Page 68 of The Mirror in the Mountain

“Unless you think it wise to waste time fighting our way down to the lower levels,” Eliav drawled. “I suggest you follow me.”

He walked briskly to a brightly colored, ornate rug in the middle of the room. Pulling it back with a flourish, he revealed a round red mosaic on the tiled floor, patterned like a radiating swirl of fire. Carefully, he pressed on three of the inner tiles. They sank down with a heavy clunk before the entire circle of the mosaic lowered, slowly exposing a spiral staircase.

“Do all the castles in this realm have secret passageways?” I asked, unable to help myself.

Eliav shrugged. “Whether for escape routes in times of need, for eavesdropping, or for carrying on elicit affairs?—”

“Historically, of course,” Noam cut in.

“Many of the rulers who built these ancient palaces included them, though their existence is a highly kept secret.”

“Count yourselves lucky they did.” Noam nodded at the door where, from the clash of swords in the hallway, it seemed the fight was getting closer.

“Hurry now,” Eliav said almost cheerily as he led the way, a ball of blue flame bouncing ahead of him.

We hastily followed, our footsteps resounding on the dark metal of the stairwell as we rushed downward. The air was thick with the mineral scent of rust and particles of dust glittered around us as the light scattered into the darkness below. Noam pressed a tile underneath the mosaic as he ducked underneath it. It slid seamlessly back into place over his head.

Without the daylight, the tunnel reminded me unnervingly of the secret passageway I used to escape Aviel back in Morehaven, its stone walls lit with a bright blue glow. And not all of it from Eliav’s fire, I realized, as a familiar rock shone from within the stone. Sensing my trepidation, Bash reached down from behind me to hold my hand.

I didn’t let go as we continued downward.

Rivan’s low voice echoed as he asked, “Will the Kingsguard know about these tunnels?”

“Most don’t,” Noam replied. “They’re known to the royal family and only our most loyal guards,” he nodded at Abrahim. “Though we can’t count it out.”

“They won’t have expected us to escape the way we did,” Eliav said firmly. “They’ll be looking for us in the wrong place. But if the thick of the fighting is in the throne room, then that’s where we’ll go.”

He came to a sudden stop as the pathway split, a metal stairwell leading upward to the left, a narrow corridor veering to the right.

“This is where we must leave you,” Eliav said softly. “Abrahim will take you the rest of the way. We’ll reconvene in the throne room when you have retrieved Esterra’s lost daughter.”

“Please feel free to leave none alive for their treachery,” Noam added, looking at Marin. She gave him a sharp nod before they quickly clambered upward.

“Quiet now,” Abrahim warned us as he ducked into the smaller passageway.

The only sound was the dripping of water as we hurried through the narrow tunnel. Bash ducked down behind me so not to hit his head on the low, rocky ceiling. The glowing blue rocks were few and far between here, and the cramped, dark space was getting to me more than I wanted to admit. My breath came in shallow pants as I felt the walls start to close in around me, the cold iron of the box seeping into me like I might never again find warmth or safety?—

I stopped short as I heard a cry of pain. Blinding wrath burned through me in the next moment—so strongly I couldn’t tell if it was Bash’s or my own. Abrahim motioned to us to follow him into a cramped alcove where he pointed at a barely visibleoutline in the stone. He held up a hand in warning, looking through what appeared to be a peephole.

“Tell us what you know, traitor, and your death will come more quickly,” said a deep, rough voice on the other side of the door.

Yael’s laugh didn’t hold a trace of fear. “Yours won’t.”

Abrahim held up four fingers. Four adversaries then.

Easy.

There was a yelp of pain, then the unmistakable, acrid smell of burnt flesh. Marin’s knuckles went white against her blades.

“Then we’llmakeyou talk, traitor,” a second voice sneered.

“How exactly am I a traitor for not following the False King in his new face?” Yael panted. “Or am I simply a traitor for leaving this sandy piece of earth and never feeling the need to look back?”

Abrahim gave us a nod, mouthing a countdown, then pressed his hand against a notch on the doorway.

It was hard to say whose magic incapacitated Yael’s torturers first. One second, they had turned in surprise, a ball of fire sputtering in the hands of the one directly next to Yael. The next, they were all mangled on the ground—their features barely discernible from the force of our collective fury. Marin’s blades had sunk into the head of one, the heart of another.

But that was Yael’s blood spattered on the ground, running from her nose, her lip. The unmistakable signs of a struggle in her dishevelment, the marks of her mistreatment all over her bruising face and the red, blistering skin of her chest and arms.

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