Page 16 of Blackthorn

“I am determined to see this through,” she said.

“Let’s go before the snow worsens,” Luis said, guiding his horse up the path.

The snow fell at a rapid pace. The slate gray sky darkened, even though she knew it was only midday. She kept her chin tucked down so the snow would fall on the hood of her newly acquired greatcoat and miss her spectacles.

This strategy only had moderate success. Soon Charlotte had to dismount and guide her horse. Her boots crunched through the fresh snow.

The wind had a way of sneaking through every layer she wore, chilling her right to the bone. At least the gloves kept her hands warm. Focusing on the glow of the lantern hanging off the back of Luis’s saddle distracted her from numb toes and a positively frozen nose.

They entered the Black Gate, which rattled closed behind them. For a moment Charlotte was confused by the absence of snow and wind. She had trudged forward and never noticed.

She unwound the scarf and pushed back her hood. Melted droplets of snow splattered across her spectacles. With a sigh, she stripped off her glove to dig out a dry cloth to clean the lenses. “Everything about winter is such a production,” she muttered. “Why have we stopped?”

“We wait,” Luis said, shaking the snow from his greatcoat.

Miles, usually so quiet, cocked his head, listening. “We are being inspected.”

Behind them was the closed gate. Snow swirled in through the bars, piling into drifts. Before them was another gate. Beyond that was darkness. Above them were a pair of ancient solar panels that barely cast enough light. The walls were smooth, carved from the mountain by a machine. The surface was pitted with small holes and chips.

Bullets, she realized. This wasn’t just a gate. It was a killing field.

Charlotte had the uncanny sensation of being watched. She did not like it.

Resisting the urge to pull the hood up and hide, she held her head aloft. She refused to be intimidated.

“We have returned, as part of our bargain,” Luis said, speaking to an unseen observer.

An unsettling amount of time passed.

The gate opened and light panels further down the tunnel flickered to light.

They went through three more gates. At each one, Charlotte felt the itch of eyes on her. Judging her.

After the final gate, they emptied into a large cavern. Harsh overhead lighting snapped to life. A hexagonal courtyard, she realized. The walls were too smooth to be natural. A parapet circled the courtyard. Underneath each side of the hexagon were arches, hidden in shadows like black maws ready to swallow her whole. Mirrored silver windows dotted the cavern wall. How high they went, she couldn’t say. The bright lights made it impossible to see beyond.

It was a space designed to intimidate.

A woman emerged from the far-right arch, flanked by soldiers. Her iron-gray hair was cut unfashionably short, set with waves. She wore a terribly old-fashioned black shirt with a high collar. She marched right up to their party and gave them a once-over, distaste clear on her face.

“Madame Lemoine,” Luis said, giving a curt bow.

“Is this her?” Madame Lemoine asked, as if Charlotte were not there at all.

Well, that would not do.

Charlotte cleared her throat. “I am Charlotte Wodehouse—”

“I do not care what you are called. You are here at the Master’s whim. Nothing more.” She snapped her fingers and a groom scurried forward. He took the reins and led the horses away. Lemoine turned to Luis. “You are late. You were expected hours ago.”

Luis’s brows went up. “Not all of us are experienced travelers, and the path is treacherous.”

“Well, now the snow is too thick. You’ll have to stay the night. I suppose I can find room for you all,” she said, her tone frosty.

“We’ll leave now, while we still have the light,” Miles said, speaking for the first time. He turned his horse around and headed to the gate, not waiting for Madame Lemoine’s dismissal.

Luis made to follow but paused to speak to Charlotte. He did not insult her by asking again if she was sure. “He can’t abide being in another’s territory,” he explained. “Makes him itchy under the skin. He’d say goodbye if he could.”

“I know,” she said. Luis was her friend’s brother and Miles the town blacksmith recently infected by the mutation. She barely knew them at the start of the journey, but now she considered them to be friends. “The storm will only get worse.”