Eight Will Fall, page 12
“Kyran was pleasant, actually. Charismatic. Though, toward the end, I imagine he was rageful. He spent his life nurturing his disciples, who dedicated themselves to magic. Just like his followers, he had children who would inherit his magic and be stronger than he was. Ilona destroyed years’ worth of work in a matter of days. I think anyone would be furious.”
“Wait.” Larkin stopped him, bewildered. “What did you say about children inheriting magic?”
Tamsyn blinked at her, then looked around at the others, who’d begun listening in. Larkin sensed confusion; at least she wasn’t the only one who didn’t understand.
“None of you know?” Tamsyn asked, both astounded and a bit smug.
“Know what?” Larkin pried.
“Our magic isn’t just based on skill. That power is familial. Inherited.”
Larkin turned to Amias in surprise as he sat on the boulder at the edge of their tunnel camp.
“Magic is like a sieve.” Amias set his bag down next to him and clapped the dirt from his hands. “Skills trickle down to the descendants while the ancestors are alive. When the ancestor dies, the sieve bursts, and the descendants inherit a flood of magic.” Amias looked to the scholar. “They wouldn’t know, Tamsyn. No one outside the palace knows. The knowledge has been buried.”
Tamsyn sighed, exasperated. “Tragic.”
“Not just tragic,” Casseem shot back. “Cruel. Who do you think kept us from that knowledge?”
“Hold on.” Larkin pressed her hands to her temples, her head spinning with questions. “Skills?”
“A talent. Empath families used to focus on honing one thing,” Tamsyn explained. He sat up straight when he realized everyone’s attention was trained on him. “Think of it as focused training. A family may decide that they want to specialize in conjuring weapons from ore, like Daria Monarc’s family.”
“Or healing, like Bianca Elesandre’s family!” Elf’s panic dissipated as she shot up.
“Exactly. If every generation continued to focus on their talents, they’d be the greatest weaponsmiths or healers of all time.”
“So Melay’s blinded us.” Larkin gritted her teeth. “She’s stripped us of our surnames, broken up families between the mines and the farms. Taken away our books.” She looked at the other Empaths, sensing their hearts grow heavy. “She doesn’t want us to know our lineages because she doesn’t want us to uncover the talent our ancestors were honing.”
“But we could still find them, right?” Tucked in her bedroll, Brielle wiggled closer to Larkin and Tamsyn. “My family has always been good at sensing negative emotions. More than others, it seems. Useful for destruction magic and warding off danger.”
That explained why Brielle was the first to notice the mysterious rage, even before Larkin.
Casseem hopped to his feet and paced the perimeter of Amias’s boulder. “My brothers and I were always good at quick conjuration. Silly things, trinkets and odds and ends.” He looked to the dirt at his feet and flexed his hand. The dirt rose like vapor, and Casseem flipped his hand as it settled in his palm. He closed his fist and tossed an object to Elf, who caught it and held it up, delighted. A stone blossom rested between her fingers.
“Amias?” Jacque called from the other side of the tunnel, where she planned to take watch. “You said no one outside the palace knew this. Certainly, the palace’s prisoners weren’t informed, so why were you?”
“I … read,” Amias said flatly.
“Why yes, we all got a nice glimpse of your prison library, didn’t we?” Casseem said. “Polished cherry oak shelves and a cozy chair by the hearth. Did a lot to brighten up that hole in the ground.”
“I had a tutor,” said Amias.
“A tutor,” Larkin said slowly. “Who visited you in your cell?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said sharply. He was hiding something, but she wouldn’t press him, not in front of everyone. She had her own secrets to keep.
Casseem paused in his pacing. “Rumor has it that Melay has a registry of Empath lineages. That’s how she decides who to send to the farms.”
“She can’t use her registry anymore.” Tamsyn cleared his throat. “I, er, burned it.”
“You did what?” Larkin asked.
Elf clapped her hands together. “You lit her registry on fire?”
