I stop myself from adding, Why did you bother?
Wen shrugs. “I thought like you and took a guess.”
I gape.
“Also Gal made me sneak a tracker onto your belt.” Wen chuckles at my expression, leaning back and settling herself against the wall. She pulls a pilfered datapad out of her pocket and drops it in my lap as the “distance to target” on its display winds all the way down to zero.
“And how…how did you get caught in the first place?”
Wen looks stricken. “I ditched the skipships nice and easy, like you said. Piece of cake once I didn’t have to worry about bouncing the soldiers in the hold around like rubber balls. I thought we were supposed to meet up with the fleet after that, but Gal told me we were changing the plan. I asked if you knew, and he said you did, but…”
I squeeze my eyes shut. More things I should have anticipated. More reasons the blame for Gal’s capture lies heavy on my shoulders. After what Gal tried to pull when we arrived at the base, it’s no wonder she’d balk at trusting him without me there to reassure her.
“We were arguing when we got the notification that the system governor had surrendered, and by then I was sure something was wrong. Nothing about today added up, and…if I had listened, if I hadn’t hesitated—”
“You couldn’t have known,” I say softly, and she shakes her head.
“They were on us so fast. Too many of them,” Wen says, her eyes dull, like admitting that is stealing something horrible from her.
I swallow back the lump in my throat as the tumblers line up in my brain. Berr sys-Tosa’s surrender makes perfect sense. The Ruttin’ Hell was sighted. He knew the Umber heir was collaborating with the Archon forces to enact his revenge. And the governor must have decided two could play at that game. He saw his opportunity to eliminate the Umber heir before Gal could ever become a problem. Berr sys-Tosa ceded. He turned Rana into a warren, then told General Iral exactly what he was hunting.
I pick up the datapad and turn it over in my hands, running my fingers along its smooth, glossy surface. A dark urge rises to snap it in half, to throw it across the garage, to take some part of my rage and frustration out on this useless slab of electronics. Instead I pull out my own datapad, stolen from the soldier I took down, and stack it on top of Wen’s. Set both of them on the ground between us. Put the blaster on top, followed by the soldier’s ID.
Wen lifts her unburned eyebrow at me.
“Our assets. You got anything else?”
She pulls a switchblade out of her boot and tosses it on top of my pile.
“That’s it?” I ask, scoffing. It’s more than I had last time, but now I’ve got Wen with me, and we should probably have more figured out between us.
“Well, I know where they took Gal.”
I swat her on the shoulder. “Heavens and hells, Wen—lead with that.”
“I didn’t want to rev you up—you’re gonna say it’s impossible. I might not agree, but—”
I shake my head. “Wen, where is he?”
“The general’s setting up shop in the governor’s palace. Your dear prince is being kept in the court there.”
My hand clamps over my heart before I know what I’m 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.