Zander rushed to the door, taking a candlestick from a nearby table on the way. He opened the door and held it, fishing in his pocket for his flint and steel. When he looked back at Ace, he noticed she was favoring her right leg.
“Is your leg hurt?” he whispered.
Ace waved her hand dismissively. “I’m okay. Landed wrong when I jumped from the balcony is all. It’s my shoulder that will be throbbing later on.”
Zander brushed his hand gently across her back as she walked through the door.
“Let’s just get you out of here,” he said. “Then I’ll take care of you.”
Ace turned to look at him from inside the dark kitchen, a soft smile on her face.
“You look like you’ve been through hell yourself, Chicken Leg. Let’s say we’ll take care of each other.”
Zander nodded, smiling. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as the joy and utter terror of the past hour began to settle in his bones. His hands threatened to start shaking again, and he gave them a mental scolding, willing his inevitable meltdown to hold off for a few more days.
He lit the candle. The small flame threw the cooking supplies into sharp relief, casting strange shadows on the walls. Replacing the flint and steel in his pocket, his eyes searched the space for a trapdoor in the floor. Spotting it, he placed the candlestick gently on the floor and gripped the edges of the door, prying it open. A wooden ladder led downward into a black abyss.
“This is how I left before,” Ace said. “How did you know about this? I didn’t even tell Theo and Yarrow.”
“Ah, we ran into your Uncle Hugo.” Zander paused to admire the look of shock that crossed Ace’s face, then continued. “He’s living in Almogia now, with Ignacio’s former household manager. He would like you to visit more often.”
Ace laughed, throwing her head back slightly. It was a truly magnificent sound. Something inside Zander—something that had shriveled in fear and anger, believing he may never hear her laugh again—bloomed upon hearing it. He smiled at her, content to make her wait for the rest of the details, and lowered himself into the ground.
Finding solid ground beneath his feet, he reached up toward Ace, gesturing for her to pass him the candle. When she did, he took stock of his surroundings. The tunnel was about seven feet high and four feet wide. It appeared to be well-maintained, but he couldn’t speak for the extension beyond the house.
“I’ll go ahead and make sure it’s safe,” he told Ace. “Wait here.”
He turned and walked down the tunnel, looking for any signs it was going to cave in on their heads. Hearing something behind him, he whipped around to see Ace climbing down the ladder, ignoring his instructions completely. He made his way back to her, holding out the candle so she could see where she was putting her feet. Of course she’d followed him, he thought. What made him think she would be content to stand around and wait when she’d been trapped in this place for days?
Zander took Ace’s hand and led her forward, his left hand holding the candlestick out ahead of them. As they walked, he kept his gaze straight ahead, his eyes peeled for anything from a root jutting from the ground to an assassin lying in wait. He tried to banish the million things he wanted to say to the woman walking just behind him from his thoughts.
One week ago, he’d been tangled up with Ace in the bed of an inn, wishing he could stay there for the rest of his life. The next day they’d boarded The Valerian again, and thought being there on the sea with her, surrounded by pirates, was somehow even better. He’d felt, for the first time in his life, like he was right where he belonged.
Since then, he’d been beaten, captured, and abused. He’d killed, maimed, stolen, and fled for his life. He’d uncovered secret after secret, about the woman he loved and himself alike, and surprised himself in more ways than he could count. He was a different man now than he was a week ago. There was simply too much to say.
“The turn to get out should be just ahead,” Ace said. “I never thought to ask Cristian why these tunnels were here.”
“It’s an old servant passage,” Zander said. “It probably leads to areas only servants would go. Kitchens, laundry, et cetera. Cristian said it was extended beyond the house to the storehouses at some point, but he didn’t say why.”
His eyes never left the path as he spoke. They came to a fork, and he looked both ways. Seeing an area where the smooth, packed ground turned rougher, the ceiling lower, he turned right and headed that way. His hand still held Ace’s, but he remained silent.
“I’m glad Tio Hugo is alright,” Ace said after a few moments. “Did he really say I should visit?”
Zander looked back at Ace, worrying at the quiet tone she used.
“He told me to tell you he loves you. Then he demanded that I keep you safe, and that we all come visit soon. He called you ‘Little Aracely,’ and he has the same dimples you do.” He reached out and gently poked at Ace’s cheek, right where it folded into a dimple when she smiled.
The smile in question emerged, just as Ace’s eyes filled with tears. She let out a sigh through pursed lips, squinting her eyes as if the combination of gestures would stem the flow of tears. It didn’t.
Zander wrapped his arms around her and listened to her cry, rubbing circles gently on her back.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered.
After a few last shuddering sobs, Ace pulled away, wiping her face on the backs of her sleeves. She shook her head like it would rid her of her thoughts.
“I’d always feared he was angry at me,” Ace admitted. “My parents died, and then I ran away. I left him here to deal with it all by himself. I spent years running, afraid to return to Spain, afraid to face any of this. And then it caught up with me anyway, and it killed people that I love. All I had to do was say, ‘No.’ All those years ago, I could have prevented all of this if I’d just said, ‘No. I won’t have you.’”
Ace covered her face with her hands. Another sob racked her, and she spoke into her fingers, her voice muffled.
“He killed my parents.”
Zander’s heart stuttered. “That’s what Hugo thought, too,” he said softly. “How did you find out?”
Ace kept her hands on her face. “He all but spelled it out for me, on his ridiculous ship on the journey here. He was trying to intimidate me, so I would…” Her lower lip trembled, the words dying. “It’s my fault, Zander. It’s all my fault—my parents, the crew. And now here I am again, running like a rat in these goddamned tunnels.”
Zander gently pried Ace’s hands away so he could look into her eyes.
“Ace,” he said softly. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is, Zander, you don’t understand.”
“Ace. A monster dropped into your life. You were very young. You did what you thought was right, and it didn’t work, but not because you were wrong. It didn’t work because he played by his own rules, rules someone as good and kind as you would never have considered to be in play. And yes, you ran, as many perfectly good and sane people would do after such a trauma.” Zander’s voice took on a harder tone, and he gripped Ace’s shoulders firmly. “You didn’t kill your parents, and you didn’t kill your crew. You know who did.”
Ace took a deep breath, her expression turning hard as she calmed. “Ignacio,” she said.
Zander nodded. “Ignacio. Not you. Ignacio.”
Ace looked back down the tunnel behind her, as if she meant to return and find him.
