“Are you sure you want to do this?” Marc said under his breath.
No. “Yes.” My voice sounded far away. “This conversation needs to be had.”
Marc hesitated, shooting me an uneasy look. “It can be had elsewhere.”
“I’m not so sure that’s the case.” My intense distaste for the mines was an extremely well kept secret, in that only Marc, the twins, and Ana?s knew anything about it. And the only reason they knew was because when I was ten, Ana?s had dared us all to sneak down. Pride had been enough to get me down there, but it ran out before I could get back out again. Then claustrophobia had taken over, and I couldn’t have gotten out faster. It had taken all four of them to control me long enough to ride the lift out, and I could tell Marc wasn’t looking forward to repeating that experience. Neither was I.
“I’m not a child to be governed by my illogical fears,” I muttered more to myself than to him, forcing my feet to start moving toward the deceptively quiet entrance.
The mines were even louder than I remembered. The shifts had changed two hours ago, so the corridors were almost empty, but I could hear the dull throb of explosions from deep in the earth and the crack of rock as it was crushed to remove the ore. The heat was intense, the air thick with the magic needed to melt the gold down so it could be poured into various molds.
I mechanically followed Marc toward the lift shaft, the dust in the air sticking to my tongue and filling my lungs. There were two guild members sitting on stools near the shaft, their heads bent over a deck of cards. Both jumped up as we entered the room, eyes widening when they recognized me.
“We’ve business in the mines,” Marc said to them.
The two exchanged unhappy glances, and part of me hoped they’d deny us access. A big part. If I couldn’t go down there, then Tips would have to meet me somewhere else. It would be better that way. I wasn’t at my sharpest, and if there was ever a conversation where I needed focus, this was it. Why was it so cursed hot in here?
“As you like, my Lord Comte,” one of the men said, and the platform rotated over the shaft, my stomach contents bobbling as it shifted under our weight.
“Ring the bell when you’re ready to come back up, my lord.”
The platform dropped out from underneath us.
I flung my arms out to keep my balance, my teeth clamping together to prevent a dignity-compromising yelp from filling the air.
“Bastards,” Marc swore, glaring up as we hurtled down the shaft, the gleaming girders lighting our passage. But it wasn’t the speed of our descent that bothered me, it was the amount of rock piling up above our heads.
The lift stopped, and I stumbled off.
“You’re late.” Vincent sat on a crate a few feet away, his arms crossed. “Are you sure it was wise you coming down here, Tristan? I know this is not your favorite place.”
“It seems a long time since wisdom guided my actions,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “Let’s get going.”
“Good.” Vincent’s voice sounded unfamiliar and sour. “You took forever getting here, and I’ve a quota to meet.” Not waiting for a response, he started down one of the narrow tunnels leading under the mountain. Marc and I exchanged weighted looks before starting after him, his lone shape hunched over beneath the low ceiling.
This was Vincent and Victoria’s punishment for having helped me, spending day after day, night after night, in the mines. It was hard, dirty, and dangerous work, but it hit me then that the work wasn’t the punishment. My father had separated them.
The twins’ mother had died in childbirth, and their father had passed only days later from the shock of it. Victoria and Vincent had been raised by half-blood servants with only each other for family. They had always been inseparable, never going more than a few waking hours apart. Now, they’d be lucky to see each other for a quarter-hour each day. It was the worst thing he could have done to them. The twins were broken, Ana?s was dead, and Marc…
“How did he punish you for helping me?” I asked quietly.
Marc took a long time to respond. “I was fined.”
There was something about his tone that told me there was more to it than a fine, but Marc was not one you pressed.
Vincent stopped abruptly and I nearly collided with him. Turning round, he fixed me with a stare. “They came to his house and took all of Pénélope’s things away. All her art. All his portraits of her. Everything.”
My father knew everyone’s weaknesses. And Pénélope was Marc’s. No one knew that better than me.