CHAPTER 3

NICO

“Nico?”

My eyes are lead. I can’t imagine any circumstance where I’d be able to pry them open.

“Nico?”

Eyes still welded shut, I try lifting my neck.

No good. If my eyes are leaden, my head’s a pile of bricks.

I sense someone’s standing next to me. He sits and must have a lantern with him, because there’s the slightest illumination on the other side of my eyelids. The air is cool. Musty. I attempt lifting my arm.

No. Definitely not. A pained whine leaves my mouth as white-hot fire shoots from my shoulder blade straight through to my collarbone and back again.

“Shit—” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but the stab of pain jogs my memory, and images come piling back like a blizzard in the dead of night. I force my eyes open.

“Hey, man.” Dorian leans over me.

I want to punch him, but I can’t. I want to sit up, but that’s impossible. I search the room.

I’m in a cave.

Quickly noting my surroundings, I see a mural, one door, a curtain hanging from the ceiling, a wooden stump with a canteen on it, and … I allow my fingers to feel beneath me … I’m lying on some kind of soft rug.

I glare back at Dorian.

“How much do you remember?” he asks.

“Enough.” My stomach turns over and sinks simultaneously. I remember the Offering, Veda’s head against the altar, an arrow in my back, Veda’s eyes on mine, being dragged away. An explosion. Darkness. And waking up down here. “Is she…”

Dorian’s sight veers from me to the floor. “We don’t think so.”

“Don’t think so?”

He only shakes his head. “We’re doing everything we can. Everything.

“Do more.” I manage to lift my head, probably not enough for him to notice.

Dorian nods. And the way his eyes harden and his shoulders tense, it’s plain to see he means it.


THREE DAYS PASS.

I’ve started marking them on the wall with a hunk of charcoal. Three single lines stand sentry to where I sleep like sad fence posts. But it feels less like I’m counting how long I’ve been down here and more like how many sleeps I’ve endured since I last saw Veda breathing.

“She’s not who you think she is.” Dorian’s gnawing a sliver of dried, salted meat. It seems he’s been assigned to me. At least until I heal. He’s here between missions, during meals.

I’m finally able to sit up. Eat almost like normal. I take a bite of an apple, which is somehow both under ripened and bruised. I glare across the room at him. “I believe I know her pretty well.”

He quirks an eyebrow. Like he has some grand news that’s going to blow me right over.

We’ve been doing this thing where we both want control of the situation. Clearly, he’s in control on several levels, there’s no debating that. But I’m fully aware they must need something from me or I’d be dead by now.

And he’s fully aware I know this.

“Here.” He hands me a fresh cup of tea. “You’re gonna want this—it has a great way of both numbing and clarifying all at once.”

I take a tentative sip.

Because, all right, Veda has definitely surprised me more than once the past few weeks.

But what exactly is he referring to? Her connection to the Night? What happened that evening she showed up at my house? What is Dorian’s relationship with her?

I take another not-so-tentative sip.

“Veda’s more than just a member of the Night. She’s … special.”

“Okay…”

“Well, more than special. That mural—” He gestures toward the mural of the Sun and moon painted on the cave wall. “It’s not just art or something nice to look at. It’s a story. Veda’s story.”

I stop mid-drink, looking at him over the rim of the metal cup.

He pauses. Takes a minute to knead the heels of his hands into his eyes, rake his fingers through his hair.

I set the cup on the ground. Stare. Impatiently wait for him to get on with it.

“I’ve been trying to figure out the easiest way to explain it. It’s sort of a lot. I don’t want to overwhelm you. Especially—”

“My Sun, just say it!”

This sets him off like I hope it will. He stands. Begins pacing across the cramped space. “Veda’s the Sindaco’s daughter. The Sindaco is Raevald’s long-lost and believed-to-be-dead son.” I open my mouth to argue, tell him he’s got it all wrong, but he continues before I can get a word out. “She’s also this”—he marches toward the mural and points at the star that’s shoved between the moon and the Sun—“Lunalette.”

“Luna what?”

“Lunalette. It’s an ancient legend of ours. That one day a girl who is born of both the Moon and sun, one with a star marked upon her heart, will lead the Night to revolution against the Imperi.”

