I’m packed and dressed. I’ve gone over the list at least ten times. I’m ready, prepared for my first mission.
Logistically, anyway.
My atlatl is ready to go, but I’m not so ready to actually use it should I have to. Setting it to the side, being careful not to let it fall over, I sit on my mat.
I lean forward, making sure the laces on my boots are secure, that the ties are tightly tucked into the tops. When I glance up to stand, my own name stares back at me. It’s in Poppy’s script, jotted across an envelope. His final farewell. I added the letter to my cave altar a couple of nights ago.
My first reaction is to leave it be. I shouldn’t get all teary-eyed right before Dorian meets me for our mission.
But … I stare back at the letter. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s exactly what I need right now.
Sliding down the wall, I take a seat on the mat and pull my knees up against my chest. I open the worn paper, read it for a second time.
I take in the words as Poppy’s voice plays inside my head, reminding me of who I am, what I need to do, what I’m capable of.
I can’t help but see him that day of the Offering, those gray eyes bursting with all the love and hope in the world and even moments before he’d die.
Always so strong, so brave.
If he were here right now, he’d tell me to be the same. To muster the strength and courage I need. The bravery he knows is deep inside of me. That I wanted this. I demanded to go on a mission.
And he’d be right. My thoughts are clipped off by a knock at my door.
I fold the letter up, placing it in my inner pocket, next to my heart.
Then I open the door.
Dorian. Right on time. We’re to meet with the Sindaco for his special instructions before we set out. “Ready, V?” He shoots a wide grin my way.
I breathe in, holding it for a few seconds, then let it out. His grin quickly falters. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Really. Just thinking.”
He moves closer.
The memory, and more, the image, of him training a few days ago flashes behind my eyes, and my stomach flits right when I should be focusing on the mission ahead, meeting with the Sindaco. Stupid stomach. Stupid butterflies.
“Thinking about the mission?”
I nod, half lying.
“Veda.” My stomach does that thing again. “You’re ready for this. You’ve been training nonstop. Studying. Honestly, you probably know more than I do at this point.” He lifts an eyebrow.
I laugh, play along. “Oh, I definitely do.”
Despite the joke, he must still sense my doubt because he asks, “Give and Take?”
“Huh?” I heard him, but, what? Now?
“Come on … It’ll be fun.”
“Fine. You know I’m weak to a game of Give and Take.”
“Exactly.” He gives a crooked smile.
BY THE TIME we’re nearly there, Dorian’s told me about his first mission—a huge failure and one that somehow left him bootless. “That’s a story for another time,” he finishes, slightly embarrassed, more like he’s trying to leave me with a cliffhanger I’m sure to want to come back to.
“—What about your first time fishing?”
“—Did you—”
Dorian gets his question out first, so I’m forced to answer and he’s officially winning, which I hate. Which he knows, playful grin and all.
“I was three the first time I actually did it on my own: baited my line, held my pole, caught a fish, and reeled it in. Poppy unhooked it and cleaned it, but he showed me how in painful detail. It wasn’t more than a minnow, but I was proud and Poppy…” I swallow back a painful knot of emotion. “Poppy was exaggeratedly proud. He even cooked it.”
“How did that work?”
“Not well.”
We both laugh.
“And look at you now,” Dorian breaks in. “You can probably catch a beast with your eyes closed.”
“I have.”
He raises his brow, not so much surprised as impressed.
And for a moment, a split second, we catch each other’s eyes, the laughter falters, and what’s left is an invisible energy between us. Something tethering him to me and me to him that I can’t quite place because it’s not exactly anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s as if here, in this moment, in this cave, Sun knows how far beneath the earth, everything’s all right. Safe.
Instantly, I think of Nico. Because I have felt this way around him. Right and safe in his presence until I didn’t. Until another Dogio walked past, or an Imperi soldier’s eyes found mine. Then, like lightning, the pendulum would shift to the other direction: fear, shame, confusion.
And I suppose that’s the difference. The newness of this sort of familiar emotion.
He stops walking, glances ahead. “We’re here.” And he sounds almost as surprised as I feel.
“Oh. Right.” The door to the map room practically appears before us.
“The Sindaco requested to see you privately, but only if you’re comfortable with that. Otherwise I can come along. I was briefed earlier.”
“It’s fine. I can see him on my own.”
“Good. Well”—he’s already walking away—“I’m going to see if anyone else needs help preparing, but I’ll meet you at the den. The Sindaco can tell you how to get there. It’s not far.”
“I’ll find it.”
He nods.
I knock on the door.
“Come in,” the Sindaco calls from the other side.
Dorian turns and leaves, and I’m left with a strange feeling. Like I missed something that pushed him into officer mode. As if a switch went off in the few seconds between that moment of eye contact and now. Did something happen I’m unware of? Is he feeling as confused with our … whatever it is we are … as I am?
