Page 124 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
“Yes,” they both replied.
“For very, very good reason,” Beau added.
Aislinn snorted. “That’s what makes it so exciting.”
She turned her back and squeezed into the lift.
“Your sister,” Caerwyn remarked to Beau, as Dillon followed next, “is really something.”
“She is.” Beau paused. “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you, and make it look like an accident.”
For what felt like a full minute, Caerwyn stared at him, very grateful when he remembered that Beau could lie and would not be held to that. “And if she hurts me?” he asked eventually,which seems far more likely.
“I like you, but I’m not hurting my sister for you. Maybe one of the dwarves will. Or all of them. They seem rather fond of you.”
Too fond,Caer thought, at the same time feeling warmed by the remark. Theywerefond of him, and he felt like he’d want to hurt whoever hurt them, too, but Fort had died because she cared about him, and he didn’t enjoy the idea that others might, too, before this was over.
He supposed that was the risk with caring about anyone.
“Come on, lads,” Minerva urged. “You’re holding us up!”
Beau squeezed on next, leaving just enough room for Caer and his wargi, which wagged its tail and panted happily as he urged it forward, as if the Deep were nothing more than an ambitious walk.
The doors closed shut behind them. Bell pressed something on the wall—a button next to descriptions of the various different levels. There were farms and fields, lakes and mines, one named simply ‘the Forest’—and others that looked like names of towns.
‘The Deep’ was the last level.
The room—lift—gave a sudden lurch.
Caer gasped, a hand reaching out to steady himself, and found himself gripping Aislinn’s arm.
“Are you all right?” she said, leaning across.
“Fine,” he replied, only half lying. “This is just… strange.”
“Strange for me, too,” she said, and slipped her gloved hand into his.
“Where did you get the gloves?”
“Had them made for me,” she said. “Yours must get uncomfortable from time to time.”
“Maybe. Still worth it, though.”
Aislinn squeezed tighter.
The lift took a while to descend. Minerva said it was best to go slow, that descending too quickly often made people ill—even the hardiest of dwarves. It seemed an age before it finally stilled, and the doors slid open.
Beau gasped. He wasn’t the only one. Dillon offered a curse under his breath, too, followed by a low whistle.
The party shuffled out. Caer stood where he was, utterly amazed.
He’d expected pools of fire and brimstone, rock and lava as far as the eye could see, a horrible, palpable heat.
All that he’d got right was rock.
Everything else was blue and purple. Crystals clung to the rocks and the ceilings, vines and flora blooming beneath the faint, dusky glow. Rivers of clear translucent water ran through the caverns, luminescent fish striking through the current. Butterflies of pure light hummed along the stone.
“Ooh, look, moon thistles!” said Flora, running over to examine a nearby plant, a spiny, leafy thing with a white centre that shone like snow. “Haven’t seen these in a while, great for—”
