The trip to Cielo gave Quenti too many hours to think. She spent each night huddled against the cold, away from the dying fire as her captors turned in. Plans of escape flooded her mind every evening. But it had been a hopeless thought. Each night, her eyes burning with exhaustion, she watched the guards pace their campsite, unerring as they took their shifts.

Her weariness weighed on her body like a stone as she watched the guards standing dead still against a tree, eyes focused on her. By the third night, without her permission, her eyes closed and didn’t open until the bustling of the camp woke her, the sky a pale mauve.

By the time the cart had made its way into the shadow of Cielo, her entire body was heavy and sluggish. But when the dense doors had shut behind them and the cold councilwoman—Emaru—had jumped down from her l’lamaga, Quenti’s mind went into high alert. There was no time for exhaustion. She was in enemy territory now. Quenti almost smiled at the irony of this thought—enemy territory—the capital city of her own country.

As Quenti followed her dull-witted companion Alara out of the cart, the councilwoman waved her hand toward them. A sharp breeze pelted the two of them, almost threatening to knock her backward. She seized up involuntarily, anticipating a follow-up attack until she noticed its purpose. The flurry of air was cold, but it dried the loose water on her skin and clothes quickly. Quenti felt her caution morph into annoyance. She could have driven the water away using her own abilities, thank you very much. In a mark of defiance, she did just that, pushing the remaining moisture off of her body and clothes, leaving it almost completely dry within seconds.

The councilwoman smiled, which was the exact opposite reaction Quenti had hoped for.

Damn.

Quenti knew it was petty, but behind enemy walls, every detail of her abilities could be used against her. She took a deep breath and smelled the musty scent of damp earth, nothing like the clear, crisp scent of her hometown.

She cast her eyes around the large cavern where their unloaded collection of carts and camping supplies sat. The coachmen ushered the l’lamas and l’lamagas off through a corridor to the right, which Quenti assumed led to a stable of some sort.

The councilwoman guided them forward to where the cavern narrowed into another corridor. She stood straight as she walked—almost stiff—making her tall, thin frame oddly formidable. Her dark hair was streaked with gray and pulled back in a severe bun at the nape of her neck. Quenti winced as she stared at the woman’s hairline, which was pulled taut, with the base of the hair bearing a red tint. This detail, of all things, made Quenti realize how much she did not want to be on this woman’s bad side. Anyone who could put up with that much self-inflicted pain likely warranted some form of fear.

Within the caverns of the mountain, the once-prevalent sound of the rain was nearly imperceptible. Though if she concentrated hard enough, Quenti found she could just make out the sound of water moving within the recesses of the mountain. She placed a hand gently against the cool wall and closed her eyes. It was made of pressed soil, but it was firm beneath her palm.

When she opened her eyes, Alara was right in front of her.

“You know,” Alara said, “it’s not actually the sound of rain you’re hearing.” The dull-witted girl had an annoyingly proud tone in her voice.

Quenti’s face reddened in irritation as she removed her hand from where it rested. “I don’t care.”

“It just seemed like—”

“I don’t care.” Quenti turned her head and sped up, catching up with the councilwoman. As far as she was concerned, this long tunnel was nothing to admire, but just a means of her eventual escape.

After turning left, the wide corridor narrowed into a hallway. The ceiling was likely at least four feet above Quenti’s head, but with the walls closing in on them, it was hard to escape a feeling of claustrophobia.

Torches lined the hall, lit with what Quenti assumed was mage fire, given the unnatural white smoke filtering up and into the small vents in the ceiling. She bit her lip to stop from gasping—she didn’t want to get that stupid girl’s attention again—when she noticed each torch had its own small crystal receptive embedded in the base. She had heard of crystals that could hold on to a mage’s powers long after they had stopped casting them. A trader passing by Hurazon had once shown off a small pink quartz that he claimed was a receptive, though no one in the village believed him. The fact he couldn’t prove it was doubly suspicious.