I want to ask him, stop him from leaving and have him come with me, but the Sindaco opens the door and invites me inside just as Dorian rounds the corner.
I follow the Sindaco into the cave, that large map painted across the wall lit up by several lamps.
We sit on mats before the map of Bellona. When I glance toward the wall, I notice there are new markings on the mural, red Xs at various entrances and exits. Places, I assume, that will either be used or closed off when the Night attacks. The Sindaco follows my eyes.
“Are the markings to show closed-off areas?” I ask.
“Some, yes. Others”—he points to a green circle—“are good ways out, nice and hidden, less foot traffic on the other side.” He stares from one spot to another. “It’s just a bit of brainstorming I’m doing, plans for the attack. We’ve got to be more organized than usual. Precise. I’m having to pull on some of my much earlier training.”
“Training?”
He nods. “Remember, the current High Regent is my father.” Oh, I remember. “I grew up in the Imperi palace. Was groomed from birth to rule that island and in the way my father saw fit. Precisely. Relentlessly.” He sighs. “My mother died soon after I was born. So it was just me and my father, whom I rarely saw. I barely know him, but what I do know is cruelty. Harshness. Someone who strives for perfection and advancing his own interests.” He glances toward the map. “Thank the Sun for your mother. She saved me.”
“How so?” Now this I’m interested in. I have seventeen years’ worth of my mother’s past, her personality, her history to catch up on.
He meets my eyes. “You…” He clears his throat. “You look just like her. It’s remarkable.” I feel like I should smile but chew the inside of my cheek instead, unsure of what to say. “Your mother worked in the palace. She gardened. She was actually the one who started the main garden down here. Each morning she’d put out fresh flower arrangements throughout the house. I’d never known anyone to find such joy in something so seemingly mundane. Cutting flowers and placing them in vases? I couldn’t fathom how she always wore a smile. And, my Sun, what a smile it was! I came to look forward to it every morning. Eventually I found the courage to introduce myself. Then strike up a conversation. Then I noticed she was always placing the vase in the hallway outside my room at the same time. She wanted to see me as well.
“Before too long we were meeting in the garden, spending hours under the Sun, surrounded by nature, just talking. We were in love.” He smiles so warmly it’s infectious, and I surprise myself, probably him as well, by mirroring it. My mother and the Sindaco, young and in love … It’s hard to imagine when the only scraps I’ve ever had to go on are a photo and a name. “We knew because I was Dogio, not to mention the heir, and she was Basso, we had no future. And because I didn’t want to rule, especially how I’d be forced to—in my father’s footsteps—we left. And we joined the Night. When my father discovered I’d left he told everyone I was taken by the Night. Brutally killed. His hate for the Night, revenge over my betrayal began years ago. Luckily, he never made it a point to know the people he employed, so your mother’s identity, in turn yours and Poppy’s, was safe.”
“How did you both end up joining the Night?”
“Amalie…” He says her name as a sigh. “Your mother was a member. She was actually a spy, stationed in the royal palace, no less. And despite her loyalty, her commitment to the cause, she couldn’t fight her heart just as I couldn’t deny mine. When we decided to leave together, she resigned from her post and another gardener was hired.”
“Wow.” I release a long breath. “So my mother was a spy?” I glance over his shoulder at the single atlatl spear he has on display behind his desk. The one original piece of it he kept for himself.
“Not just a spy.” He looks back at the spear too, then returns his focus to me, giving a knowing look. “She was our best spy.”
“And Raevald knows you’re here. He knows you’re in charge?”
“He suspects I’m still here, that I’m still alive. He doesn’t know I’m in charge, but he might assume that as well. His hate for me, for what I did, runs deep. It wasn’t until I left that the stories of the Night began to surface. That we’re evil monsters who prey on children and take people from their beds at night? That was all him. The fact Basso are disappearing in droves and it’s being blamed on the Night? All him. He can’t stand that I abandoned everything he provided me with for the Night. I mean, he was always power hungry. Always felt that Dogio, because of their station and influence, should be in full control of Bellona. Unfortunately, my betrayal gave him an excuse to do something about it.” The Sindaco pauses. “I’m sorry … You asked a simple question and I dumped a whole history on you.”
“No. I want to know all of it. Everything.”
He laughs. “You’ve gotten the most crucial parts at least. But as of now, we have more pressing matters.”
“Right.” My mission. The one I demanded he give me. I’d nearly forgotten.
“The main reason I asked you here tonight, Veda, has to do with your friend Nico.”
