the other side with no concern for the distance, twisting as her boots hit and then sprinting across the street. The dull metal of the grate beckoned her, and she fell to her bottom, grasping hold of the edge and lowering herself into the darkness.
She was suspended by her elbows when she heard the thud of Killian landing on the ground, followed immediately by the clatter of hooves. Swiveling her head, she saw the deimos galloping up the street toward them.
“Move!”
She leapt into the sewer, stumbling out of the way as something heavy slid across the paving stones. Then Killian dropped into view, landing with both feet on the other side of the sludge running down the middle of the sewer.
He was laughing.
The deimos pawed the ground overtop of them, teeth snapping at the opening. “Try again on the other end,” he shouted at the creature, then caught Lydia’s hand, leading her out of the pool of moonlight and into the blackness.
“The system runs through the entire city and empties into the sea,” he said, stooping to pick up a lamp that inexplicably waited for them. “I can get almost anywhere I wish to go as long as I plan ahead and make sure the grates aren’t rusted shut. It’s a bit on the filthy side of things, but at least the rats are no longer a problem.”
Her stomach turned at the reason for that, but of more interest was the feel of his hand gripping hers. You’re an idiot, she told herself. He’s only helping you because he thinks you can’t take care of yourself. Yet for all her admonitions, it was still a struggle to pull her fingers from his grasp.
It didn’t take them long to reach the sewer grate closest to the barracks, Killian pushing it open, then peering at the sky before scrambling out. Sword in hand, he reached down to pull her up, keeping to the shadows of the buildings as he led her to the familiar blue door.
“Are you going back to the palace?” she asked.
“Eventually.” He pushed open the door. “Good night, Lydia.” Then without another word, he retreated the way they’d come.
Eventually? Where could he possibly be going?
She stood in the front entrance for several long moments, knowing she should go up to bed. Knowing it wasn’t any business of hers what he spent his evenings doing. Knowing it was utter lunacy to tempt the dangers of the night just to satisfy her curiosity.
And yet she found herself easing open the door just in time to see him dropping into the sewers.
Where is he going?
Knowing if she thought about it she’d talk herself out of it, Lydia scampered down the street and eased herself into the hole, dangling from her elbows for a moment before letting herself drop. Her feet landed on either side of a stream of filth, but though she looked both ways, there was no sign of Killian. She allowed her eyes go out of focus so that she could see the drifting streams of life that she usually ignored.
It seeped off every living creature, and even without light she was able to follow the trail he left in his wake. She meandered through the sewers with no sense of direction, no idea what lay above her or how she’d find her way back. Before long, the sound of voices reached her, bouncing off the slimy walls and beckoning her closer.
“What’s this?” The voice was familiar, and after a moment she placed it as Finn’s.
“Pineapple.” Killian’s voice. “No, don’t eat the skin.”
Curious, Lydia edged around the bend until she saw them. They stood next to a hand-drawn cart full of foods of all sorts. Finn had a piece of yellow fruit in his hand, the juices dribbling down his chin. “That’s good.”
“Don’t get too attached. I’m not sure another shipment is forthcoming.”
“Trouble with supply?”
“That’s my problem, not yours. Let’s go.”
Lydia trailed after them, and it wasn’t long until more voices filled the tunnels. Children’s voices. Then all of a sudden they were coming from every direction. She ducked into a small side tunnel before dozens of ragged and filthy children passed, some leading younger siblings by the hand. They converged on the cart, and Killian and Finn doled out the food. Fruits and vegetables. Salted meat. Sacks of oats. Sweets. And from Killian’s pockets she heard the clink of coins, bits of copper pressed into grubby hands that tucked it away in pockets and waistbands.