“Someone had to.” Tamsyn examined his fingernails, his pride swelling. “Did you honestly believe I volunteered to come down here? No, no, no. I’m being punished, just like you.”
Larkin didn’t know what to say. She and Casseem exchanged glances, and he actually looked impressed. As was Larkin. She’d never heard of a non-Empath taking a risk for their sake.
“Tamsyn the Great.” Elf spread her arms, creating an imaginary picture. “They’ll be telling tales about the martyr sacrificing his life for us filthy Empaths.”
“It’ll be a boring story,” Tamsyn said, but although he ducked his head modestly, delight fluttered through him at the attention. “First you’d have to begin with my parents. They own a shop on the north side of the capital. Their days are most dull, which is why they gave me up to the palace. They want to live vicariously through me, you know.” Tamsyn glanced around and shrugged. “Not very exciting, unless the story ends with me getting eaten by an eyeless monster.”
“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Elf chirped as she slid to the ground.
“As intriguing as this lesson has been, we need to sleep,” Jacque reminded them. “We shouldn’t camp for longer than we have to.”
Larkin rested against the tunnel wall as the others eased into their bedrolls, glad once again to keep watch. She could sense their excitement. Larkin wouldn’t be able to sleep if she tried.
The revelation of the inherited magic granted her enough emotion from the others to conjure her strap back onto her cuirass. She patted it down, her mind whirling around her luminite resistance.
It had come from her mother’s side. She’d always assumed it was some bit of fortune, when in reality an ancestor of hers had honed the skill. A gift that had somehow survived generations.
She felt like a stranger in her own body. There could be other things her ancestors had mastered, skills she didn’t know she had.
And like unearthing a glittering vein in the darkest part of the mine, Larkin would dig them out.
FIFTEEN
When Larkin woke, Jacque and Amias were whispering urgently to each other from their bedrolls.
“You have to understand,” the soldier was telling Amias. “I’m not home often.”
“You must have heard something.”
“They’re all right,” she said. “Skye’s making sure your mother stays busy. They’re making do.”
“Good,” said Amias, his cool relief blanketing Larkin.
“And they miss you. Which is why we need to survive this, so you can go home.”
“We all need to survive this,” he said. “Or there won’t be a home.”
Larkin’s eyes fluttered open as Amias stood up and stepped over her, leaving camp.
She didn’t know Amias still had family. She imagined what it would be like for them when he came home, after believing he was dead for so long, the surprise and joy. Magic, thought Larkin. Magic in its purest form.
Larkin sat up and stood, stumbling past Tamsyn, who was scrubbing his face clean with his sleeve as he kept watch. After visiting their makeshift latrine, she passed an inlet and sensed a flicker of wonderment from inside.
Larkin batted away glowing strings draped across the tunnel. A luminous insect landed on her. Life. It reminded her of the night sky in the canyon, with stars close enough to touch.
Amias was there. He sat on a boulder in the center of it all, gazing up. The wonder inside him was pure wilderness, fragrant and rich and thriving. Uncharted. He’s been in the dark for so long, she thought. He’s been alone.
As she silently joined him, he kept his eyes glued to the sweeping strings above, peaceful. His eyes glittered in the glow as though they were faceted.
“You stole my dream,” Amias said softly. “The other night, when you conjured the rope.”
She grinned, having known all along it was his. A vision warm and languid, like a nap by the hearth. It had been beautiful.
He added wryly, “You’re welcome. It was one of my better ones.”
“What was it about?” she dared to ask.
“One of the hot days up in the hills. We used to have them in the weeks of summer. My sister and I would go into the fields and lie around all afternoon instead of doing chores. We’d fall asleep and bake like bread.”
“Skye,” Larkin blurted.
“You were eavesdropping?” Amias’s amusement trickled through her.
“The tunnels echo,” Larkin protested. “It’s hard not to.” Reaching up, she siphoned his amusement, the nearest empty web catching around her fingers and braiding itself into a delicate bracelet.
Amias spoke as he watched her. “My father would get so mad at us. Skye especially though—she was the bad influence.” He laughed softly.