My heart skips a beat. “Okay…”
“We’ve had our eye on him for some time. From what I hear, he sounds a lot like me at that age. Confused. Conflicted between his heart and duty. Fiercely stubborn. But if we could get him on our side … if he joined the Night, I believe he could prove invaluable in defeating the Imperi. His family is the second most powerful on the island. And now that he’s been named heir-to-be, with Nico on our side I’ve no doubt countless Dogio would follow.”
My first thought is, No. I will not drag Nico into this.
But then I remember he’s already in it; he just chose the wrong side.
“I’d do anything to have Nico here instead of up there. But I can’t imagine any circumstance where he’d willingly join the Night.”
He leans forward. “You’re right. But what if we don’t give him a choice?” I narrow my eyes as he lifts a small glass vial, a covered needle on one end, from his jacket pocket. “This is a highly concentrated amount of moonroot.”
My eyes go wide … Does he expect me to drug Nico?
“It’s most often used to make a relaxing tea.” The tea I drank on my first night here. “But moonroot in its purest essence—this tincture—will render someone immobile and without their faculties. In short, it’ll knock them out, cause temporary paralysis.”
“You want me to give that to Nico?”
“Only to get him down here, yes. Then I’m certain we can convince him to stay. To join.”
“I can’t.” I stand, ready to walk right out of there. “I won’t.” The mere thought turns my stomach, pushes a bit of bile up my throat.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but, Veda, please, just hear me out.” He stands too. His eyes are gentle, his voice soft, soothing. “You’re the only one who could ever get close enough to him. The only one he’d trust. He won’t hesitate meeting with you alone. All you need to do is give him a hug and a tiny stick. It won’t hurt him one bit, but the results will change everything. I believe he’s the key to us winning this revolution. We need you—our Lunalette—but we also need him.”
“I don’t know…”
He continues. “Not only will having Nico on our side convince other Dogio of the truth, but if enough Dogio doubt the Imperi, speak out against them, it will terrify my father. Raevald can’t stand the thought of his people turning against him. His power being threatened. While I believe in the Night, I’ll do anything to help us win this, avoid mass bloodshed. And shaking up my father will only aid in that. Unfortunately, time is running out.” He pauses. “It won’t be easy, but I’m giving you this mission because I know you can do it. I won’t force you though. It can only happen if you agree and if you’re willing.”
Could I possibly do this? Drug Nico? For the greater good? The Sindaco said it won’t hurt him. And, just as I did, I know he’ll fall in love with the Night. It might take a bit of time, but he’ll see how wrong the Imperi is, how they’ve been lying to everyone. Lying and deceiving at every turn. My heart skips a beat. “I’ll do it,” I hear myself say. I have to try.
“Wonderful.”
“But only on one condition…”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Anything.”
“I am going to try to convince him first. Sticking him with that needle will be the absolute last resort.”
He sets his mouth in a grim line, but nods once.
“Though…” I hesitate before I ask the question that’s been brewing in the back of my mind. “What’s to keep the Imperi from spreading a rumor that Nico was taken by us? That we’re holding him hostage or something?”
He begins pacing. “You’ll set up evidence to make it look like he’s chosen to abandon his post.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“Once you drug him or if you’re able to convince him, his uniform jacket and sash, along with his weapons, are to be removed. The clothing should be folded perfectly, sword placed over the sash in military fashion, and left someplace only he would go, but someplace you have access to. A show he’s deserted his post.” Our spot by the pond in his backyard immediately comes to mind. “Leave it so there’s nothing left open to interpretation. That he’s switched sides.” He must sense my unease because he leans forward, widens his eyes. “Would it be so unbelievable to his parents?”
“No.” He’s right. They know how much he cares for me.
“Good. I trust you and Dorian to finalize the details. He’s not to be seen, but will be there for backup should you need it.”
I nod. I don’t allow myself to think of any circumstances where I’d need backup, but having Dorian with me definitely brings peace. Until it doesn’t. It’s suddenly quite glaring that Nico, Dorian, and I are going to all be in the same small space at the same time.
So many emotions and feelings are changing and weaving in and out between us that I’m worried I might need backup for my backup.
But this isn’t about that. It’s not my thing. It’s our thing. All of us. Basso and Night. Plus, Dorian’s professional (I think). And Nico’s quite the gentleman (usually).
I check my hourglass. “I’m supposed to be at the den in ten minutes.”
My mind spins and my palms instantly go clammy. Because I’ve suddenly forgotten everything. Every rule and warning and protocol. Forget using the atlatl. I feel like I could barely say the word at the moment.
The Sindaco checks his own hourglass. “I’ve kept you too long. You best be going. Here.” He hands me a small handwritten map and the vial. “It’s a short walk.”
“Okay.” Carefully, I slip the vial into my inside pocket, turn, and head for the door.
