Roman approached the war table.
He stared down at the map of Cambria, studying the places he knew—Oath, Avalon Bluff, Merrow, the chain of railroad tracks that his father controlled—and the multitude of places and landmarks that were still unfamiliar. The divine graves were marked in red ink, Alva’s in particular drawing his gaze south and Mir’s to the north until his attention snagged on Hawk Shire.
He dared to lean closer, touching the map with his hand. To his shock, lines bloomed along the paper. Some were dark, others brilliant. They moved like lightning, like tree roots. Quite a few of them fed into the towns closest to Roman. Places in Central and Western Borough. Places the war had already devoured. But his attention was soon captivated by glimmers of pale blue light. A cluster of towns pulsed with it like small cerulean hearts, including Merrow and Hawk Shire, while others remained unlit.
The map beneath, he remembered, carefully removing his hand.
The routes vanished, as if they had never been. But Roman could still see them when he closed his eyes—tangles of light and darkness—and he carefully lifted the edge of Cambria’s map, beholding the illustration of the underworld, resting beneath. Nearly forgotten and easily overlooked by those who only saw the surface of things.
Roman studied what he could see, mesmerized by the twisting of passages. The cities and hubs of life they fed into. A world he had touched, but only briefly.
“I take it another dream has kept you up?”
Dacre’s voice broke the silence. Roman released the map, letting it flutter down to the table. His pulse spiked but he kept his face calm, collected, as he straightened, glancing toward the foyer.
Dacre stood beneath the lintel, watching him. He had arrived soundlessly, as if he had materialized from the darkness.
“On the contrary, sir,” Roman said, lacing his fingers behind his back. “I can’t sleep these days. I want to know what awaits us.”
“If it’s death you fear, I have already told you once.” Dacre stepped into the parlor. He seemed taller, broader, but maybe it was only the shadows, playing a trick on Roman’s senses. “Remain at my side, faithful to me, and you shall never die. You shall never feel pain.”
Roman held the god’s steady, blue-cut gaze. But he could feel a bead of sweat begin to trickle down his spine. “And will I be at your side in Hawk Shire?”
“Why are you so concerned about Hawk Shire, Roman?”
“It sounds like an important battle.”
“And do you see yourself as one of my soldiers, ready and willing to fight? To take back what was mine?”
Roman studied the map of Cambria again. “I’m not a soldier, sir. I’ve never been trained how to shoot a gun, or to handle a grenade, or to move like a shadow. At least, not that I remember. But what I do have are my words.” He paused, surprised by how his voice trembled. As if he were surrendering a piece of himself. “I don’t want to fight with half a heart, but all of it.”
Dacre was silent for a long, torturous moment. But then he took hold of Cambria’s map and let it fold over itself, revealing the world beneath.
“Tell me, Roman,” he said as the under routes illuminated again. “What do you see?”
“I see paths. Roads.”
“Is that all?”
Roman studied it closer. He was drawn to the dim, pulsing lights. He wondered if they marked enchanted thresholds. “I see cities. Towns. Doorways.”
“Yes,” Dacre said. “My domain. My ley lines. A realm of magic that most of your kind will never see or know or taste, even though our two worlds are connected.”
“Are you rebuilding it, sir?” Roman asked. “The roads below?”
Dacre was quiet. Roman wondered if he had been too blunt, and he swallowed.
“I’ve noticed that there are still portions of the map that are darkened, as if they are waiting for you to return,” he explained.
“A canny observation,” the god replied. “And yes. While I slept, my domain fell into disarray. Ruin. Many of the roads became full of debris, my doorways forgotten and cloaked in cobwebs. My people are now currently working to repair them.”
Roman stared at the map again, his gaze drawn to Hawk Shire. “Is that how my articles reach the Oath Gazette? By your underground roads?”
“Concerned about your articles reaching their destination?”
“I only thought—”
“Yes, Roman,” Dacre cut him off. “Val uses the underground to deliver your articles to the city.”