“Who is Val?”
“One of my favored advisors. Who else would I entrust such a task to?”
Roman wondered if that meant Val also possessed one of the five keys Dacre had mentioned. Keys forged over enchanted flames, capable of unlocking endless doorways. Roman’s eyes drifted to Oath on the map. There was still a portion of work to be done to clear the eastern passages, although there was one fragile, tiny thread that had lit its way to the vast city.
One pathway cleared. One doorway active in Oath. Val’s door.
The city’s markings on the map were too minuscule for him to note the exact location of the door, and he didn’t want to draw Dacre’s suspicions. Roman returned his attention to the god, who was carefully observing him.
“Will you use your roads to take back what is yours, lord?” he dared to ask next. “To end the war?”
“Does it not make sense to do so, if my realm gives me an advantage?” Dacre covered the under map once more, the illuminated routes and cities fading until they were only blurs when Roman blinked. “I can end this war swiftly, mercifully, once my realm has healed and remembered itself. When the cities below gleam with firelight and laughter, and the roads connect one place to another, and my doorways spill magic into the mundane. Once I have Hawk Shire, we will be one step closer to peace. To victory.”
“Will you find your sister’s grave, sir?” Roman asked. “To wake her so she may join your cause?”
Dacre’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you think that?”
“The map,” Roman replied, indicating it. “Alva’s grave is marked in the Southern Borough. Not far from here. I remember how you once spoke fondly of her, and I assumed…”
“What good would Alva’s powers be to me when all of us live daily in a nightmare?” Dacre’s voice held a cold edge, but it melted as he smiled. “But you are right about one thing, Roman. It is time to prove your heart steady. Tomorrow at dawn. Meet me here in the parlor. Bring your typewriter.”
Roman nodded, sensing the dismissal.
Whatever was coming at daybreak, he wasn’t sure if he was prepared for it. But he could feel his heart beating in his throat as he ascended the stairs. And he knew what he needed to do.
{17}
Burn My Words
Dear E.,
I write this to you in the dark, with only a sliver of moonlight on my desk. I haven’t eaten in a while, and yet the shadows and my hunger are good. They sharpen me; they make me feel my own limitations. I’m not immortal, even if I once thought I could be. Most of all, they make me desperate and so I must ask one thing of you:
After you read this letter, I need you to burn it.
What I’m about to relay to you is time sensitive, and dangerous—for you and for me and this connection we have forged—if it falls into the wrong hands. I’ve asked myself multiple times why I’m surrendering this to you, as I sense you are fighting for Enva’s cause while I am not, and it comes down to two simple truths:
A loss of life and freedom is imminent, and I cannot bear to stand aside and let it happen.
I care about you. The last thing I would ever want is for you to find yourself caught up in what is about to occur.
But to answer your previous query about the strange clinks and rumbles in the earth. Dacre is restoring the pathways of his realm that have fallen into disarray over the past few centuries. He plans to reach Oath below ground before he arrives above. I imagine the sounds you hear are his workers, clearing the rubble from the ley lines.
As to the most pressing matter at hand … he is preparing to take Hawk Shire. In three days’ time, he will storm the town, attacking from within by utilizing his magical doorways while his remaining forces surround the town. If you are in Hawk Shire, I beg you to retreat. Get out while you can; head south or north. Anywhere but Oath, where he plans to attack after Hawk Shire falls.
Please don’t reply to this letter. I won’t be able to respond for a span of days and I don’t know where I’ll be after Hawk Shire. Burn my words. Keep yourself safe. If fate will have it, I’ll write to you again soon.
Yours,
R.
I can’t burn this.
Iris stared at Roman’s letter. It was midmorning, and she had overslept, waking to a blissful stream of sunshine on her face and to Roman’s words on the floor. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t what he gave her. Repairing the ley lines. She felt chilled at the thought of Dacre’s workers somewhere beneath her, cutting through rubble. The idea of Hawk Shire being attacked made her stomach clench.