“Veda, wait.” I stop and look back. He glances toward the floor as if searching for the right words, then gazes back up at me. “I know it probably doesn’t mean much—we’re practically strangers. But…” He pauses to swallow. “Please be careful.”
“I will be.” I turn to leave, but stop and glance back once more. “Thanks.”
He nods. “The Moon and the Sun be with you.”
I give a motionless wave, then leave.
OVERWHELMED WITH INFORMATION and instructions, my nerves already on edge, I walk down a long, tall, rocky tunnel, my lantern swinging as each step I take echoes from one end to the other.
Once out of the passageway, I’m hit with nothingness. Stale, dank underground air surrounds me as if this den isn’t used often.
The necklace Nico gave me several moons ago hangs around my neck for good luck while the vial the Sindaco handed over is safely tucked in my pocket. To have those items floating among all the ordinary things in my bag—extra socks, water, dried fruit—seems odd. Like they don’t belong. Like they should be in some special compartment. Protected.
“You’re late.” The words come from behind me. I turn on my heels to see Dorian striding toward me.
“Actually, it would appear you’re late. I’m walking in front of you.”
“I went looking around. Assumed you’d gotten lost.”
“Really?”
He smiles. “No. I’m late.”
I laugh, but the moment turns serious when he asks me to check my weapon, be sure everything’s secured. “You’re on board with the Sindaco’s plan?” he asks.
“Yes.” Maybe. Hopefully.
“One hundred percent?”
“One hundred percent.” Eighty. Tops. But I’m not about to admit it. Mostly for myself. I can’t handle anything negative right now. Even if it’s true. Especially if it’s true.
“Well, all right.” He checks his blade on his belt, eyes mine as well. “We’ll be coming up near the canal, but we’re traveling to my uncle’s shop. It’s the closest den that isn’t still closed from flooding.” Dorian checks his hourglass. “Ready?”
I nod, my mouth suddenly dry as sand.
“You can do this. We will do this.”
I nod again, but my palms are sweating and my heart’s racing double time.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Here.” Dorian hands me a set of keys. “These are for the doors that lead out of the dens. In case we get separated, now you’ve got a set. Guard them with your life.”
“I will.” I breathe in a shaky breath.
We walk in the darkness a little farther, splashing through a bit of standing water along the way. I open the next two doors with my keys and lock them back as we go. Eventually, we hit a dead end. Dorian lifts his lamp to reveal a rope, which he pulls. A metal flap opens and he yanks a creaky ladder down, metal on metal screeching.
“It’s a lengthy climb.”
“Got it.”
He starts up and I follow close behind. We climb what feels like forever, as if we’ll never reach the top.
It’s then Dorian stops. I can hear him breathing sharply. Something feels off. “You all right up there?” I call.
“Yeah. Just…” He takes in a short breath. “I’m remembering why I make it a point to avoid this particular den.” Another shallow breath. “Heights aren’t my favorite.”
Gripping the ladder with one hand, I detach my lantern from my belt and hold it out to the side so I can get a glimpse of Dorian. He’s white-knuckling the rung in front of him, opening and closing his eyes, sweat beading his brow.
“Hey, Dorian?”
“Yeah?”
“Give or Take?”
“Take. Definitely Take.” I figured as much. “How’d you get your scar?” he asks.
“When I was one I wandered into our backyard, fell in the canal, and was attacked by a pantera fish. The result was a gnarly bite Poppy sewed up on his own and disinfected with gin.”
At gin, Dorian sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. Thank the Sun I don’t remember it, but he claimed I drove the wolves out of the forest and into the ocean with how loudly I wailed. Thanks to his excellent stitching skills, how the wound happened to heal, it ended up most closely resembling a five-pointed star.”
“That’s how you got it?” His voice is lighter. Less strained.
“Wild, eh?” I see him nod before I reattach my lamp to my belt because I really need two hands fully committed right now. “I was terrified of water after that. Poppy said I wouldn’t even bathe. That I stunk like a fish for a good year at least. I can remember refusing to go out in the rain, and forget about splashing in puddles. I was convinced a fanged pantera fish was waiting to pounce in any and all water.”
He starts moving. “Well, you’re obviously not afraid of water or pantera fish anymore.”
“Oh, I’m still terrified of the ugly things. But I’m much bigger than they are, and now I know how to catch them.”
Dorian keeps a steady pace, and I decide not to distract him by asking a Take question, even though he owes me one. Instead, we climb the rest of the way in silence.
Finally, the ladder ends. We crawl up onto a ledge of rock. The light from our lantern illuminates the space just enough for us to tell between solid ground and a horrible plunge over the cliff. Taking Dorian’s hand, pushing my exhausted legs a little farther, once up and over the rock I grip the ground around me with my hands. Legs on fire, when I know for certain it’s safe I fall to my knees, grateful to be horizontal again. Dorian falls onto the ground next to me.
