Chapter 17

I ARRIVED IN an internal doorway of the stone fortress, one that was in a storage wing.

I dumped my trunk in a room full of unused artwork and statuary and navigated through lesser-used hallways to get back to the dressing room where I’d been primped and prepped earlier that day.

Inside, I was deeply grateful to find my ripped jeans, tank and jacket, and beat-up boots. After quickly changing and re-settling Mort’s scabbard on my back, I headed to the doorway where I’d arrived. On the way, I passed a few other New Gargoyles, but no one seemed to think twice about my presence in the fortress. As long as none of them mentioned seeing me to Marisol, my untimely return shouldn’t cause me any trouble.

Using Maxen’s scribbled note, I traced magic-imbued symbols in the air and dissolved into the netherwhere.

When I emerged, the first thing I noticed was the smell of meat smokers. I recognized the Duergar palace not far off. I’d arrived back in the Duergar realm somewhere outside, and I stood still where I was, waiting for the chill of the void to wear off and my eyes to adjust to my dim surroundings. The smell of smoke and cooking meat made my mouth water and reminded me it’d been many hours since my last meal.

As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I could make out the large looming shape of the Duergar palace about a quarter mile straight ahead. In between me and the palace and off to one side were some long outbuildings. Slaughterhouses, I guessed, by the tinge of blood and other unpleasant byproducts of slaughter underlying the smoked meat aroma. Fires glowed here and there, and I spotted smaller buildings—the smokehouses. Men went in and out of them, tending to the business of converting meat into food even at this late hour. I watched them move for a few minutes as I planned my path to the palace, a route that would keep me in the shadows but take me near enough to snatch a piece of smoked meat. I was going to need some fuel to get through the night. And besides, the Duergar owed me a big, fancy court dinner. A bit of jerky was the least the palace could provide me.

As I stole from one shadow to the next, I kept to the tree line and listened to the chatter of the workers. There was a burst of ale-fueled singing from the men gathered around campfires, a group obviously off shift for the night. I tried to orient myself to which side of the palace I was facing, but the place was immense, and being unfamiliar with the landscape, I wasn’t sure in the dark. My best guess was that I was at the back of the palace. I’d skirt it counterclockwise until I knew where I was.

I crept near the smokehouse that was closest to the shadows and waited. When I was sure I could get in and out without crossing paths with a worker, I darted into the weak ring of light from torches and campfires. The door to the small building swung open easily. I held my breath and ducked inside. There was a small lantern lit at the wall. Sausages as thick as my forearm hung from the ceiling like strange party decorations.

I quickly drew Mort and sliced off the end of one of the sausages. With my sword in one hand and a hunk of meat in the other, I elbowed through the door and darted back into the protection of the darkness. I ate as I walked, looking up at the windows of the palace and trying to get a glimpse of what was inside.

Another aroma began to overtake that of smoked meat. When I realized what it was, I stopped mid-chew and my boots scuffed to a halt. It was the smell of horses. Could I be near the barns and the bunkhouse Emmaline had told me about?

Yes. There was a training ring. The unmistakable smell of straw and horse dung.

And there—a lodge-like structure with no windows but skylights spaced along the roof. The bunkhouse.

There were also armed guards. Two that I could see from my vantage point.

After tossing the remaining heel of sausage into the bushes, I ran to the nearest wall of the bunkhouse. I pressed myself against it, listening. There was a door about ten feet away. I sidestepped to it and tried the latch but found it locked.

Voices sent me running across the space between the building and the forest and diving back into the darkness. I watched as a pair of guards walked around the bunkhouse, right past where I’d just been standing. It appeared there were at least two guards stationed at the main door of the building, and at least two patrolling around it. Clearly, there was something valuable in there. But the guards were moving almost casually. So that valuable person or thing, in their estimation, must not have been much of a threat for escape. Or rescue.

I was facing the short end of the bunkhouse, and presumably the front door was located on the opposite short end. With two guards there, that entrance was no good to me.

I needed to see what was inside. Tensing my muscles and taking a race-ready stance with my weight shifted to my forward foot, I waited until the patrol rounded the far corner.

I sprang from the protection of the forest, sprinting across the open space and launching myself at the drainpipe attached to the side of the building. With a quick prayer to Oberon that the pipe was firmly attached, I grasped it and started scrambling my feet to get purchase. The round faces of the logs that made up the wall provided just enough surface for toeholds. I had to make it up and out of sight before the patrol returned, and I still had about a dozen feet to go.