My jaw has gone slack, my brain spins in several different directions, and that pain in my back rears up on account of every muscle in my body tensing. “Let me get this straight…” I attempt sitting straighter but have to suck a deep breath in when my injury reminds me not to with an angry jolt. “Veda—my Veda—” Dorian’s eyes dart to mine. “Is the High Regent’s … granddaughter?” Dorian nods. My brain continues spinning. “That makes her…” I shake my head. “No…”

“Yes. The true heir of Bellona.”

I’m speechless. All this time … and I had no idea. “Did she know?”

“No. Well, she didn’t find out until I brought her down here. The truth slowly surfaced.” My stomach suddenly drops, which must show on my face, because he adds, “I’m sure she planned to tell you.”

I nod. “We haven’t seen much of each other since.” But then I remember. That last night we saw each other … What had she said that made me smile? She had two things, maybe a third, to tell me? But she didn’t get the chance. “My Sun.”

“Pretty much.”

“She should be heir. By lineage. By the laws of Bellona.” I’m nearly shouting.

“Well”—Dorian laughs under his breath—“I mean, it’s not like she’d be welcomed. We’re pretty sure Raevald had already put two and two together when he planned to have her executed. Not exactly a long-lost granddaughter’s welcome.”

“No … of course not. Had he known any earlier, the High Regent would have had her killed for simply sullying his name. The family line tainted.”

He crosses his arms. “You Dogio really take the whole ‘keep it in the family’ thing seriously, eh?”

“Not all of us,” I say through gritted teeth. Then something else occurs to me. “What about Veda’s mother?”

“One of us. A spy. Killed by the Imperi not too long after Veda’s birth.”

I shake my head. If Raevald knows that’s the case, that Veda’s mother was not only Basso but a member of the Night, it is a miracle Veda’s alive … assuming she still is. I force a deep breath, quickly move on. “And the other part?” I ask. “The … Lunalette?”

Dorian looks me up and down. “You think you can walk a few steps with my help?”

“My legs are fine. Walking isn’t the problem, it’s the getting-up part that makes me want to stab someone.”

“Good thing you don’t have any weapons then.”

An airy laugh that surprises us both sneaks out of my mouth. “Indeed.”

I agree to the help, and it takes us an excruciating amount of time to get me from sitting to standing, but I do it. No way I’d have been able to get there without his help. No idea how I’ll ever sit back down, but I’ll worry about that later.

My eyes sting from the pain—my back and chest are nothing but daggers. But I’m walking. Slowly. One foot in front of the other, each labored step a pile of needles traveling straight up my spine and to my injury. My muscles are weak, my senses dizzy from lack of movement and that damn tea. But I’m moving.

Dorian takes me out of the cave I’ve been in the past three days and helps me down a short distance through a tunnel. He pauses as we pass one particular cave entrance, the sign outside reads: SOLDIERS. But he keeps going, and I don’t ask.

“There are other prisoners down here, yes?” I ask, and he nods. “Where?”

“There aren’t many … Only a few Imperi soldiers we’ve captured during battles. They’re on the other side of the Lower. In caves that have doors and locks.”

“Why am I not there too?”

He eyes me like I should know the answer. And maybe I do. “You know you’re valuable. You’re a prisoner, but with … perks, I guess.”

Ah, yes. I know they need me. Or, at least, would like to have my support, the heir’s support. I’m about to press him further when he abruptly stops in front of a pile of candles. Above the candles is a photo. Her photo. Mementos. Letters. Countless blessings and prayers. All for “The Lunalette.” When I glance at Dorian, I catch more candles, more altars, a string of them lining the length of the tunnel … all for Veda, the Lunalette.

I want to drop to my knees, but the screaming in my back prevents it.

Instead, I focus in on one blessing in particular: a tiny glass fish. Then I spot another. And another.

And I know. Despite the jealousy, the envy burning its way between my ribs that Dorian was able to know Veda differently. In an entirely new light. Far beyond anything I’ve known. I shove all of that down. Now is not the time.

Because in this moment I know … he wants to find her, bring her back safe and sound as much as I do.