“Thanks,” he whispers.
“Anytime.”
We lie still a few more seconds and then crawl down a short dirt-and-rock tunnel. Counting our paces, we stop at thirty where the den door should be right above us.
“A couple things before we head up,” Dorian starts. “We’ve marked a route that shouldn’t take us past too many Imperi soldiers, but it’s not a guarantee. If we do get seen, we run to the nearest den, not to my uncle’s. We can’t give him away. And don’t go back to your house. I have a feeling they’re watching it.”
“What if we’re not near a den?”
He huffs a breath out his nose. “We run. If for some reason we get split up, hide. Use your training and your common sense. Most of all, if you can’t find me, I’ll find you.” He places his hand over mine. “I promise.”
I pull my fingers up so they latch with his. “Okay.” My mind is suddenly swarming with what-ifs, all the possible outcomes both good and bad, but I’m sure to push them out before they take over. One step at a time. We have to get out of this den and to Dorian’s uncle’s.
Unhooking his lantern and a set of keys, Dorian hands me the light to hold as he releases the large metal lock securing a small, square wooden doorway about a foot above us. He sets the lock on the ground and reaches to his side, where he finds a long wooden pole. Lifting the pole, connecting it to a metal ring on the door, Dorian thrusts all his weight into it and the flap opens up. Several heavy objects tumble against the ground on the other side of the earth.
The minute we’re out, I know I’m back on Bellona, familiar scents brushing my face: moss and sea and crisp winter air, wood-burning stoves. I’m so taken by the smells, Dorian has to nudge me into the present. And when he does, I see we’re in the forest along the canal, not too far from the main tunnel.
We secure the hidden door, covering it back up with moss and brush and snow, several randomly placed large rocks, until the den’s completely dissolved back into the ground. It was never there.
The moon, nearly a perfect crescent, is a silver lamp that lights our way through the snow-dusted woods. All goes smoothly until we hit a fence, one that definitely wasn’t here before. It’s separating the Basso village from the rest of town.
Plain as day, a posting hangs from the fence: BEWARE THE NIGHT. Familiar, ominous warning. Black as night and red as blood—how they used to strike terror straight into my heart. Ink on paper. That’s all it is. Stories. Fables. One man’s overactive imagination and penchant for control through fear.
And now he’s fenced in our entire village? As if Basso are the trouble.
Beware the Night …
I pull my blade from my belt and slice the stupid posting right down the middle.
Then I move to graze my finger along the top wire of the fence, see how thick it is, because I’ll tear the whole thing down. But Dorian grabs my sleeve, stopping me right before I touch it.
I whip my head around.
Hands up, he raises his eyebrows, then pulls out his canteen and pours some water over the fence.
It hisses and sparks, the water evaporating instantly.
My shoulders shake at the sound and a deep anger boils in my gut. They can pump electricity into a fence all night to keep the Basso village “safe,” but won’t power our homes most days?
Ridiculous.
Dorian holds a finger up like, Wait a minute, as he digs something out of his pack. Unfolding a piece of paper, with barely a sound, he plucks what’s left of the Imperi’s poster off the fence, dropping the pieces to the muddy ground, and hands me the improved replacement.
I stab it through the stake.
The new posting reads: JOIN THE REVOLUTION. THE MOON WILL RISE AGAIN. It’s like the one on the back of the Sindaco’s door I saw that first day.
He leans in, whispering just below the whistling wind. “If they’re gonna pretend to be us, might as well make it more accurate, eh?”
I shrug, nod, and give him a slight smile.
This way, Dorian motions with his hand.
We follow along the fence and up to the main, paved walkway. From the tree line, I spot two soldiers standing at the gates to the market. They’re enjoying a game of cards while all of Bellona is tucked in, hiding from the horrors of the Night. From what they think is the Night.
And Dorian and I are right here. Right under their noses. The real Night. For so long I saw the Imperi as godlike, unbeatable, impenetrable. Oh, how things can change when you truly see them for what they are.
Dorian motions for me to follow him deeper into the forest. I’ve just turned my back on the soldiers when I hear, “Hey!”
I glance over my shoulder to see a different soldier, whistle at the ready, staring back at us.
Dorian and I take off running.
Get to the nearest den or the other side of the canal or … run!
The guard’s alarm whistle sounds, a high-pitched ringing breaking through the stillness of night like glass shattering on stone.
“Alert! Alert! Night members spotted!” the Imperi soldier yells. There’s more whistling.
A shot rings out, followed by a bright light flashing right above the trees. A flare to call backup to his location, I assume.
But we’re gone.