Larkin concentrated on the bracelet as he spoke. She had been so angry with him after the avalanche. She had lashed out, certain he was being selfish because he had no one to lose. But now she knew differently.
Still, she needed to know. “How did your father die?” She sensed the stone-cold weight of his loss.
“Soldiers.”
Larkin’s fingers closed around the bracelet. First Brielle’s father, and now Amias’s. How could Amias bear to even speak with Jacque? Larkin’s hands would have been around the Empath soldier’s throat at once.
“And your mother? Is she still in Eversown?”
“Melay’s leverage.”
His mother in the dungeons like Garran. And from the distress that mingled with his grief, Larkin knew he was afraid of the queen. Beyond an Empath’s justified fear of the queen. It was deep. Personal.
Larkin didn’t understand it, but she loathed it. “Give me your arm.”
Amias lifted his arm, palm facing up. Larkin tied the bracelet around his wrist, and without quite knowing why, she dragged her finger down the center of his palm. A strange spark ignited in her abdomen as they touched.
“Wait,” he said, his palm still open.
She returned her hand to him, and he wrapped his fingers around hers. As he curiously examined the bracelet, she sensed his anguish ebb, and she realized he was using the distraction as a means of control.
“I know it hurts, but I want you to think about your family every time you look at it,” said Larkin. “Especially your mother, who dreams about you as the little boy on the farm, and waits for you.”
Even within the darkness of the chamber, she could see his eyes well. The vibrant love he emitted ripped through her so painfully, she thought her heart would break. Amias wasn’t ashamed of her sensing it. He was offering it to her.
“You deserve home as much as the rest of us,” Larkin whispered. “No matter what you’ve done.”
When his eyes found hers, the spark in her abdomen swirled into a whirlpool. Larkin craved it, as if she’d hungered for the sensation her entire life.
“Thank you,” Amias said simply.
Above them, the insects spun their glowing webs.
* * *
As they packed up camp, Larkin noticed Brielle was missing. She wandered downstream of where they’d slept, calling Brielle’s name, waiting for her to say here, like she always did. But no response came.
She found Brielle tucked away within a recess, her knees curled to her chest. Her expression was as blank as the rock wall she was staring at. She’d left her armor back at camp, wearing only her trousers and sleeveless tunic.
“How long have you been here?” Larkin pressed her hand to Brielle’s shoulder. “You’re freezing. I told you, you can’t be alone.”
The skin near Brielle’s elbow was mottled. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Larkin coaxed the girl’s arm away from her knee and gasped.
Brielle’s skin was peeled off from her wrist to the crook of her arm, the wound a spectrum of colors: red bleeding into black and yellow.
“Who did this to you?” Larkin lifted Brielle’s chin with her hand.
The girl made a strong effort to look away, but Larkin clutched her chin.
Brielle blinked once, her voice flat. “He followed us.”
Larkin jumped as rock grated against rock within the dark tunnel. She yanked Brielle up, rushing her back to camp.
“We need to go.” Larkin grabbed Brielle’s pack and heaved it over her own back. “There’s something behind us.”
Jacque hopped up when she saw them. “What in Ilona’s name happened to her?”
“I don’t know.” Larkin pushed past Jacque. “Which is why we need to get out of here.”
No one asked questions as they grabbed the rest of their things and continued deeper into the labyrinth, but as the passage tightened, Amias stopped and waited for Larkin and Brielle to catch up.
Amias studied Brielle’s arm, and Larkin sensed the cracks in his calm veneer. “Did she do that to herself?”
“I don’t know. She mentioned someone. She said that he followed us.”
The ceiling declined farther, and Amias ducked as he fell in line with Brielle. “Who is he, Brielle?”
Brielle shrank into Larkin’s shoulder, and Larkin clutched her.
“This isn’t good.” Amias pressed his hand to the low ceiling. “If she won’t talk, we need to tell the others about the rage. It has to be connected somehow.”
Larkin nodded.
In front of them, Elf’s panic spiked. “Oh no.”