Crystal receptives were considered incredibly rare—mined only from a few specific locations along the eastern border of Sombria—and their hefty price reflected this. The idea that so many were being used to simply light her way made her feel queasy. Of course the Haven would use this sought-after resource for such a mundane purpose. A quick glance at the others showed she was the only one sickened by this—though Alara’s obliviousness wasn’t surprising.

Several minutes passed, and the councilwoman led them down various junctions within the tunnels. Occasionally, they’d cross paths with another group going the opposite direction, but no pleasantries were exchanged.

Everyone’s probably concentrating on how to get outta here. That had to be it. Quenti herself felt turned around; every hall and door they passed looked the same.

After another ten minutes, the walls parted suddenly, and the corridor widened as the sound of voices and rushing water broke over them. One turn later, they entered an enormous cavern—though, somehow, enormous failed to capture its immense size. Quenti couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped her lips, and she cringed at the smile that the other girl gave her. She didn’t give Alara the satisfaction of a sideways glance. The cavern they stood in was so large that her entire village could fit inside. And it seemed, in fact, an entire village had been built inside.

Above them, the ceiling stretched so high that even the bright lights below couldn’t illuminate it. Although they were certainly within the confines of a cavern, the expanse was such that it was almost like being outside again. Almost.

But the strange and unnatural reverberations within the walls gave it away. Things sounded different here, sharper yet more garbled. Quenti took in the scene in front of her, overwhelmed with colors, unable to focus on any specific part. A market was set up in the center of the cavern—one bigger than anything Quenti had ever seen. Hundreds of small tents and tables were scattered around as people streamed between them, chattering and laughing. The bright colors of potatoes, woven cloth, and spices blended into each other, and the smell of mint, aji, and roast fish sat thick in the air.

Quenti was drawn to the sound of a rushing stream and she saw a twisting canal that wrapped around the market and under a series of bridges. Some of the stalls were propped up tight against the river, and men in thin reed boats handed customers fresh fish from baskets hung along the edge of the canal walls.

Beside her, the young magite let out a breath, and Quenti saw the soft smile of contentment ghosting her lips. The councilwoman, on the other hand, was unaffected. Quenti didn’t know who she should be annoyed at more.

An icy hand pressed between Quenti’s shoulder blades, pushing her toward a small bridge leading to the center of the cavern.

“Come on now.” The councilwoman stepped ahead, her strides long and determined.

Quenti stumbled after the woman, trying to keep up as she did her best to make sense of the scents and sounds around her. One particularly strong whiff of roasted cuy caught her attention, and her stomach grumbled in interest. Meat was a rare delicacy in Hurazon and the small animal even more so. She’d only had cuy once in her life, when her father had traded for it after a particularly large haul of fish. They cooked it out on the fire pit in front of their house as Quenti’s father loudly commented on his own success in affording the meal.

“Nothing beats the smells of this market.” Alara’s voice pulled Quenti out of her thoughts and back into the moment.

There was no time to think about food or home. She needed to plan a way out. Her focus from the stalls back toward the edge of the cavern as she counted the exits, determining which one led out to Cielo. But she thought again of the high wall that surrounded the entire city. It wouldn’t be as easy as just walking out, though she tried not to let that thought suffocate her.

Quenti followed the councilwoman as she turned down another unmarked hallway on the other side of the cavern.

“Is this how to trap all your captives here?” Quenti said. “Confuse ’em with a maze of tunnels. Are there any booby traps I should be worried about?”

“You’ll learn the paths soon enough,” Alara responded with an obnoxious smile. “We have maps in the student library that you’re free to look at.” She nudged Quenti gently, in what she probably meant as a friendly gesture. “And you’re not a prisoner.”

Quenti’s lips pressed tight together in something between a grimace and a smile. “Right. So I can leave?”