Dorian and I fly through the woods. Despite our boots slipping and skidding over the frozen ground, we run full speed. Jumping over roots, climbing then descending large mounds of boulders, grazing past closely positioned tree trunks, we don’t stop until we’ve descended a steep ravine and nearly fallen into the icy canal at the bottom.
“Let’s stay here until it’s safe,” Dorian whispers.
I nod.
But we barely get to catch our breaths when we hear, “This way! They can’t have gone far!” The shouting, accompanied by several pairs of boots crunching over sticks and frozen leaves, heads right for us.
“Damn it,” Dorian says, and he’s already standing, tying down his gear, adjusting his pack so everything is secured.
I just stare, wide-eyed. Surely he’s not …
“We’re gonna have to swim. It’s the only way to get them off our trail. They’ll never suspect it—not since it’s half-frozen.” I’m shaking my head no, and it’s like he’s thinking back on my pantera story, as if that’s why I’m terrified to do this. But it’s not. I’m afraid of drowning, being caught by the Imperi, freezing to death, or being washed into the Great Sea. Pantera fish are the least of my worries. “It’ll be all right, Veda. I won’t let anything happen to you, and you me, all right?”
You wanted this, Veda. This is your mission. Your fight.
I glance toward the water, back at the Imperi soldiers closing in on us, then to Dorian. His eyes are intense, set directly on mine, confident of the words he just spoke.
And I believe him. We’re in this together.
“All right,” I say, connecting with his eyes. You and me.
“Ready?” Dorian stares through the darkness at me. I’m not at all ready. The water is freezing and, thanks to the flooding, higher than usual, the current rushing over rocks and carrying debris in white, foamy crests.
I double-check my pack is secure, then say, “Yes.”
At that, he quickly loops a rope around his waist, latching it in the back and doing the same for me, but latching it in the front and then to his. This way, if we get washed away, we get washed away together.
Him and me.
In the distance, some ways down from where we’re at the bottom of the ravine, a series of yellow lights approaches. The Imperi soldiers. And they’ve brought backup. What was just a few has ballooned into ten at least.
Swiftly, we enter the canal and the sharp chill instantly takes my breath away. At first, it’s only knee deep, but soaks through to my bones quickly. As we make our way across, the water reaches to my chest, the iciness cutting into my lungs. My breathing is shallow, shaky, taking far more effort than it should.
Everything is weighed down and swollen, the canal so cold, my body’s gone from tingly to completely numb. As the soldiers’ lamps grow closer, Dorian and I sink lower so only our heads bob across the canal, icy water splashing over our faces, rushing up my nose and into my ears, engulfing all my senses. Everything is cold, fishy, and white-capped rapids.
The current is strongest in the middle. Dorian and I work together to keep each other from washing downstream, being spit out into the Great Sea. My hand is clutched onto the strap of his pack and his on the tether that connects us. My body burns from the chill of the water and the extreme effort of fighting against the current as my feet fail to gain purchase against the slick rocks along the bottom.
When we finally reach the other side, I’ve got nothing left. Scrambling up mud and rocks, I can’t even feel my own legs, but, somehow, manage to get myself out of the water.
“This way!” a soldier shouts on the other side of the canal, the group of lights, like a swarm of fireflies, following his call, and barreling down upon us.
Dorian and I scatter into the brush and drop to our bellies side by side. It’s here, with his arm heavy and wet, yet still providing warmth, hugged around my lower back, we make eye contact.
The sliver of moon above shines down on the thin layer of ice frosting the ground. We both breathe heavily. Dorian’s lips are a mere blink away when he speaks. “You okay?” He rests his forehead to mine, and, the warmth of his breath grazing my cheek, suddenly I’m not so cold anymore.
I part my lips to tell him I think I’m all right, but I can’t seem to find the right words.
We’re breathless from swimming and running and freezing, and I’m shaking from fear and adrenaline, yet we’re somehow at a standstill. All the world whooshes around us. An owl screeches, the sound quickly drowned out by wind howling through branches. It’s as if we weren’t nearly washed out to sea. As if we’ve been lying in the forest, huddled next to each other all along.
Imperi soldiers march in the distance, the canal rushes by, the moon and the night and the brisk wind all move on—yet it’s silent.
Until something heavy cracks right above us.
I pull away with a gasp.
Dorian follows my gaze upward.
The heavy branch creaks again and part of it falls, missing us by mere inches.
There’s another sharp crack, the tree shifts above us, and before I can get on my feet to run, Dorian, still tethered to my waist, lifts me up and rolls me over twice so I end up on top of him.
The branch, tall as Dorian, lands with a crash and a horrible thud in the exact place we were lying.
“I’m beginning to think”—Dorian’s words brush my face—“you’re bad luck, V.”
