Alastor doesn’t hesitate.
“For meeting the rest of our unit.”
So the other faearestill in the country. Even if it doesn’t change things for me, I feel a surge of triumph knowing I was right. Plus, we’re meeting up with them before the border. Interesting.
I squint at the peaks, realization dawning on me.
“Are we going to traveloverthe Wirstones?” I’m no expert, but I’m sure scaling and descending the range is meant to take several days. “Is there some kind of pass?”
“A pass? Not exactly. More like a shortcut,” Alastor says.
“What do you mean, a shortcut?”
“We’ll go under the mountains, not over them.”
It’s a struggle to keep from gaping. “You can do that?”
“Well, most people can’t, but if you know where to look, there’s a pretty useful set of tunnels that runs right through them. They’re mostly used by smugglers and the Hand of Ralus these days.”
I frown at his mention of the Hand and wonder if I should be worried. They’re a group of anti-religious fanatics who operate near the Temple’s territory, and even us yokels from up north know they’re dangerous. But when I turn my head to get a glimpse of Alastor’s face, he seems relaxed.
“So we’ll go under the mountains…” I say, encouraging him to continue.
“Under Mount Kalas specifically—the smallest peak. It shouldn’t take much more than an afternoon, and our unit will meet us on the other side.”
Ahead of us, Leon pulls his horse up short, turning around to glare at Alastor.
“That’s enough,” he bites out.
“Why?” Alastor asks, shrugging. “It’s not like she’s going to tell anyone.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Leon says. “She still doesn’t need to know every little detail of our plans. She’s supposed to be our hostage, remember?”
Alastor shuts up, but I sit up straighter in the saddle, matching Leon’s tone.
“Unless you’ve been lying to me, I’m only your hostage to the border, and then I’m free.”
Leon says nothing, only glares and then nudges his horse with his heels so that it trots back up ahead.
I no longer believe that Leon would kill me once he has no need of me. And it just so happens that seeing the fae to the border isn’t a terrible plan for me either. They’re soldiers, used to fighting and sneaking around—they can keep me safe and hidden until they return to Filusia, and then…
From the maps I studied in the library at Gallawing, I know there’s a fairly direct route to the coast from the border—free of mountain ranges and large cities. Once we part ways, it should take less than a week to travel to Gullert and find Will.
He’ll hide me, even after I tell him of my powers. I’m increasingly sure of it. I’ll get a new name and stay with him and work things out from there. I’ve just got to take it one step at a time, and right now that includes gathering any information that might be useful to me.
I try to figure out what I can ask Alastor about that won’t provoke Leon. He doesn’t want me probing into their plans, it seems, and that’s fine by me. Once we part ways, I’d rather not know what they’ll be doing next. But there’s still plenty Idowant to know about our route.
“So how did you find out about these tunnels?” I ask Alastor.
“They were made during the war by your great-grandfather’s spy network. We used them to sneak up on the Temple loyalists.”
“You fought in the War of the Laurels?” The answer must be yes. There’s only been one war in the last century the fae fought in: the same civil war that the Nightmare Prince helped win, and which put my ancestor Palquir on the throne. Still, it’s hard to comprehend Alastor was there then, in the stories from my history books.
“Yes,” Alastor confirms. “Although I never really understood why you lot called it that. Bit of a boring name for an exciting war, if you ask me.”
“How old are you, exactly, Alastor?” I ask casually.
“A hundred and sixteen.”
