The torches mounted along the wall all refused to take the offered spark from Jenny’s flint. She cursed at them, the blight, and the pitch black passageway ahead. Just as the darkness drew in tight around them, a flicker of soft blue light stirred and grew. The shadows retreated to their corners and crannies. Athan lifted his cloak to find a small moon attached to his belt.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jenny said. “It works.”
Athan lifted the Elvan everbright lantern off its belt hook and held it out to where they headed. It pulsed brighter, as if fighting back the darkness, then lulled to a gentle glow that illuminated the hallway without blinding them. “Not bad,” Athan commented with a halfcocked grin. “Guess Phineaus can be useful from time to time.”
“It’s beautiful,” Dnara said as they resumed walking. “It’s like having a personal star plucked down from the night sky.”
“Is it hot?” Jenny asked, taking the lead in their rushed pace.
“Not at all.” Athan palmed the glass. The engraved runes lit up in several patterns until he removed his hand in surprise. “It’s actually cold!”
“Elvan magic is strange stuff,” Jenny muttered. “Strong, but strange.” She slowed her steps as the light illuminated a tumble of stones and dirt ahead. “Careful here. Looks like part of the wall’s caved in.”
They had to press their backs to the opposite wall to make it past the debris. Dnara took in a deep breath of the damp, earthen air. The passage felt more narrow the longer they were in it, like a buried box from which there may be no escape. Dnara quickened her steps to squeeze by the rubble and remain close to Athan’s light.
“Are you all right?” he asked over his shoulder as Jenny hurried on into the shadows ahead.
“I’ll be better once we’re back above ground,” she replied, taking his hand as he offered it.
With a reassuring smile, he grasped her hand and together they caught up to Jenny’s longer strides. For an older woman, Jenny moved with grace and stability, looking more a seasoned fighter than the stooped, weak figure she’d presented when her memories had been stolen. Dnara held no doubt that Jenny could use the short sword she held, and use it well.
“Hold here,” Jenny ordered as they came to another smaller cave-in and a sharp corner, beyond which the lamp’s light met a solid darkness in the form of a heavy wood door. Jenny had to set down her sword to wedge open the door, the bottom scraping against stone and mud until it gave way on creaking hinges. “Let me go first. Wait for my call. And put out that light.”
“No idea how to do that,” Athan replied as Jenny disappeared, melding silently into shadow.
“Let me see it?” Dnara asked.
Athan pressed himself against the wall with Dnara, out of sight of the doorway. Cloak raised up to shield the light, he set the lantern between them, creating a world all their own. She no longer felt trapped by the walls and could breathe more easily, the mint and herbs he kept in the various forester pouches a much more pleasant aroma than the mildewed stonework. The lamplight reflected in his eyes, turning the common hazel into swirls of amber, sapphire and emerald. Stubble had grown along his jaw since his shave at the brook behind Tobin’s cottage that morning, and she felt the temptation to run her fingers along it, just to see what it felt like.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered as the silence carried on with no word from Jenny. “We’ll get you out of the city.”
“I know.” And she believed they would. “I would have liked to have seen the festival, though.”
“We’ll go next year,” he promised, and she believed that, too.
“I’d like that,” she replied, her voice quieter than before, afraid to disturb the solace they’d found under his cloak.
As her cheeks warmed under his unbroken stare, she grasped the lamp within her fingers and focused on the runes. The lantern glass felt cool to the touch, and some of the runes illuminated as she drew a finger along the glass. Thinking back to the page in the book she’d read, a page beautifully illustrated by a practiced hand, her memories traced along the page as if she were physically touching it. She could smell the paper’s musty age and feel its rough parchment along her fingertips. There had been Elvan words written in small text, along with a translated description.
“Darken,” she said, thinking aloud, then tried to sound out the language she did not know. “Len-li-oen. Len’lioen.” The lantern dimmed until no light remained.
“Amazing,” Athan praised. “So, now you speak Elvan?”
“Hardly.” She lowered the lamp, proud of her accomplishment but shy of the praise. “I just remember the words I read.”
“Well, I think it’s impressive.” His fingers brushed her cheek and lifted her chin. “You are so unexpected,” he whispered.
Unexpected, as if he had expected something else? He had said that before, at the cottage... Before she could fully analyze where those thoughts led, the warmth of his lips pressed to hers stole them away. But, as soon as it had begun, Athan pulled away, his apology a breath of mint.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t... Not now.”
The kiss’s brevity did not diminish its pull on her heart. Finding bravery within the shelter he’d created, she palmed his cheek to draw him back to her. Athan cursed quietly under his breath just before he kissed her again, soft brevity giving way to desire. Dnara breathed in deep, Athan held her tightly, and all the blight driven madness in the world could not hope to separate them. That singular
