Wren and Synové came with me.
“You might hear voices,” I warned Synové. “They’re harmless. You’ll be fine. Just stay close.”
We casually sauntered through the gardens, smiling in case anyone watched, turning, pointing at butterflies that didn’t exist, and when each of us had scanned the grounds and the windows that looked down on us and had given the all clear, we walked down the path that led to the rear entrance of Darkcottage. We quietly slipped inside and I eased open a shutter in the kitchen, just a crack to give us some light. We only used hand signals. I pointed to the stairs that led to the cellar. I went first, made sure the room was empty, then signaled for them to follow. Except for a circle of dim light at the base of the stairs, the room was completely black.
I had already told them to feel the walls for hinges, handholds, loose stones, anything that could be moved, to look for cracks of light, and feel for drafts. We moved silently and slowly, careful not to make any sound that might reveal us. The cellar was large, and it was slow work moving in the dark. I reached the end of one solid wall and started on another, meeting Synové in the middle. Nothing. I was still certain— And then Wren ticked a soft sound, one that could be mistaken for a creak in an old house. She found it—on the wall that supported the stairs—a draft between panels. We listened, and when we were sure there was nothing immediately behind the panel, I pressed on it. It sprang open a crack, and we stepped into the end of a very long tunnel. At the other end was a door with a thin line of light streaming from the bottom of it. Once we started down, we’d have no cover. We’d be open targets if someone should enter from the other end. The only weapons we had were the daggers at our sides. Carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows through the gardens would have been too conspicuous.
“Ready?” I whispered.
They nodded. We crept down the tunnel, the only sound my pulse drumming in my ears as we neared the door. I put my hand out to have them wait while I carefully eased forward to make sure there were no alcoves for dogs to hide in. It was clear and I put my ear to the door, then gently squeezed the latch. Our breaths caught at the faint click. I eased it open a hair’s width at a time and cool fresh air rushed in, green with the scent of soil and grass. The other side of the door was stone that matched its surrounding walls, impossible to see unless you knew it was there. I peeked out on a large empty terrace, almost like a foyer, that had several arched passageways intersecting it. The one straight ahead emptied out onto rolling empty grounds covered with grass, still lit by the fading light of dusk. But something in the distance at the far end of the grounds caught my eye—a wide curved double door set into a stone wall—a door that was strangely familiar.
Stand watch, I signaled to Wren and Synové as I stepped out onto the terrace, carefully hugging the walls and shadows. At the end of the terrace, I looked across the grassy grounds at the distant door, and I realized I was looking at a door I had already seen—but I had seen it from the other side. Jase had claimed it was only another exit. There’s nothing on the other side.
Except all of this.
A cold fist gripped my spine.
All of this.
I looked up at the roof of a cave that seemed as high as the sky. It swept out over half the grounds like a wave poised to crash. Tendrils of vines hung from its ceiling. Tucked below it against its wall was a long house, shallow in depth, with multiple staggered terraces. Only steps away was another outbuilding. Where the wall of cave ended, more of the fortress wall began, obstructing it all from view. It was a hidden enclave right within Tor’s Watch.
I skulked along the outside wall of the house, just another shadow creeping across its porches, hiding behind pillars, peeking in windows. I passed room after room of bedchambers and sitting rooms.
And then I heard a low rumble of voices. I stopped and sweat flashed over my skin. I was both eager and afraid of what I would find. I listened, but the words were indiscernible. I moved closer to the sound, then ducked behind a pillar when I saw someone cross a room with doors that opened onto the broad terrace.
“Save some for me. We’re almost out.”
Another voice.
“More comes in the morning.”
“Morning is not now.”
And still another voice.
“It will be a shame when this party is all over.”
“This party won’t end. Thanks to the Ballengers, our riches will only become greater.”
Laughter erupted.
“The Great Battle will look like a spring picnic.”
“Soon all the kingdoms will be under our thumb. We’ll say jump, and they’ll ask how high.”
“Especially that bitch in Venda.”
“She’ll be in for a surprise when she arrives, and it won’t be a royal welcome.”
“She’ll finally get what’s coming to her.”
“A noose.”
There was a murmur of agreement.
“I still don’t like that he took our only working weapon.”
“Within a week, we’ll have an arsenal. One small weapon won’t matter. He’s probably already used up all the loads practicing on trees.”
There was a hearty round of guffaws.
A noose? An arsenal of weapons?
“I’m going to need more supplies.”
“No worries. The Ballengers are generous. They’ll give us more. They’re as eager for this as we are.”
More laughter.
Eager for what? What were Jase and his family planning? All the kingdoms under their thumbs? Was inviting the queen here only a trap?
“To the Ballengers, our generous patrons.”
I heard the clink of glasses lifted in a toast, a chuckle, and then a long unapologetic belch, followed by a stumble, a curse, and a wail as a shin or knee met an immovable object. I used that moment to peek around the pillar.
It was the first thing I saw—a clear view of a moon-shaped scar on a wide forehead. My attention jumped to a deep cleft in a stubbled chin, and the man who wore both so infamously had white hair. It wasn’t Erdsaff but Captain Illarion.
Jase’s manipulations piled on. He had fed me one lie after another.
Then the captain and two other men I didn’t recognize stepped aside and my throat went dry.
Sitting on a divan behind them was Governor Sarva of Balwood. He was the one who had led the attack against the clans in Blackstone Square. After the Great Battle, all that was found of him was part of his charred breastplate with the Balwood insignia. He was believed dead. Sitting beside him was Chievdar Kardos, swigging back a mug of ale, another member of the Komizar’s Council who was unaccounted for but believed dead. And seated at a table near them, picking at meat on a trencher and licking his fingers, was Bahr, one of the Sanctum guards in the clan attack— I pushed back behind the pillar, pressing against it.
How would I tell Synové?
Everything had just gotten more complicated. These men were as vile as the captain, maybe worse, hated criminals of Venda. My mind whirled. Jase was harboring them all. A sour taste swelled on my tongue. This beast will turn and kill you. Now we had many beasts.
Take them all back? We had to. But was that even possible?
Maybe, I thought. Maybe there was one way.
I was going to need a hay wagon.
*
When we were safely back in the kitchen at Darkcottage, I told them.
“Yes, the captain’s there. It was him with the white hair just as I thought.”
Wren blew out a long slow breath. We had done it. We had finally found him.
“But that’s not all,” I added cautiously. “There are five others.” I looked at Synové and pressed her shoulders against the wall, trying to stave off her reaction. “One of them is Bahr.”
Synové shook her head. “But he’s dead. In the battle. He—”
“No,” I said.