And that makes him my greatest ally down here.


FIVE HASH MARKS.

I’m feeling stronger, and for the first time I actually walk with Dorian to the cave where everyone eats.

The way there is fine—I’m more energized than I’ve felt since getting hurt, thrilled to be out of that tiny cave. It’s so exciting, I don’t even mind terribly that my hands are bound. I get it. I’m the enemy in their eyes. But I can’t worry over that because I’m so thrilled I can walk farther than the length of the tunnel outside my cave now.

My bliss is short lived.

Halfway through eating, my injury begins lightly throbbing. By the walk back, I’m having to use Dorian’s shoulder as a crutch. This tiny cave is a welcome sight.

The man waiting for me inside it is not.

The Sindaco stands quietly staring at the Sun and moon mural. When I enter, he turns and faces me.

“Ah, Nico! So glad to see you up and about.” He’s overly enthusiastic, clasping his hands in front of him.

“Thank you, sir. The walk there was much easier than the walk back.” Dorian helps me inside and unties my wrists. I make my way to the mat, sit down.

Striding to the stump that serves as a tabletop, the Sindaco pours a glass of water, hands it to me.

“Thank you,” I say.

He nods. “Dorian, you can carry on with your duties; I’ll keep Nico company for a few minutes and then let him rest.”

“Yes, sir.” Dorian gives his leader a lingering stare as he leaves but walks out without a word.

“Nico,” the Sindaco starts, moving the pitcher to the floor and taking a seat on the stump. “I need to apologize.”

“For what? You saved my life.”

“My soldiers did, yes. The nurse performed expert surgery.” His stare is piercing and doesn’t waver when he scuffs his short, graying hair with his hands. “I’m so very thrilled you’re alive and well. But that’s not what I’m referring to.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I mean to say, I need to apologize for…” He eyes the rope that formerly wrapped my wrists. “For that. If there was some other way, I’d see to it. For now, though, I have to show my people I’m not allowing you to come down here and take over or do as you please. While both Dorian and I and several others know you’re an ally, many refuse to see the heir of Bellona, future head of the Imperi—our enemy—as such.”

“I understand. I mean”—I give him a pointed look—“I don’t like being tied up, but I know why you feel the need to keep up such a charade.” I can’t help dig into the man a little. He’s not anyone I trust at the moment. “Besides,” I go on, my frustration getting the best of me, “Dorian’s not too much of a brute about it.” I shrug, but by the seriousness of his expression, it’s clear my sarcasm is lost on him.

“I’m happy to hear that—that you understand. Although I’ll be sure to commend Dorian on not being too harsh.” I can’t help but laugh under my breath, because there are times he lets me tie them myself and there are times he can be a total ass about it. “I also need to apologize for not coming sooner. First, to check on you, to introduce myself properly. But also to ask something of you.” I lift my eyebrows at this information. “As if you haven’t given enough, I know.” He holds his hands up. “Just try to hear me out?”

“Of course.”

“After what happened in the Coliseum … Veda nearly being executed, Raevald clearly testing you and then seeing with his own eyes how close you two still are … it’s unlikely he’ll be asking you back as heir.”

I breathe a long sigh, notice my shoulders have slumped forward. I mean, I never really wanted the job, but something about knowing I’ve let so many people down throws my stomach into a steaming, swirling mess. “You’re probably right.”

“Dorian explained my past to you, yes?” I nod. “Good. Well, my father, the High Regent, doesn’t take disloyalty lightly. Which brings me to my request.” I stare, not blinking. I cannot begin to fathom what he could possibly ask of me that would require him to personally come to my cave while I’m still injured. “If you can’t be heir of Bellona, please consider joining the Night. In a position of power, of course.”

“What?”

“Like I said, I know Raevald. He is most definitely cold and brutal, evil in his own right, but he also happens to be an outstanding judge of character. Both good and bad, depending on what he’s looking for. He can pick the great ones, and he’s been known to choose the greatly horrible ones. But all of his greatest leaders have three things in common: loyalty, charisma, and a commanding presence. We need leaders here in the Night. Especially in this time of war. Please, Nico, will you join us?”

