Page 36 of Keldori By Daybreak

“Up there.” Orla leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs to wipe sweat from her brow as she pointed.

Stars winked beyond the lip of the low ceiling. The mountain’s inside rim bordered the splash of night sky, and I could just barely make out the path carved into the stone there. Green fires in stone lanterns dotted the rock, illuminating the network of stairs and walkways that crisscrossed over the far side of the hollow mountain.

“That’s the prison suite,” Orla said. “At the very top.”

“I thought prisons were usually in the basement,” I said.

“Our Skalspring is down there,” Orla explained. “Best to keep prisoners as far from our magick source as possible.”

I nodded. I remembered the pool of Skal at the bottom of the well-shaped city. While we couldn’t see it from our vantage point here, the soft glow of Skal emanated from the depths of the mountain to accent the far walkways in gentle blue hues.

“How do we get up there?” Ciarán asked.

Orla pointed at the ornate stairs carved out of the mountain. They wrapped up around the center of the city in plain view of anyone who looked that direction.

“How are we supposed to sneak up that?” I hissed. “The entire mountain will see us!”

“I figured your Grimguard is pretty sneaky.” Orla shrugged. “He did a good job tracking us across Skalterra anyway. I’m sure he can get us up there without being spotted.”

“Tracking and sneaking are two different things.” Ciarán slumped against the wall, looking all the more sick in the ambient green light of the city. “But I can do it.”

“I think you need a break, actually.” I grimaced. The only time I’d seen Ciarán looking this worse for wear had been when Orla and I had found him dying of an infection in an alleyway.

Ciarán grunted but was otherwise unable to argue.

“Fine.” Orla crossed her arms and looked at me. “Then we send Wren.”

“What?” I put my hands up. “Shouldn’t it be you? You’re from here. Any guard on duty up there probably knows you!”

“And they know I’m not supposed to be here right now.”

“Pretty sure they’ll all know the blue-haired Nightmare is also not supposed to be here.”

“Not if you hide your blue hair.”

“A hood isn’t going to cut it,” Ciarán said, but my stomach tightened as I realized what Orla was suggesting.

“Wren can change her appearance when she’s a Nightmare,” she explained to Ciarán. “She did it once, in Vanderfall. Remember, Wren? You made yourself look like that blond boy to get away from the Baron’s guard.”

Heat rose in my cheeks, and I pressed my lips together, refusing to look at Ciarán. There were millions of blond boys. He had no way to know it had been Liam—him—I’d disguised myself as.

“Blond boy?” Ciarán straightened up, and a playful eyebrow quirk lifted his face. “Care to elaborate, my Lady?”

“Shut up,” I growled back.

“Wouldn’t be anyone I’d recognize, would it?”

“A random blond kid is still going to draw attention,” I said, ignoring Ciarán. “And it takes up a lot of energy to transform. It might hurt Ciarán.”

“I’m not suggesting you go up as a random kid.” Orla’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and her posture turned rigid.

Unease knotted my stomach, and my heart dropped as her plan became apparent.

It was smart, and it would probably work. It was the exact type of ploy only a lucid Nightmare would be able to pull off.

But I didn’t want to do it.

“It’ll be fine,” Orla promised. “It’s our best bet at getting Iseult out of here fast, and I’m not sure how much longer Ciarán will last up here.”