he was risking his career for two young women he barely knew.
“Take care of yourself, Anya. Perhaps our paths will cross again one day, hopefully under happier circumstances.”
He lowered Shea and me into the bowels of the tunnels, then let the trapdoor thunder into place over our heads. I shuddered, feeling more like we’d been buried alive than freed.
We set off into the inky darkness, groping about on our hands and knees in order to progress. I led the way, Shea holding on to the bottom edge of my cloak so we wouldn’t be separated. The rock floor vibrated under my hands as though the Kappa were raging at us to leave its home, and the noise was so oppressive we couldn’t hear each other speak.
At length, the narrow passage widened and the right wall fell away, replaced by pillars of stone that opened windows to the great river and streams of moonlight from far above. Shea collapsed against the wall behind me, and I went to sit next to her, breathing in the fresh, cold scent of river water, no longer feeling so terrified of it. I wondered how far below Tairmor we were, marveling that no one in the city would ever suspect we were there. They would wake and go about their business, but we were in a different world. It was several moments before either of us moved, exhaustion and fear dictating a silent agreement that we rest here until morning.
“I wonder how far east these tunnels go,” Shea remarked, spreading out a bedroll and blankets. Her movements were jerky and awkward due to the dampness and cold, which felt like it had seeped into our bones.
“I imagine they run where the river runs. But with all the offshoots, it would be easy to get confused. By the way, Tom said you shouldn’t sleep because of your head injury.”
“Tom can go to hell,” she groused, sitting down on her bedding. “I’ll go west with you, then circle around the city once we’re aboveground. I won’t be much help to anyone if I get lost.”
“You must have taken quite a crack to the skull, Shea, because you can’t go back to the Balsam Forest.”
Her eyes flashed. Yet again they reminded me of flint—with every spark of anger that passed through her gaze there was the potential for disaster.
“I have to get my family to safety. This is my fault, and I owe it to them to warn them.”
“Listen to me.” I tried to grab her wrist, but she tugged away. “Luka doesn’t know where to find your family. The Balsam Forest is an enormous place. His men could search it for months and not find a trace of them.”
“I should never have left them—don’t you see? If it wasn’t for me, no one’s thoughts would have turned in Thatcher More’s direction. He would have been forgotten, we all would have. I’m the reason we’re damned.”
“This is not your fault, Shea.” My voice was stern, and she swung her sagging head toward me, eyes swollen with tears. “None of you should have to live in hiding. This is the fault of unjust laws and cruel politicians who are happy as long as their own interests are served. It’s sick, and it’s twisted, but you aren’t to blame. And if you go east, your family will be caught for certain. I’d like to believe Tom’s motives for helping us are pure, but it’s entirely possible we’re being followed. Don’t let your guilt make Luka’s job easier.”
Shea trembled with the struggle to control her crying, looking helplessly around and gulping for air. She had become someone I hardly recognized—a scared little girl—and I hated the Governor for having this effect on her.
It took a few minutes, but blessedly the strong-minded woman I knew returned, and Shea slammed her fist against the rock floor.
“The world is so wrong,” she ranted, the words raw in her throat. “People starve, and families like mine live in fear. Faeries are attacked, killed, driven to kill themselves. The only people who care are the ones who work in the streets and run shelters and sacrifice their own chances at personal success, while the people who cause all this misery run the world. How did we let this happen, any of us humans? Where were our brains, our eyes? And what’s wrong with us that we can’t stop it—that we aren’t even trying?”
I steeled myself, not wanting to react to her heartfelt speech, not wanting to turn into that little girl I’d just seen in Shea. But I was too worn-out to retain control, and I ended up entertaining tears of my own. What a sorry pair we made, weeping in the old forgotten caverns beneath a great city.
Regaining my composure, I yanked my bedroll loose and opened my pack to remove what remained of our jerky, while Shea pulled bread from the supplies she had taken from the Fae-mily Home. As I rooted through my things, I laid them on the ground beside me, taking inventory—my long-knife, my clothes, my money pouch, the tiny vial of Sale that had been an accidental gift from Hastings.... Then my throat seized, my face flashing hot then draining cold. Shea recognized the signs of panic and sat up.
“What is it?”
“The Anlace,”
I rasped. My voice was almost gone, lost in the tension of my neck and body. “The guard at the gate took it, remember? And it’s not here. Nature, it’s not here. It’s not here!”
I let out a dry sob, and Shea scrambled over to me, shoving through what little remained in my bag to determine that I was right. When she raised her eyes to me, she looked stricken.
“Is it so important?” she asked in a small voice.
“It’s the Queen’s Anlace,” I responded. My cheeks and arms felt numb, useless. My words had trouble pushing through my lips. “Only the Queen herself is ever supposed to hold it, or the rightful ruler of Chrior. I don’t know why she gave it to me in the first place. It wasn’t mine to keep. And now I’ve lost it.”
Shea placed a tentative hand on my shoulder. She didn’t know much about Fae traditions, but my pallor alone was enough to inform her of the seriousness of what had happened. An ancient relic of my people, its cultural—and monetary—value incalculable, was missing in the human capital, likely in the hands of a grubby little gate guard who might sell it for a donkey and thereby abandon it to history. Nothing else as old and exquisite as the Anlace existed in the known world. And I was to blame for its passing.
“It’s not your fault, Anya,” Shea murmured. “One day, when it’s safe for us again, we’ll search for it. We’ll find it. I promise.”
They were empty words, but they were all she could offer, and the only comfort I could take. I took a shaky breath and after a moment returned my things to my pack, with the exception of my long knife, which took the Anlace’s place at my hip. There was nothing I could do to fix this. I would have to tell Queen Ubiqua what I’d allowed to happen. I’d have to admit it to my father, to Davic...and somehow I’d have to accept that a significant heirloom of Faerie history was gone because of me.
Shea shuffled to the cavern wall on her knees and leaned back, giving me space while she nibbled on her food. It was then I realized the Anlace wasn’t the only thing missing from my supplies. The map that Thatcher More had drawn was absent as well. And that map could give a discerning eye a strong indication of where he and his family were hiding.