“I … What about Veda? Isn’t she this Lunalette? Your legend?”

“Yes. Veda holds her own place. She is the muse of the Night. Our inspiration for a better world. But you—you could be our voice. Our battle cry.”

“And Dorian?” Who is already his right-hand man.

“Dorian’s a soldier.” He clasps his hands in front of his waist and nods. “One of my best. And an expert at mission planning and rallying troop morale. I need him on the battlefield and behind the scenes. Besides…” He pulls his eyebrows down, lowers his tone. “While he’s brilliant, Dorian is far too hotheaded and impulsive to lead in the way I’m seeking.”

Join the Night … Veda had asked me to join once. When I said no she nearly drugged me. And then Dorian nearly drugged me. I instantly look to the Sindaco’s hands, his pockets. Is there a syringe hiding beneath the shadows?

Though, I suppose, I’m here now, no point in forcing me to get anywhere.

I don’t know what to say.

It would be the easy thing to join. I could go on missions and fight for Veda in the best way possible. Gain revenge on those who nearly killed her.

But my parents.

My duty.

“Please, Nico. We need you.” And the way the Sindaco pleads, it’s almost like he needs me to agree right here and now. Like he needs this too much. I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else pushing this sudden urgency.

“Why do you need to know right now?” I ask.

This seems to take him aback. “I … No. No rush. I mean, I’ll leave the agreement here for you to mull over.”

“Agreement?”

“Merely a formality. A treaty of sorts.”

“Treaty?”

I stand, hold out my hand. Reluctantly, he gives me the thick paper. Staring down at the words, hastily written out and then sealed with an official-looking stamp, it is indeed a treaty. Between the Night and the heir of Bellona.

“I thought you said I wasn’t heir of Bellona anymore.”

“Nico … it’s just for show. If the people of the Night and the people of Bellona both see you—heir of Bellona as far as they’re concerned—have officially taken the side of the Night, it would quite literally turn the tide of the war.”

“Yes, I understand that, but it’s deceptive. I refuse to deceive anyone, Night or Bellonian.”

“I see.” The disappointment on his face shows in his eyes, but the way his jaw tenses would suggest something more. Anger. “I apologize; this maybe wasn’t such a great idea after all.”

“Probably not.” This really angers him because he turns on his heels and leaves without another word.

I realize, reading over the treaty again, that the apple might not fall too far from the tree. Despite the fact that the Sindaco defected his position as heir to Bellona, for better or worse, it’s clear that he was influenced by the High Regent.

The Sindaco is most certainly his father’s son.

It just so happens that they’re enemies.


TWELVE HASH MARKS.

I go to sleep staring at them, wondering what went wrong, how I got here. How it’s possible so much time’s swallowed me up. And I greet the next day by adding another.

Like cruel scars, the charcoal marks stain the wall. A constant reminder of the early days I spent down here in and out of consciousness. Wounded and alone, I laid useless and bleeding in a makeshift hospital bed. After that, well, it’s not been any better. Not much more productive other than the grand, lined art adorning these walls the Sindaco and Dorian keep reminding me isn’t prison, not really.

Yet when I look around this cave all I see is confinement and time lost. Days spent not knowing whether Veda’s alive or dead. Not being able to do a damn thing about it.

Twelve days and eleven nights in limbo.

I’m not in a cell—they keep reminding me of that—but I’m not any less confined than if I were in the cold, dank prison below the Coliseum. Still underground. Always under someone’s watchful eye. Dirty. Tired. And the food’s shit.

But who am I to complain?

My eyes find the ceiling where dimming lamplight flickers, licking the rock, giving it the look of being on fire. Thirteen days ago I’d have said the thought was preposterous. Completely outlandish.

Twelve days later, I’ve no doubt fires rage on the other side of that stone ceiling of mine.

War. Death. Chaos.

It’s hell up there too.


I AWAKEN AS I have the past few days: to a small offering of fresh blueberry muffins and Bronwyn. It startled me the first day, but I’ve gotten used to her early morning visits and moreover, the muffins keep getting better and better.

She claims if Veda were here, she would have asked Bronwyn to look after me.

