doing. Something truly ridiculous has planted itself firmly deep inside me, something I didn’t have the last time I was down here.
Wen recognizes it right away. Her eyes flick suspiciously from my clenched hand to my swollen face. There’s something mischievous dawning in her gaze. “You know a way in?”
“I know a way in.” I give her a moment to ask how I know a way in, and when she doesn’t, I know for sure I don’t deserve her. “Wen, look. I did this all wrong the first time. I need your help—you’re all I have left. But if I’m going to drag you into this mess again, this time I’m going to tell you exactly what you’re getting into. Sound good?”
She shrugs. “Those Archon bastards took my umbrella. I do kinda want it back.” Her wry eyes meet mine, and she cracks a smile that banishes the last of my worries with its sheer devilry. “I told you you’re never getting rid of me.”
I breathe in. Breathe out. Slide my hand inside my jacket and find the inner pocket. “I’m going to show you something. I’m going to tell you what it means. And then I’m going to double-check that you’re really with me.”
Wen nods. I take one more deep breath to steady myself.
And with shaking fingers, I pull out the velvet bag.
CHAPTER 30
THE TUNNELS ARE pitch-black, but I know them by feel. I slip through the dark with purposeful steps, one hand trailing along the rough stone wall, the other clenched on my blaster’s grip. Wen follows with one finger tucked into the collar of my shirt, never stumbling as she places her feet carefully in my wake.
I gave her the abbreviated history—it was all we had time for—but it was the truth all the same, the truth I’ve tried to bury for seven years. She knows, and she’s still with me. It seems mathematically impossible, but Wen Iffan has always been improbable herself, and now more than ever I appreciate that.
The whole notion makes me light. Even though the tunnels smell like rot and ruin, even though it’s been far too long since I last saw sunshine. All this time it’s been such a heavy load to bear, but now we split the weight between us with no imbalance, no leveraging it against each other—none of what I feared.
I trust her. It’s a miraculous thing.
“Two more notches,” I whisper into the dark as my fingers pass a precisely carved indent. These passages pre-date the estate above us by nearly four hundred years, built when Trost was only a mining town. My bones hum with restless energy, and the darkness is making the enormity of the task ahead seem larger, like something out of a knight story.
I guess it is the kind of absurd attempt at heroics one would expect from a suited knight.
One step at a time. One more notch in the wall. Another. And then I feel the familiar edges of the panel. If there were light in the tunnel, the rusty slice of metal would be a clear incongruity in the hewn rock. It’s been roughly six years since the estate’s construction, and still this security flaw has gone unnoticed. I shift my fingers to the panel’s upper edges and gently pull, tipping it back until I’ve laid it on the ground. Behind it is nothing but more darkness, but it’s welcoming us in with a slight breeze that carries a faint savory smell.
My breathing goes shallow, and Wen mimics it. We’ve already talked this through. No need to speak. Soundlessly, we slip into the governor’s pantry.
I ate well the first time I figured out this way in. Probably too well—the hole I left in the pantry’s stock wasn’t subtle. Fortunately the trick panel, tucked behind a boiler and shadowed even when the lights are on, was more difficult to notice. I’d squirm in and squirm out whenever I thought I could get away with it. The stakes were higher, but the day-to-day risk was far more preferable to swiping what I could from convenience stores or digging through trash. This used to be my secret.
Now it’s one more little truth I’ve shared