Send Me Their Souls (Bring Me Their Hearts #3) - Sara Wolf Page 0,122

how every day away from it has been eating you up. Because it has. How could it not? He’s its prince, and he’s always longed to protect it. To protect everyone. Varia destroyed Vetris, but his people are still in Cavanos, and his heart belongs with them.

And to me, too, I think with a wry smile. We can share it.

“The Sea Gate is the main entrance to Pala Amna—” Malachite clears his throat and points. There, not far from the beach is a dirt road utterly packed with people, so many they overflow onto the beach, into the thin gray forest bordering it.

“New God’s throat,” I mutter. “Look at them all.”

“Refugees from Cavanos,” Lucien says, black iron in his voice. “Perhaps even Helkyris. They think the beneathers can save them from the valkerax.”

“And we can,” Malachite insists. “Just slowly. With periods to repopulate.”

“We don’t have that time,” the prince insists.

Mal sighs. “I know, Luc. It’s called a joke.”

“How will we get through that crowd?” Fione frowns. “They must be backing up the entire road into Pala Amna!”

“The Fog Road is the ancestral council’s special entrance and a more direct line to them,” Yorl offers. “It’s highly guarded, but when we announce who we are, I’m sure we’ll have no trouble.”

“No trouble?” Malachite’s white brows knit hard. “Yeah, no trouble getting past the guards at the entrance. But there are no guards inside. There’s nobody inside but the bones of thieves and assassins, because it’s booby-trapped to the afterlife and back!”

“Why?” I wrinkle my nose.

“Well, I’m glad you asked, and the answer is because it’s less of a gate and more of a maze designed to destroy anyone who doesn’t know the specific route.”

“Even without the crowd, it saves us hours of travel time in the Dark Below.” Yorl ignores him and insists to the prince, “Speed is of the essence.”

“Is death of the fuckin’ essence?” Malachite asks him lightly.

“We’ll be fine! We have me.” I jerk my thumb to my empty chest and wink. “I can die a few times.”

“You upworlders don’t seem to spiritsdamn understand,” Mal says faux patiently. “The Fog Gate is where we send our defectors and criminals to die.”

“So then we take the safe route,” Fione says softly. “And risk Varia attacking in that time.”

“No!” Malachite blurts and then heaves a sigh so massive, it squeaks his chainmail. “Fine. Fine! This is total death-wish garbage, but I’ll go along with it because why not?!”

“I have my grandfather’s map.” Yorl taps his head.

“What map?” Malachite growls.

“He bought a rudimentary map of the Fog Road from a beneather on his travels in Pala Amna.”

“You know who else bought a rudimentary map?” Malachite motions to the land. “All the dead skeletons in there who were naive enough to give up a gold piece for some hungry kid’s attempt at gouging tourists! There is no map! The ancestral council are the only ones who know the way, and they make sure of that!”

Yorl looks thoroughly shocked, his ears pulling back. “Are you saying my grandfather—the smartest mortal in all of Arathess—was duped?”

“I’m saying I was seven when Muro Farspear-Ashwalker came to Vetris,” Malachite fires back. “And he was a laugh-happy old croak of a man who tripped over his own robe a lot!”

Yorl goes a shade darker under his whiskers. “How dare you—”

“He’s not all wrong, Yorl,” Lucien murmurs from the railing. “Your grandfather did laugh a lot.”

I think back on Muro’s night visit. He certainly did laugh a lot, the jolly old cat. As in life, so in afterlife.

“A real hoot. Complete opposite of you, frankly,” Malachite bites at Yorl.

“All right, break it up.” I step between them. Malachite throws his hands up just as the polymaths bring the sails down, and Yorl’s huge green eyes quietly watch the sea below us. The ship slowly glides into a rickety wood dock covered in moss that looks as if it hasn’t seen traffic since the Sunless War.

“You okay?” I touch Yorl’s paw as we walk down the gangplank.

The celeon looks over at me, heavy-lidded. “Yes. It’s just strange. To hear of someone you hold in such high regard as being…”

“Not like you envisioned?” I ask.

He nods. “Not anything like I envisioned.”

“He tried to help Vetris, and Varia. I didn’t know him, but I’d say he was a good guy.”

“He helped design white mercury swords to kill witches.”

“We all have our faults,” I chirp. “Your grandpa’s was laughing.”

Yorl breathes out and then turns to say something to the helmsman polymath—about moving