All I can do is shake my head in disbelief. My heart pounds into my ears, the intensity of the moment only amplified by a stupid, broken branch, nearly flattening us to nothing.
We untether, I awkwardly slide to the side off his body, and we lie still, waiting to hear any sign of where the Imperi soldiers are, if they’ve crossed the canal too.
But after waiting and shivering from being soaked and chilled to the bone, Dorian finally risks a peek. Standing slowly, he scans the area. “I don’t see them.”
I half sit up and take a look. The swarm of fireflies is moving away, back down the opposite end of the canal and toward the Hill.
Dorian stands fully, lending a hand to help me up next to him.
The crack of a flare goes off too close to where we stand.
Once again, we take off running, but in the opposite direction, hiding tree to tree, searching for some sign of the thing—where it went off.
I tug on Dorian’s sleeve the moment I spot it. The faint glow of the flare illuminates the night as a dim cloud of smoke on the other side of the forest near Imperi Hill, not at all as close as it sounded.
Another fires away, popping like firecrackers and then bursting into a flash of light. Then another and then nothing. Still, we keep going, treading carefully, to the only den this side of the canal.
From there, we travel through a winding tunnel until we come up behind the market, near the waste and refuse bins. Dorian motions his uncle’s shop is to the right and, shadow to shadow, each step calculated and light, we make our way there. I immediately place our location—we’re behind the glassmaker’s shop.
Slipping in through the back door, we walk down the hallway and then directly downstairs to the cellar.
The second Dorian closes the door behind us, almost in unison, we breathe a deep sigh of relief. I lean forward, placing my hands on my knees, trying my damnedest to ignore how even one misstep could have sent us spiraling into Sun knows what horrible fate.
I feel Dorian’s hand on my back, gently patting me. “Nice work back there, V.”
I glance up, then stand fully, placing a hand on my hip. “You too.”
Looking away, like he’s trying to resist the grin pulling at his lips, he quickly succumbs, finding my eyes and giving me a grand smile. It’s in this moment I realize he likes it when I’m sassy just as much as I like it when he is.
There’s a small stint of silence when I think he’s going to say something meaningful, but when we both spot that a fire, hot tea, and a loaf of bread await us across the room, the moment’s gone.
Dorian and I immediately huddle before the fire, both of us convulsing from the cold. I’m pouring us each a cup of tea when his uncle descends the stairs carrying a pile of blankets.
He stops dead when he sees we’re drenched. “Get a bit more than you bargained for, eh?”
“We ran into a group of angry Imperi soldiers and got to take a swim in the canal,” Dorian explains.
“I see. Here … Wrap up, get warm, I’ll put on more tea, bring some soup down.” Dorian’s uncle quickly introduces himself to me before he takes the stairs two at a time to get more blankets and dry clothes.
Dorian loads another log on the fire while I grip a mug of hot soup between my palms, sipping gingerly, basking in the warmth. It’s his uncle’s special chicken stew recipe. It’s mostly broth, but I’d drink hot mud right now if it was offered to me.
The fire roars back to life as Dorian sits down next to me. He’s wearing a pair of his uncle’s pants that are about six inches too short and five sizes too large, plus a similarly ill-fitting tunic. Each time he reaches forward to stoke the fire, the tunic rises and exposes his midsection. Just a couple of inches above the waist of his pants. And, for the life of me, I can’t help but look every single time it happens, which reminds me of that first day in weapons training when he was battling the targets. Shirtless. Sweating.
I’m suddenly quite warm, our bone-chilly swim a distant memory.
I’ve also donned a set of Dorian’s uncle’s clothes, a long button-up white tunic and some trousers I’ve cinched at the waist with a length of rope.
“So,” Dorian says between sips of soup and bites of bread. “Nico takes the main tunnel when he’s finished with Dogio meetings, about two hours after fishing’s over? You’re positive?”
“Always.” But I consider that a minute. “I mean, it’s what he’s done for years. Things have changed though…” I stare into the fire, imagining Nico in his Imperi uniform. The image turns my stomach, and suddenly I’m not enjoying the chicken stew so much. Pulling my knees to my chest, I curl into myself to soothe it. “He and Arlen always have an hour of mentor training, followed with another hour of advanced government.” Dorian gives me a look like Why? His brow knit. “I don’t know.” I shrug. “I suppose they learn how the government works … or how to run the government … or how to overthrow rogue governments.”
“Fair enough.”
“From there, they go their separate ways: Nico takes the tunnel back to his house, and Arlen takes the stairway up the ravine. They live on opposite sides of the Hill.”
“He’ll be alone?”
“He should be.”
Dorian looks away. He’s being short, distant. I’m not sure what’s wrong with him.