Alara’s face froze for a second, her wide doe eyes blinking. Quenti’s lips stretched into a humorless smile. This girl was either brainwashed or a damn good actor.

Ahead of them, the councilwoman spoke without pausing her stride. “You are free to leave after all of this if you choose. But first let us show you what we have to offer. Give us some time before you make up your mind about us. Your father will be waiting for you if you wish to return, I’m sure.”

Quenti didn’t respond to this. An image flashed in her mind of her father sitting by the hearth with a strong bottle of distill in their empty house. She shook off the emotion that threatened to clog her throat and refocused on trying to memorize the endless twists and turns they were taking.

After what felt like hours, they came across a stone arch carved into the tunnel. It wasn’t so much a door as it was a threshold to another part of the Haven.

Alara whispered beside her, eyes focused brightly on the intricate carvings. “Welcome home.”

This ain’t my home.

Quenti turned to glare at Alara, but the other girl was already turning away, heading toward a new hallway that veered off to the right.

“Alara, where are you going?” the councilwoman asked.

“Eh?”

Quenti saw the brainwashed girl’s body go rigid before turning back to them.

“I was going to go back to my room,” she waved halfheartedly at the bag strapped to her side. “To unpack before my debrief?”

“I think your bag can wait. You’re coming with us.”

Quenti smirked as the blood drained from the other girl’s face. At least she wasn’t the only one unhappy right now.

“But my report…”

“Your report for the class that I run? Yes, I think we can figure that out later. We need to discuss some other things first, such as your overall future at the Haven. No, I haven’t forgotten about that. And this may include Quenti here as well.”

Quenti’s eyes flickered back to the older woman at this, and she knew her own face had gone pale. Include me how?

“Include her how?”

***

“I’m rooming with Quenti?” Alara’s voice was loud and the councilwoman’s eyes flashed in reproach.

It turned out that idiotic girl was going to be her prison guard.

“I don’t have a second bed!” Alara said. The councilwoman’s face was pinched with irritation—so she does show emotion—but she simply gave the girl a smooth smile.

“An easy fix, but I’m glad for your concern.” She stepped closer to the girl, the threat clear, even to Quenti. “I’ve been soft with you over the years. Maybe all of this is my fault. You’ve fallen behind the other students and it’s only getting worse.”

“My grades in classes are better than most!”

“In theory and basic fighting skills, maybe. But in the practical applications of magia you haven’t passed a single mission exam. Which, if you want to be a councilguard, is where it counts.”

Quenti felt she had become invisible, and she used the time to take in the councilwoman’s office. The room was cluttered but not messy. Papers and books were neatly stacked and organized across the multiple tables and shelves that lined the walls. A map of Sombria spread across one desk, small carved figures scattered across the parchment in some formation that meant nothing to her.

“There are plenty of blameless who are successful councilguards. I don’t need my magia to help the realm.”

“I will not have this argument again, Alara,” the councilwoman said as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Alone and safe within the confines of the office, the councilwoman looked almost human as she gave a heavy sigh.

“I have my place here,” Alara said.

“You spend most of your days with your blameless friends practicing spear fighting rather than your magia. It’s time to stop playing councilguard and become a proper mage.”

Alara’s eyes widened, and Quenti shifted again, no longer able to pretend she wasn’t listening.

“Can I just say,” Quenti interjected, “that I’m enjoying every second of this family squabble?”

Alara turned on her and Quenti felt herself smile—truly smile—for the first time in days.

“My apologies, Quenti,” the councilwoman said. “As I was saying, you will room together. I feel you may balance each other out well. Alara could learn to loosen her control over her magia and you’ll need to learn how to control yours. Anyhow, you will need to settle in to the Haven, and who better to help than one who’s lived here since she was a child?”

Alara gave a small huff. “Can I go now?”

The councilwoman gave a quick nod. “I’ll still expect your mission report in my office box by tomorrow.”

“So, does this mean I’m not kicked out?” Alara responded, pale.

“Not yet.”