Of course, I can’t begin to argue with that.

“I think I’ve got it this time,” she says, smile bright as she shoves the basket toward me.

“I think you had it three batches ago.” I take one out from under the linen. It’s still warm. As I bite into it, the blueberries bursting with perfect sweet-bitter pops, she stares expectantly. “All right … You win. This batch is far superior.”

“Yes!”

I glance across the muffin at her. “Why are you doing this anyway?” Not only do they function in a far more advanced way down here than I ever imagined, they’ve discovered ways to grow food without the Sun. Raevald would call it blasphemy. I’m not sure what to call it, short of miraculous.

“Um … Why am I being nice to you or working so hard on this muffin recipe?”

“Well, I meant the muffins, but now that you mention it…”

She gives a light laugh. “Any friend of Veda’s is a friend of mine.” She tips the basket forward so I can take another. I do. “And I love to bake and Veda loves my treats, so I want to have the perfect blueberry muffin ready for her when she returns.” She gives an even bigger smile.

“Fair enough, but—”

“Nico—” Dorian intrudes as he always does, then helps himself to a couple of muffins.

“Hey!” Bronwyn snatches one back. “One per person.” But she sends a scandalous smile my way before she leaves because she always gives me two.

I sit up more fully, fish the nub of charcoal from my pocket, draw another hash mark—thirteen days.

I look across the cave at him. “Is that how you woo all of the ladies?”

“She’s not a lady, she’s my sister.” He shrugs. “You coming? The chickens finally laid eggs.” He waggles his eyebrows, and, as if in answer, my stomach growls.

I’ve really given it my best effort to hate the guy. Sometimes I succeed. But most of the time, he’s not all that bad.

“Yeah,” I say, standing up but jerking to a halt midway. My far-from-healed wound screams from my back and clear through my ribs that I best lie back down. Ignoring it, I stand tall, sucking a deep breath in while scrubbing my face and hair with the palms of my hands.

Everyone down here has been waiting for the chickens to lay eggs, the delay having something to do with acclimating to the environment underground, the lack of sunlight.

I throw on my tunic and lace up my boots, walk over to the door where Dorian stands like a tall, lanky blockade.

“You know the drill,” he says, staring back at me, a hint of humor in his voice. As if I think today would be any different than yesterday.

Still, I shake my head, sigh loudly. “It’s not like I can go anywhere. I don’t know my way … I’m outnumbered … Each step I take sends an angry jolt up my spine…”

“All true.”

“But?”

“But…”

“Sindaco’s orders,” I say, unimpressed.

Dorian and I, we’ve got this routine down. We’ve spent a lot of time together, begun finishing each other’s sentences.

He lifts an eyebrow. “It’s less for you and more for them.” Dorian motions toward the door to a crowd of invisible Night members. The ones who still might fear me and my cruel Dogio-Imperi ways.

I stiffen my jaw. Nod once. I suppose I can’t really blame them.

Wrists pressed together, I hold my hands out so Dorian can cuff them with rope. It’s more for show than anything, he reminds me. I’m not exactly a welcome figure down here, despite how the Sindaco—even without my signature on his treaty—has been trying to spin that I’m now on the Night’s side. Despite that, the greater whole of the Night is weary of my presence, concerned I’m a spy for the Imperi.

Little do they know, never again will I call myself Imperi. Not after Veda …

Never.

But honestly, I’m not loving the Sindaco either. Where I’m sitting, no one’s winning right now. There are no sides.

Well, that’s not exactly true. I’m on Veda’s side. Full stop.

Though, if my being tied up makes them feel safer, so be it. If I run, I won’t get far without use of my hands. There’s that, I guess.

Hands bound, I follow Dorian through the zigzagging caves. There are small groups of Night members behind us, some in front, most everyone headed to the much-anticipated egg breakfast. Separate conversations echo against the walls, blend and bleed into others. But I don’t listen or try to make out the talk from the regular dripping of damp and scampering of mud beetles. I’m focusing ahead to where several times a day I get to see Veda’s image.

It’s a copy of the photo I’ve seen a hundred times in her house. Her and Poppy. It’s been a couple of years since it was taken, but she looks the same.

