Page 80 of The Lost Prince
“How old do you think it is?” Shava asked, crouching down by the old cart and running her hand over the rusty exterior.
Hmm. Great question. Decades, at least. Centuries, at most.
“One way to find out. Got the torch?” I asked her.
Shava fumbled clumsily for the little pouch tied at her waist. After we’d started our new hobby of cave exploration, I’d had Zariah bring a few materials needed to make torch kits for all of us.
“Do you remember how to do it?”
Shava rolled her eyes at me. “Yes, of course.”
I knew from my uneasy alliance with a few Fireguards that you needed flint and rock to strike a spark, and that was used to light a fire. I made all of us pouches of flint, rock, charcoal, and dry bits of hay. I’d walked everyone through how to do it, but I’d yet to see them try.
Shava picked up the flint and striker and tried striking them together, but immediately dropped it. Her eyes flicked to me nervously.
I pushed down the urge to snap at her.
“Try again,” I grit out, digging deep for any scrap of patience.
With a few attempts, she successfully caught a spark to the hay, which we transferred to my torch.
“All right, in we go.” Confidently I strode into the mine shaft, torch in my hand. And immediately stumbled as my foot sunk through a broken wooden slat, plunging me down to my calf.
“Zephyr!” Shava offered an arm, and I took it, and with a heave she pulled me out of the hole. Broken bits of wood and twisted shards of metal bit into my leg, leaving bloody streaks down my skin as I pulled it free of the hole.
“Shit.”
Going into a filthy cave with an open wound wasn’t smart. I glanced into the darkness, then back out towards the light.
Shava snapped her fingers. “I got it. Give me the torch.” She reached for it, hand outstretched.
I hesitated. Not because I didn’t think she couldn’t explore a tunnel on her own, but because I had a strong feeling that this would finally be the one that led us back to the kingdom. It was large and long, and clearly used to be a main artery of the kingdom’s mining system.
I didn’t want to miss anything.
“Zeph, for the sake of the gods, you’re bleeding out. Just wrap it up and come on. Haven’t you ever bandaged your own injury before?”
Blinking at her, I realized I hadn’t. My entire life had consisted of going to the infirmary and having a prima tend to me every time I’d needed something. Shava huffed, then bent down and ripped off a strip of fabric from the ragged ruins of her dress.
I made a mental note to snag some breeches for her once we snuck back into the castle. Dresses made no sense out here in the desert. Or anywhere else besides a ballroom, for that matter.
“You still have the waterskin?” she asked.
I held it up from its tie at my waist, and she swiped it, opening the cap and trickling down the wound on my leg. It was cold and felt good against the bite of the cut. She wiped the area clear of debris and mud, then flipped it over and tied it tightly in a knot with practiced hands.
“We get hurt all the time in the mud quarter; there are fights over everything.” She paused, tugging on the cloth. “There. It’ll last you until we can do something better.”
I turned my leg this way, and that, impressed.
“It’d be difficult to find something better,” I argued, having seen how the primas had bandaged wounds on the other boys. Nothing in the dormitory had the tightness or precision of Shava’s bindings. Was that because of a lack of skill by the primas or a lack of care?
A sudden cold breeze swept through the mineshaft, sending a shiver down my spine. Shava’s skin erupted in goosebumps and she took a step back.
I did the opposite, plunging into the darkness with my torch.
“This place gives me a bad feeling,” Shava whispered, but she kept pace behind me. I didn’t slow my steps. I had sensed it too, but unlike her, I recognized it. It sang in my blood, like calling to like.
Magick.