I pulled up, hand over hand, using the drainpipe like a mountain climber’s rope. The surface of the metal flaked off in my hands, and the smell of rust rose to my nostrils. It was flimsier than I’d thought, and there was a soft whine as the top end started to pull away from the gutter it was fixed to.

“Shit,” I hissed and climbed faster.

I managed to get my elbows over the rain gutter just as the pipe broke off and tipped to the ground. It landed softly in the dirt below but would be impossible to miss even in the dark.

I swung a leg up, grateful that the gutter was so solidly attached. Reaching out for a plumbing vent pipe that stuck out of the sloped roof, I got my lower body up just as the guards returned.

I heard them talking as they came upon the fallen pipe. I moved to the peak of the roof and flattened myself on it. The men would have to back up several yards to get the right angle to see me, but I’d shift my position as they moved to make sure I wasn’t discovered.

For a moment I just lay there, my chest heaving from the effort of climbing and my heart tapping rapidly. About four feet away, there was a skylight glowing with very faint light from within. Staying as flat as I could, I military-crawled over to the window and peered over the edge. The glass was scratched and clouded, the frame holding it to the roof rusted even worse than the drainpipe I’d used to climb up. I probably could have pulled the whole thing off with a little effort.

Below was a room with a row of toilet stalls along one wall and a row of sinks lining the opposite wall. The bathroom itself was dark. The illumination was coming from an adjacent room, which I couldn’t see into. To my right, over the peak of the roof on the other slanted face, was a somewhat brighter skylight.

The guards below were still examining the fallen pipe, but with no easy way to climb up, they seemed to be debating whether to ignore it or get a ladder to investigate further. While they argued, I scooted over to the brighter skylight.

The window revealed the sleeping part of the bunkhouse, with several bunkbeds in view. One was pushed into a corner. On the top bunk, a young woman sat with her back tucked against the right angle formed by two walls. Her knees were pulled up against her chest, and her arms were wrapped around her shins, as if she were trying to make herself as tiny as possible. She wore jeans and a sweater, and her hair was pulled up into a bun that had started to sag.

It was Nicole. I wasn’t sure how I could be so positive without even seeing her face, but in my gut, I was sure.

I tapped a nail softly on the glass, and she looked up, her eyes wide with alarm. It was definitely her. I put the side of my index finger against my lips, warning her to be quiet. Like the other skylight, this one was also in disrepair. I pulled my karambit knife from its pocket on my scabbard strap and worked the point of it under the shingles that overlapped the skylight frame. Working quickly, I popped the shingles off one end of the frame and then pried up the edge of it a couple of inches.

I put my mouth next to the open space. “Nicole?” I whispered.

Her alarm morphed into confusion. “Yes?”

“I’m here to bust you out,” I whispered. “My name’s Petra Maguire.”

The fear returned, this time mixed with suspicion. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? The Fae? You’re all crazy. It’s like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole.”

I could understand her confusion, but I didn’t have time to convince her that it was all real, that she was, in fact, a New Garg changeling kidnapped by a Duergar Fae king and whisked away to Faerie.

“Be that as it may, I’m trying to save you. Maybe we could just focus on that for now?” I was working my knife around, prying more shingles off the skylight’s frame. “You didn’t swear fealty to Periclase, did you?”

“What? No! I’ve never sworn fealty to anyone in my life,” she said it as if it was something I’d made up.

“Good.”

“How do I know you’re not just going to kidnap me, too?” she demanded.

I grunted as I pushed at the frame, forcing the opening wider. “You don’t.”

“Someone’s coming,” Nichole hissed. “And I’m going to tell them you’re up there.”

She scrambled to the edge of the bed and dropped her legs over the side, poised to jump down to the floor.

“Nicole, wait, don’t do that!” I hissed back. “I’m your sister. Our father sent me.”

Her mouth dropped open. She squinted at me.

“Give me your hand!” I shoved the skylight higher and leaned over, reaching through as far as I dared without falling into the bunkhouse.

She gave me a hard stare for a split second, and for the briefest of moments, I thought she’d refuse. But then her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and she rose to her feet on the mattress of the top bunk. On her tiptoes, she grasped my hand with both of hers. I planted my feet and hauled back for all I was worth, dragging my long-lost changeling twin up into the night with me.