Actually, she does and she doesn’t. It’s Veda, hair bright as the Sun rising on the horizon, splash of freckles covering the bridge of her nose, hand clutched around a fishing pole. Poppy’s been cut out save his right hand resting on her shoulder. She’d kick the whole thing over if she knew they’d cut him out. I smile to myself. That fire of hers is definitely there—still there—but knowing now what I know, looking back on the last couple of times I saw her, the Veda I grew up with is long gone. She’s seen too much.

Sun knows all she’s seen by now.

I skid to a stop before the altar. Dorian walks several paces before realizing I’m not behind him.

He swears. “Again?”

“Just … give me a minute.” It’s the kind of picture where the person in it somehow stares right into your soul. Even though I pass it by a few times a day, the first glimpse each morning catches me. Forces me to take pause.

He swears a second time, making his way back to me. And despite his annoyance, he stops too, stares at the photo just as I am. There’s an awkward silence when we realize we’re both missing her, pining and yearning to know where she is, if she’s all right, dead or alive … But before anything is mentioned or the moment stretches out too long, we move on.

More and more altars materialize each morning, and the existing memorials gather more blessings. It’s like a children’s story … As if the altars are visited overnight by fairies who leave magical treasures for the Lunalette. My Veda … the one who could punch me in the arm, make my eyes water with pain one minute and have my heart racing with one swift touch of her hand the next. Not only is she daughter of the Sindaco, blood-heir to Bellona, she’s this larger-than-life presence down here. A goddess to rival the Sun and moon both.

I leave Veda’s photo, surrounded in candles, enshrined with trinkets and various underground gems. I won’t linger. It’s only a matter of time until we pass another.

And we do. Then another. Until we reach the large cavern where everyone eats.

I assume our usual spot on a bench against the wall, and, without a word, Dorian continues on to get our food.

The place is more crowded than usual. The whole of the Night is here for the egg feast. Which wouldn’t be so horrible except their numbers are steadily growing. A handful of new Basso recruits lines the walls. They’ve been coming down in trickles, some to join the fight, others looking for refuge for fear of the Imperi.

I don’t know where they’re coming from, but apparently word of mouth that the Night aren’t the flesh-eating monsters we all thought is slowly spreading. Not nearly as fast as the Sindaco and Dorian would like, but every so often a scout group of Night soldiers will check for refugees, bring any waiting down to the Lower. They’ve been gathering and hiding under the shadow of the Crag—a small section of land the Night now claims. Their first piece of Bellonian soil ever.

Once the Basso are vetted, they can join or support the Night. From what I’ve seen, no one’s been turned away.

As far as I know, we’ve yet to get any Dogio or Imperi deserters, and I can’t imagine it’ll be happening anytime soon.

I lean back against the wall, then startle when Dorian drops a bowl of food in my lap. A clump of fried eggs and slice of crumbly bread. He’s already scarfing his down, his enjoyment palpable. With more mouths to feed, food’s on ration. The satisfaction of semi-full bellies fills the large cave.

It’s strange, considering the state of things above, to be surrounded by so much excitement. Over eggs.

Small victories, I suppose.

I glance back down the line of new Basso.

A few stare right back, probably wondering what the hell I’m doing down here, eating the Night’s eggs, my hands tied with rope. Their once-heir.

It’s futile, but I search among them for familiar faces, strain to see one face in particular.

But I know I won’t find her here.

Right as I’m tumbling down a painful slew of memories I hear a word. An unfamiliar term. Settlings. Then another Night member repeats the word. Settlings. Soon, I hear it popping up in several conversations.

And something about the word … It both piques my interest and sets my nerves on edge.

I follow one of the loudest voices to find it’s a group of Night members answering questions from a couple of new recruits. I strain my ears, try to make out what they’re saying while not being obvious to Dorian.

He glances toward me.

And I hear: “… First ceremony’s tonight. One of the Imperi soldiers captured will pay.”

Dorian and I make direct eye contact.


“PAY FOR WHAT?” I ask as we swiftly walk back to the cave that serves as my prison cell. After talk of the Settlings grew even more, Dorian grabbed me by the wrists, said something about being late for his briefing, and practically sprinted out of the cavern. “Dorian?”

