Chapter 118: All Hell

Thomas

We’re so deep beneath Venice we should be drowning, but the tunnels hold fast, secure against the damp running down the walls. Better still, they follow the exact paths laid out on the map—a sign of the loyalty the mine mages have for Leander. Which makes sense. His trust is hard won, and any man Leander keeps close has won the honor.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Azriel growls as we reach another apparent dead end. Clapping his hand against the slime-slick rock, he looks back over his shoulder at Leander. “Little help?”

The warlock sidles past him without a word, and I look on as Leander repeats the clearing rite. A series of cryptic words and hand gestures, culminating in the quick carving of a sigil, and the wall splits open to let us through.

“Well done,” I say, thumping Leander on the shoulder as we pass deeper into the catacombs. We’d be lost without him. Obscuring charms have pocked our way, ensuring no one else can trace our circuitous route.