He tosses a small stick into the fire, showing his midsection again. “Sorry, there’s no way you’d know that.”
“It’s fine. But you’re right, I have no idea. He’s usually alone; though, like I said, things are different now.” Now I’m being short with him and I’m not sure exactly why. It’s been a long day. I suppose we’re both tired. I gaze over at Dorian, who seems to be working things out, plotting our positions tomorrow in his head. Something occurs to me about our plan. “You can’t go with me, you know. Into the tunnel.”
Dorian’s eyes swipe to mine. “What?”
“It’ll be too risky. Too obvious. Nico will think it’s a trap or something. And then what if he’s not in the tunnel? We could both be caught.”
“We’ll just jump down the … Damn it.”
“That den’s flooded.”
He breathes in then out. “Flooded.” Dorian sets his mug down and stands, walking back and forth in front of the fire, surely trying to figure out how to get his way.
“It’s the only option. Besides, this is my mission. You’re backup, remember?”
At first his eyes narrow into mine and I’m worried I’ve insulted him, but then he softens, sits back down. “You’re right. It’s the best way. And it’s your mission, your call.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He takes his last swig of soup. “We should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”
He’s still being a bit cold, but I leave it alone.
We sleep on the floor atop scratchy wool quilts and beneath a double layer of blankets, but the chill of the stone still cuts right into me.
Dorian, an inch away, if that, manages to keep his distance.
I barely sleep.
Neither does he, based on the way he tosses and turns. Is he thinking about the mission? Or is he maybe remembering how close we were earlier right before that branch broke? The thought sends sparks down to my toes.
At some point, there’s a lull in Dorian’s motion. “You awake?” he asks.
“I am.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“I noticed.”
I turn from my back onto my side to face him. When I do, I find Dorian’s eyes are looking right into mine and we share a long silent look, as if neither of us knows what to say yet somehow we understand each other.
My stomach’s in a mess of knots over what tomorrow might bring. I wrap my arm around my middle so my left hand rests on my stomach, then curl the other underneath my pillow.
A mounting pile of worst-case scenarios builds in my mind, weighing on my shoulders and tightening my chest.
A headache’s instantly formed a tight knot between my eyes. As if he senses it, Dorian places his hand over mine, the warmth welcome, soothing. With feather-light fingertips, he traces small circles back and forth. Back and forth in a spiral motion, the contact—so slight—sends a current of shivers up my arm.
He keeps up with spirals as he moves closer, the heat of his body now radiating into mine.
“Hey,” he whispers like he just realized I was there.
“Hey.”
He takes his hand off mine and pushes a rogue lock of hair off my forehead. “What’re you thinking about?”
“Everything. Nothing.” The mission, but not only the mission. Deep, deep down, I’m terrified to see Nico. A new Nico. Heir Nico. I’ve never been nervous or afraid of facing him. And, although I’ve buried the image of my best friend in an Imperi soldier’s uniform deep down to avoid dealing with it, the closer it gets, the more it surfaces.
Dorian smiles. “Somehow, I know exactly what you mean.” I don’t say Nico’s name, but I swear, Dorian senses it.
I return a slighter version of his smile. “Do you ever get nervous before missions?” I ask, shoving those feelings back down.
Dorian’s face softens and he takes my hand and I lace my fingers between his, the soft warmth like heaven.
“Always. I mean, it’s easier now after going on so many. But I’m definitely nervous for tomorrow, about how it’ll go, if we’ll be successful.” He pauses. “I’m worried about you.” He squeezes my hand more tightly. I lean up on my elbow, brow knit. “No, not like that. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. You’ll do great. But … things can always go wrong.” He’s kind of rambling and it’s adorable. “Just … I sort of like having you around.” He glances the few inches between our faces, crooked smile and all. Our breathing is in rhythm and the fire’s still cracking, casting the room in a soothing orange glow.
I inch even closer. “I’m terrified,” I mostly mouth the words.
“Me too.” He speaks so lightly I’m reading his lips.
I shiver—I’m not certain if from cold or nerves or something I’ll never place. Dorian must notice because he lifts the corner of his blanket and pats the quilt, inviting me to sleep next to him.
I slide in and roll over, my back to his chest.
Wrapping one arm around my waist, Dorian stretches his other arm beneath the pillow and under my neck, I nestle my head into his shoulder. Again, he finds my hand and over and over continues with those soothing circles.
Dorian’s doing and saying all the right things, but it’s Nico’s image behind my eyes I can’t seem to escape.
Because if things were different—if the world hadn’t tilted just so and even one small event or detail hadn’t played out as it did—it’s possible it’d be Nico lying behind me underneath this blanket. Not Dorian.
My eyes sting but I squeeze them shut. Tight.
At some point, I fall into a restless sleep.