He doesn’t look at me. “I was going to tell you after the briefing. After I got more information.” He’s trying to make it sound like it’s maybe not as big a deal as it sounds.

“I want to go with you.”

“Out of the question.”

“I’ll stand in the back. Be completely quiet. No one will even know I’m there.”

“Nope. I’m not risking my neck so you can eavesdrop.” He shakes his head. “Besides, I can think of ten Night members off the top of my head who’d love to punch your teeth in, and if you get hurt on my watch, it’s my neck yet again.”

I shake my head and huff. “My Sun, Dorian, then at least give me something to go on here. What do you know? What did he mean by an Imperi soldier ‘is going to pay’? Pay for what? How?”

I don’t think it’s intentional, but when he abruptly stops we’re standing right in front of one of the Lunalette memorials. He throws his hands up like he’s asking me to calm down. Which I don’t.

“Okay,” he says. “All I know is from looking over the Sindaco’s notes this morning in preparation for the briefing. It would seem everyone got the same notes. They’re usually confidential and not discussed before the meeting, but apparently that was too hard for some people.”

I lean against the nearest cave wall, exhaustion suddenly taking over. “They seem excited about it for some reason.”

His eyes dart to mine. “It’s the Sindaco’s version of the Offering,” he spits out, like he doesn’t know how else to say it.

“What?” I heard him, but … “You’re not serious?”

He nods. “You cannot repeat this.”

“Like I have anyone to repeat it to.”

Dorian raises an eyebrow like, true. “The Settlings will be a series of ceremonies: a sort of vengeance for the Offerings. A settling of terms, of unjust crimes committed against Basso and Night members. In short, one by one, the Imperi soldiers we’ve captured will be executed.” He shakes his head, but I can’t quite figure out how he feels about it. “That’s all I know.”

We begin walking again, and I’m working this new information over in my head when I realize I’m grinding my teeth and Dorian is side-eyeing me. “What?” I ask.

“I don’t agree with it,” he says. “Not completely.”

“Not … completely?”

“The Offerings were wrong. Tainted to meet Raevald’s and the Imperi’s agenda. But…” He stares ahead but narrows his eyes. “This isn’t the way to go about rectifying those wrongs.”

“Can you talk him out of it?”

Dorian releases a long, drawn-out sigh. “I don’t know.”

And I believe him, decide to stop grilling him until after the briefing when he has more information.

I change the subject. “How are things going up there?”

I’m not sure he realizes it, but he speeds up a few steps ahead of me. Not looking back, he says, “It’s hell. That’s how it’s going up there.”

Well, that I already knew.

He goes on, “If it’s not death you see, it’s fire or hunger, fences or soldiers.” Dorian turns to look at me, suddenly appearing years beyond his age—the toll of two weeks of war already showing in his eyes. “And she’s up there somewhere … Stuck in the middle of it all…” Shaking his head in disgust or hopelessness or I don’t know what, he turns back around and continues walking. I follow. “But I think we might have gotten a lead.”

I stop. “You’re just now telling me this?”

“It might not be anything.”

“Or it could be everything.”

“I refuse to get my hopes up.” He motions to the cave entrance ahead. “Come on.” I don’t move. “If you want to find anything more out, I have to go to the briefing. And before I can go to the briefing I have to make sure you’re back in the cave.” He flashes a facetiously toothy grin.

My hand itches to smack that infuriating grin off his face.

But I enter the cave. What else am I going to do? If the information they found brings us even one inch closer to Veda, it’ll be worth the pacing I do as I wait.

Dorian unties my hands and heads out, but not before we share a mutual look of something between trepidation and hope over the possible information he’s going to gain. About the Settlings. About Veda.

We don’t discuss Veda. Not in detail. We rarely speak her name, yet somehow she comes up daily.

And of course, I know it’s chaos up there—the High Regent wouldn’t have it any other way—but stuck down here, among the murals and altars, caves and tunnels, nothing to tell day from night from the end of the world, it could be heaven or hell up on Bellona and I wouldn’t know the difference.