I cross my arms, still refusing to budge.
“You said you used these tunnels back in the war—how do you know that they’re still used regularly enough for someone to come by?”
Leon finally stops walking and turns. He gives me an assessing look, his eyes traveling up and down my body. It’s warmer in this region, which must be why I suddenly feel hot under the thick material of my cloak.
“The tracks,” he says simply, pointing to the ground. I flush, embarrassed to admit I hadn’t noticed them before they were pointed out. I can’t read the trail well enough to know exactly how fresh they are, but it’s clear the earth’s been disturbed fairly recently. Of course seasoned soldiers would know what to look for.
“Alright.” I give in, following them toward the cave. On the way, I can’t help but lean in and pat Alastor’s horse on the neck. “Good luck,” I whisper to her. She was very gentle with me during my clumsy attempts to use the reins.
As I join the fae, I think I see the corner of Leon’s mouth twitch.
I ignore him, focusing on the way the shadows creep up around us as we step into the cavern, leaving the sunshine behind. I’m relieved the tunnel is bigger than I’d imagined, able to fit half a dozen men across. It means I don’t feel too trapped even as we move deeper under the mountain.
It’s quickly obvious that someone uses these tunnels regularly, because there are incendi torches running along them—lights kept burning by small allotments of magic. They don’t take much power, but they do burn out eventually. Someone must have come through and replenished these in the past few weeks.
“What happens if we run into smugglers?” I ask. Criminals might not take kindly to strangers using their secret delivery route. On the other hand, I doubt any criminal would be a match for these fae. I’ve seen exactly how effective Leon is with a blade, and that’s without using magic.
“There’s hundreds of these tunnels—we’re unlikely to meet anyone,” Alastor says. “And if we do, we’ll easily be able to handle them.”
I realize abruptly that I don’t know what Leon’s terrial power is. The history books probably mentioned it, but I can’t remember. He must have one—all fae do, even if they’re more known for their sensic abilities. Whatever it is, I have a strong suspicion Leon’s terrial magic will be just as powerful as the rest of him. Which means if we come across an enemy, I worry much more for the humans than us.
Soon the tunnel branches off into new passages, winding away into the shadows. Some of these have incendi torches, but others disappear into the darkness. Every now and again I’ll spot other signs of use—an abandoned water skin or marks scratched into walls, presumably to help the smugglers navigate their way under the mountains.
Alastor and Leon sometimes stop to confer at a fork in the paths, but on the whole, they seem confident they know where we’re going. Both their moods have lifted since we arrived at the mountain, and I guess they’re eager to be reunited with the others.
As I focus on keeping up, I wonder if I should be more nervous about that reunion. Two fae are one thing—but seven?
We can’t have been moving for more than thirty minutes when the fae freeze. I stop too, startled, but don’t speak, waiting for one of them to explain. Only when I see them reach for the rings that cast their glamours do I hear it: footsteps, moving swiftly in our direction.
“I thought you said we wouldn’t run into anyone?” I whisper to Alastor.
They both look unconcerned.
“It’s only one human,” Alastor shrugs, but I see his hand flutter toward the sword at his belt.
“Don’t kill them,” I warn.
“Not your call, princess,” Leon murmurs as the footsteps grow louder.
“Just…don’t do anything unless it’s necessary,” I hiss. I only hope they’ll practice restraint unless the situation becomes dangerous.
In the next instant, a man appears out of the gloom, running a hand through his dense black hair. The gold ring he’s wearing in one ear glints in the torchlight. He stops a few feet away from us, eyeing Leon and Alastor. At first, I don’t think he even notices me hanging at the back. He seems too agitated, his hands fluttering around the dagger in his belt as he shifts from one foot to another.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he demands.
“Just travelers passing through,” says Leon. His voice is low with a don’t-ask-questions-you-don’t-want-the-answer-towarning.
The man doesn’t get the hint, squinting suspiciously at the fae.
“No normal travelers know about these tunnels.” He takes a step forward, then stops, throwing a look over his shoulder. His eyes dart between us and the tunnel stretching behind him. Then he makes a decision, grabbing his dagger and darting toward us.
The faes’ hands go to their swords. I think we can all see we’re not what has him so agitated. There’s something else going on here.
“Stop,” Leon orders, but the man keeps moving. He tries to dodge us, but of course he’s too slow. Leon grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and pins him to the wall. The man’s dagger falls to the ground.
“What’s that noise?” Leon asks him.
I strain my ears for the sound Leon mentioned, but all I can hear is the man’s panicked breathing.