Larkin let go of Brielle and pushed her way to the front of the group. Up ahead, the ceiling of the passage took a steep dive. The floor sloped up, and the remaining crawl space was barely large enough for a body to wiggle through.
“We should turn around.” Elf was already inching backward.
Jacque looked to Larkin and squared her shoulders, as if waiting for instructions.
“Something back there hurt Brielle,” said Larkin. “So badly she can’t talk about it. Forward is our only choice.”
“It’s too small,” Elf squeaked.
“You can always use destruction magic to make it larger,” offered Tamsyn.
Casseem dropped his pack. “Destruction magic, says the only one in the group who isn’t an Empath.”
Tamsyn huffed. “With precision, you can—”
“None of us are precise. Remember the cave-in? That was me being precise. Perhaps our ancestors were all bumbling morons.” He crouched down into a squat and walked forward, pushing his torch into the small opening. “Not even ten feet until it opens again.”
Jacque pressed her gloved hands to the rough cavern ceiling. “Not partial to tight spaces, Larkin?”
“Not particularly,” Larkin admitted. “But I’m not the one you have to worry about.”
Elf flattened herself against the tunnel wall, sweat on her forehead glistening in the light. Panic trilled beneath Larkin’s skin.
Casseem handed the torch to Jacque and shrugged off his pack, unbuckling his cuirass. “We’ll test it. If the largest one of us can fit, the others will too. Who’s biggest?”
“I think I am,” said Amias.
Casseem frowned and sized him up. “No, no. I’m definitely bigger.”
“This isn’t a pissing match.” Jacque pointed to the crawl space. “You seem eager enough, Casseem. Why don’t you go first?”
Casseem yanked off his bracers and threw them on the ground. “Gladly.” He took the torch back from Jacque.
“Don’t burn yourself,” Jacque muttered.
“And hurry up,” Larkin ordered. Her attempt to remain calm wasn’t working too well. She dug in Brielle’s pack for an extra tunic and tied it around the girl’s injured arm before sparing a glance at the empty passage behind them.
Casseem bent down, pushing his torch and upper body into the crawl space. The tunnel darkened tremendously. He wiggled his hips and kicked his legs, his swearing muffled by the rock.
When his legs disappeared, the rest of them crowded around to see into the passage. Casseem rocked and grunted his way through the hole, until he fell out the other end. The warm glow of his flame illuminated the chamber beyond.
“What do you see?” Jacque called.
Casseem crouched down to peer back at them. “Options.”
The rest of them began stripping off their armor and packs, passing them through the hole to Casseem. When their gear was on the other side, Amias went next.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Elf whispered as Jacque readied for the crawl.
“Casseem’s a lot bigger than you. You’ll be fine,” Larkin said soothingly. She thought of what Casseem said—they had options now. But waiting for her turn made her anxious. The tight crawl space was the only choice; they couldn’t stay here.
When she and Elf were the only ones left, Elf volunteered to go last. “You know, to keep watch and make sure you get through safely.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m a miner, remember? You should go next.” In case you need a push, Larkin thought. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get slugged in the face like Jacque.
Elf scraped her teeth across her bottom lip. “Fine.”
She whimpered, kicked, and screamed through the entire crawl. Larkin bounced on her toes, her attention caught between Elf and the darkness behind her as she searched for movement.
When Larkin sensed Elf’s relief, she dipped her head into the passage, her elbows pinned to her sides. She fell fully onto her belly when she was waist-deep, rocking on her hips to inch her way forward.
Jacque bent down and shot Larkin an uncharacteristic smile. “Not so bad, right, Larkin?”
It wasn’t, at least not as bad as she had anticipated. She pushed herself forward on her elbows, gritting her teeth as shards of rock dug into her arms. A few inches forward, her back rubbed against the top of the passage. She turned her head sideways when her neck began to ache, her gloved hands clawing at the rock wall, and inched herself forward again, and again. Her breath shortened, with her rib cage no longer able to fully expand, and her back scraped painfully against the top of the crawl space.
