I lift my riding jacket just enough for him to see the cubes clipped onto the front of my utility belt. He nods once before looking around at his troupe, making sure everything’s in order. I glance around, too, gauging how interested his soldiers are in my take, but they look too busy looting their own treasure. Luca shakes me by the shoulders.

“That was brilliant, Imelda.”

I smile at him as Bastian’s soldiers finish their work. He orders us to start marching as soon as everything’s been picked clean. I watch as he sweeps the long hair out of his face and looks back at me over one shoulder. He seems pleasantly surprised by me.

“So. You’re the Alchemist, huh?”

I smile at him. “Now I am.”

Chapter 36: The Wraith

Another curse slips through your lips.

Why did Quinn ruin everything? If it had been you down in that pit, Etzli would have ridden by and laughed as she did. That’s how Ashlords work. Another person’s misfortunes only mean your gain, your victory. Quinn’s apparently never learned to live by those rules.

Frustrated, you give Trust’s lead rope a sharp tug. The horse protests before picking up his pace. The light from his coat casts a soft glow a few feet ahead. Enough to be sure of your footing, but little more. Above and beyond, the darkness of the tunnel unsettles you, especially now that Quinn isn’t at your side.

“And then she guilt-tripped me, Trust. Like I was this awful person for not stopping to help out, even though my entire future is on the line.”

The horse follows in silence. You let out another frustrated noise and continue to make your patient way through the narrowing cave. The air fills with vibrant heat. You let your eyes run ahead, searching the darkness for signs of movement. You’re not sure what you’ll find. You’re not even sure why you’re doing something so stupid.

“All this for some random spirit.”

You can hear the grunting noises. Heavy breathing echoes from the tunnel ahead and you finally spot little Quinn. She’s rigged the rope around an outcropping of rock. She has half a length wound around both hands and she’s nearly horizontal as she tries to pull, inching the rope away from the distant pit. Etzli’s pitiful moans echo from somewhere below.

Quinn’s face is streaked with sweat and her arms and wrists are singed red by her efforts. Either the light or Trust’s clomping footsteps catch the girl’s attention. She doesn’t loosen her grip, but her dark eyes burn in your direction. The look she gives you is furious.

“What?” she snaps. “Are you lost?”

“Look, you were right. I’m sorry. Let me help.”