Her reply only fills my head with more questions. Yet if there’s one thing I know about Lu, it’s that she’s incredibly loyal to Slade. If she says it’s not her story to tell, then I wouldn’t be able to pry it from her no matter what I said.
“It seems Slade and I still have a list of things to talk about.”
“Yeah, he likes to be dramatic about being the whole brooding, silent type. It’s become his whole personality.”
A laugh escapes me, and I shake my head, looking around again. A few of the villagers said hello to Lu when we first came over, another passing us food, but for the most part, they’ve been content to leave us be. I was glad about that at first, but now, I’m wondering why exactly that is.
“How often do you come here?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Not that often. Just when we need to stop in and talk to Ryatt or help bring in some more supplies, or sometimes I come here with Rip so he can…do what he needs to do.”
I don’t miss that vague answer. “And how many people live here?” I ask. “I didn’t see that many houses.”
“There are thirty-two,” she tells me. “Not counting the Grotto. And inside those houses lives fifty-seven people.”
“Fifty-seven? I’ve been to saddle parties that had more participants.”
She snorts.
“With an environment as harsh and closed-off as this place, I suppose it makes sense that it’s not exactly a bustling population,” I say. “But Hojat mentioned he came to live here. How did that happen?” I press. “How did any of these people end up in a place that doesn’t exist?”
Lu gives me a long look, taking a sip of her drink instead of answering.
I sigh. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not your place.”
“You catch on quick.”
“So pretty much everyone is here tonight,” I muse, looking around again.
“Seems like it.”
“I don’t see any children,” I note.
“There’s one—he’s probably almost two now. Most likely tucked up in his bed with his mother at this hour.”
“Just one child out of all these people?” I ask curiously, eyes scanning. I wouldn’t be surprised at that news if the villagers all seemed older, but the opposite seems to be true. All I see are men and women in their prime.
“There was another,” Lu says, taking a long drink, a dabble of red wine blotting her bottom lip before her tongue sweeps it away. “You met him, actually.”
“I did?”
“Yep. Twig.”
I immediately remember the little boy who was in the army camp. He brought me my meal when I first met with Rip and Osrik.
“He was born in Drollard?”
Lu nods. “Every child who’s been born here—though it hasn’t been many—they’ve all gone into the army.”
“Why?”
She sends me a sidelong glance.
I blow out a frustrated breath. The list of things I need to ask Slade is growing by the minute.
Just then, a pretty blonde-haired woman comes up to talk to Lu, greeting her with a warm smile. Again, I get that sense of strangeness. The woman is nothing but affable, there’s nothing out of the ordinary with her expressions or overall appearance, and yet…
And yet.
My eyes skate over the pavilion, watching everyone as they mingle, their feet stepping over the rough stone, each brick spiraling toward the center. A couple of men toss some logs on the fire pit, shooting sparks up into the air, while another group mills around a wine barrel, filling up cups and smoking something from a pipe in a shape I’ve never seen before.
It’s all very…pleasant.
So why then is the hair on the back of my neck standing up?
Just then, my ears prick with the sound of raised voices. At first, I think it’s just more of the villagers having a good time, but after a second, it becomes clear that the tones aren’t lively, they’re angry.
I strain my ears, trying to pinpoint where it’s coming from as my eyes scan my surroundings. Then I turn my head and find that it’s coming from further inside the pavilion’s cave.
I didn’t really pay attention to anything past the tables where people were eating. But now, I see there are a couple of tunnels at the end. Well, one is a tunnel, and the other seems to be a crack in the mountain that’s making a very narrow path. Their shadowed recesses are nearly impossible to see from here, even with the strung lanterns hanging near the entrances.
When the voices lift again, a few of the villagers at the tables turn to look. My skin prickles when the thick baritones cut through the air, though not clearly enough for me to make out any actual words.