Chapter Eighteen · The Mine That Breathed

Lyra stood in the middle of a wide, open pit. Morning light struck her full in the face. She squinted. Hundreds of workers bent over their labor, metal ringing against stone, sharp and constant.

She looked down at her hands. A rough wooden haft sat heavy in her grip.

Not a sword. A pick.

The innkeeper had told her to come here and dig. If she didn’t know what to do, she could ask.

Lyra found an empty patch of stone.

She raised the pick and brought it down.

Raised it again. Down.

“Nothing but rock.”

The sun climbed.

Her shoulders burned. Sweat ran down her spine.

Lyra let the pick fall. Her throat had gone dry.

She dragged herself into the shade of a boulder and sank to the ground.

Dust coated her boots, clung to her hair, and worked its way beneath her nails.

Her hand moved out of habit, the way it did before every meal in the palace.

No napkin.

“Obewich—”

The word caught in her throat.

Lyra looked around. Nothing but dirt and stone.

No one here to order.

A flicker of self-pity rose. She pushed it down.

She wiped her hands on her skirt and pulled out the loaf she had tucked at her waist.

Dust clung to the crust.

Doesn’t matter. I’m starving.

Lyra looked at it for a moment.

Then she bit in and ate quickly.

She was halfway through the loaf when a waterskin appeared in front of her, held out from behind. The strap was worn thin.

“Drink.”

Lyra turned sharply.

A girl about her age stood there, wide-eyed, her hair in braids. The sleeves of her shirt had been patched again and again.

“It’s not poisoned,” she added with a small grin.

Lyra said nothing. The girl sat beside her.

“New here? Where are you from?”

“Thrudor,” Lyra said, barely above a whisper.

“Oh. Sounds familiar. Isn’t that where the palace is?”

She held out a hand. “I’m Sion. You?”

“Lyra.”

Sion uncapped the waterskin and took a few swallows. Her hands were rough and callused.

“How long have you been working here?” Lyra asked.

“Five years.”

“You must know your way around.”

“Sure.” Sion pulled a face. “But no one lasts long here.”

“Why?”

Sion pointed toward a group of men in the distance. All of them were thin, their shoulders drawn in. A few bent over, coughing dryly.

“Poison. Families that stay too long... they all end up the same.”

Lyra slowed her chewing.

They knew the cost. Still came anyway.

She had come because she had no choice.

When Lyra finished eating, Sion gave her shoulder a light pat.

“There’s no gold out here. Come with me.”

Lyra didn’t ask.

They got to their feet and headed for a rough-cut shaft nearby.

Sion pointed inside.

“There’s a vein in there.”

“How do you know?”

“Call it a knack. I’ve been working it for a month. No supports, though. If you’re scared, don’t go in.”

Lyra hesitated.

A shaft without supports was a risk.

But without gold, she would never buy her horse back.

And she couldn’t stay here forever. She had to find a lead on the Awakening Spring.

Might as well take the chance.

Lyra tightened her grip on the pick.

“All right. I’m coming with you.”

Together, they stepped inside.

The deeper they went, the darker it grew. Sion pulled a stone the size of her palm from her satchel.

“Lume Stone. It glows.”

She crouched and moved slowly. Lyra followed.

The air tightened. Lyra’s breath came short. She tried to keep talking.

“You work here with your parents?”

Sion scratched her head.

“Don’t remember them. My aunt brought me here when I was little.”

She shrugged.

“Said she’d tell me everything when I was older.”

“The shaft collapsed before she could.”

Lyra slowed.

About her age.

A harder life. Still standing on her own.

So why am I feeling sorry for myself?

The thought broke off.

Something moved above them. Faint. A thin tremor.

The ceiling was black. A hairline crack ran through it, thread-fine.

Lyra stepped back without thinking. Her hand caught Sion’s.

They searched by the Lume Stone’s glow. At a dead end, Sion stopped.

“See that? Flakes in the quartz.”

She nodded toward a narrow seam.

“Hold the light. I’ll break it.”

Sion handed her the Lume Stone and took the pick.

Clang.

The sound snapped back at them, sharp in the confined space.

Clang. Clang.

Sion struck again.

Quartz shattered into jagged shards. White dust burst into the air.

Sion paused, only for a fraction. Then her eyes lit.

“That vein’s real rich.”

She dropped to her knees and brushed the dust from the seam.

Lyra moved closer, her pulse quickening.

Gold?

Then she went still.

A sound.

Very small. Thin. Like a nail scratching stone.

Crack.

Lyra looked up. The fissure had split wider. Her eyes widened.

Crack.

The sound spread, like a thread pulled tight.

“Sion.”

Lyra grabbed her shoulder and yanked.

“Run.”

The ceiling shuddered.

Dust came down in thick sheets, ash-heavy. The air turned dense.

They ran. Shoulders slammed into stone. The Lume Stone slipped from Lyra’s hand and skittered away, its light spinning wildly.

Sion’s heart skipped. Blood roared in her ears.

Is this really how I die?

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The sound raced overhead.

Heat flared along Lyra’s scar. Danger.

Now.

She veered, dragging Sion through a narrow gap.

Boom.

A slab shattered behind them.

They flinched.

“Exit’s that way!” Sion shouted.

The ceiling began to come apart in chunks. Stone fell like rain.

One step too slow and they would be buried.

Lyra pushed faster. Sion slipped and went down hard.

Both her hands hit the ground, fingers splayed.

Lyra lunged and caught her wrist.

Crrrk.

A deep grinding sounded inside the rock.

Lyra looked up. A massive block tore free from the ceiling.

No time to think.

Lyra pulled Sion in and curled tightly around her.

Boom.

The light went out.

Dust and stone poured down.

Black. Absolute.

Silence pressed in. Not a sound.

It happened too fast. Even Lyra’s fear hadn’t caught up.

Is this the end?

After a long while, Sion’s voice came small in the dark.

“Are we dead?”

She shifted. The arms around her were still tight.

She reached up and pinched her cheek.

Pain.

“No.”

Sion moved again, then gave Lyra a light shake.

“You okay?”

Lyra stirred. Her voice came slowly, a little unsteady.

“I’m fine. Feels like something’s... around us.”

The ground shifted. Something hard and rounded pressed close, expanding with a dry rustle.

A thin wash of light seeped in from the entrance.

They pushed themselves up.

Both of them gasped.

“Roots.”

Thick roots had coiled together, bracing the space.

“Where did they come from?” Lyra said.

Sion stared at them, thick as posts.

“From that bush up top?”

The image flickered through Sion’s mind. A scrubby little plant by the shaft mouth.

She let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh.

“No way.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

A root trembled as Sion stepped off it.

Somewhere in the shaft, the Lume Stone was still held fast by another strand. Its light flickered.

They made it out and collapsed near the entrance, dragging in air.

In the palace, Lyra had trained hard so she wouldn’t be weak.

Out here, she fought for each meal.

There was no easy place.

She wouldn’t go back.

She needed strength. To find the Awakening Spring. To take back what was hers.

One day, she would return and prove them wrong.

They were wrong. Not her.