Seven sat in the corner of Moore’s makeshift kitchen, her back against the cool stone wall, turning a bracelet over and over in her hands. Nearby, the embers they’d collected glowed faintly, illuminating the strangely cool stone walls in shades of orange and shadow. Seven couldn’t exactly see the bracelet, but that didn’t matter; what mattered was the feel of it, the almost electric way that Luck passed through the mechanism.
She hadn’t lied to Emmet; she was fairly certain she could get their bracelets off without too many problems. The issue was doing them all at once. She frowned at the stack next to the brazier.
Each bracelet housed a small, elegant type of explosive dice—elegantly designed, but ultimately just a dice. At first, she’d overengineered the thing, thinking that LMC was splitting dice in some way, or otherwise encasing more unstable ones in the bracelet. But with time, she’d realized that the dice within was just that—a dice.
And Seven could deal with dice.
Granted, the idea of testing her plan on the pile of bracelets she’d stuffed in her bag didn’t exactly fill her with confidence. If something went wrong, she’d bring the entire structure down. And yet, she didn’t think she’d have the luxury of trying it elsewhere. Once she was back on the surface she sincerely doubted she’d have the chance to try much of anything with LMC watching her every move—even if she managed to make a run for the capitol.
Seven took a shaking breath. It’s now or never. She gripped the bracelet in trembling fingers and closed her eyes, feeling the now-familiar flow of Luck through the little bracelets, impossibly entwined with her own power, easily manipulated by pulling on the right thread—
“You’re still awake?”
Seven swore, fumbling the bracelet in her hands and nearly dropping it into the brazier. Moore chuckled and settled down on a cushion across from her, studying the pile of explosive bracelets like they were a perfectly normal tankard of ale.
“Late night project?” he asked.
Seven scowled at him, but nodded. “You could say that.”
“You’ve been up for hours.”
“You don’t even know what time it is,” she pointed out. “None of us do.”
“True,” he agreed. “But I also haven’t seen you sleep since you tangled with the centipede, and I also know you were out for the better part of the day today exploring the city.”
“Someone had to do it,” she said, twisting the bracelet in her hands.
“Did it have to be you?”
“Better me than someone they’d miss.” Moore opened his mouth to argue, but Seven cut him off. “You and Emmet have to go back to Veilhome eventually, and Luca has to have a family wondering what in luck’s name happened to him.”
Silence settled over the kitchen, uncomfortable and heavy, only broken by the distant howls outside the walls. Finally, Moore’s glare cut through the gloom.
“What?” she asked, avoiding his eyes as she fiddled with the bracelet. Still, she couldn’t help but look at him a few times—because she’d never quite seen that look before on Moore’s face.
“Seven, I’ve dealt with a lot of your foolishness—up to and including rebuilding my entire basement because of your ‘experiments’ but this nonsense absolutely eclipses the rest.”
“What nonsense?”
“This nonsense.” She held up a bracelet, but Moore shook his head. “No, this idea that you’re replaceable, that you’re expendable, Seven.”
“Aren’t I?”
There was no self-pity in the words. Just reality. The bitter, pragmatic truth. Seven was a princess, yes, but she was easily replaceable—more so even than a common citizen. Hadn’t her exile proved that?
“Seven, do you know why your father sent you away? Why we rot in this hellish place even now?” Seven’s fingers paused over the bracelet, and she shook her head. “Because he was afraid of what you could do. Because he knew the legends. Knew of the cursed seventh daughter that would change everything.” Moore’s voice was steady, but his eyes were intense. “He knew you weren’t worthless, Seven. You were priceless. And he couldn’t afford to keep you.”
“And why would he bother throwing something priceless out with the trash, Moore?” The words came out sharper than she’d meant. She took a shaking breath, trying to steady herself as the Luck in the bracelets flared with her temper. “He exiled me. Threw me out with the prisoners and refuse—“
“He was trying to protect you.”
Seven nearly dropped the bracelet.
“What?”
Moore stared her down from across the table, his eyes piercing, practically pinning her against the wall with their intensity, and in them, Seven saw just a hint of something else.
Fear.
“Your father…” Moore ran a hand through his wiry hair. “I hardly like the man, and certainly I’m not defending him. But he knew what you were, Seven.” His voice softened as he went on, half-defeated, half lost in thought. “He asked me to research the legends, never directly admitted he'd connected them to you, but I knew. A man can't hide that kind of fear forever.”
“Fear of what?” she snapped, suddenly irritated. “I was begging on the streets of Veilhome and gambling my nights away. What was he so afraid of?”
“That Luck would turn against him,” Moore replied. “That you’d stumble into your powers in the middle of Veilhome and be unable to hide them, unable to excuse them. The drained dice were bad enough—a disaster for House Veil’s reputation. But your father knew that if any of House Veil’s enemies discovered you were the Seventh Heir, it would be far worse. That they would use you as a pawn, or worse, a weapon.”
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Seven blew out a huff of air, feeling numb. “So his solution was exile? Toss me out for anyone to find and use?”
Moore didn’t speak for a moment, and when he did, his voice was barely audible. “For all his faults, your father is a practical man. I think he hoped that by keeping you powerless—out of sight, out of the family hierarchy—he'd break your spirit. Make you want to disappear.” He paused. “When that didn’t work, when your trial came and execution was suggested—“
“He had an easy way out,” Seven finished. “An easy way to be rid of a very expensive problem.”
“Yes.”
“And what happens when I show up on his doorstep asking for help?” she asked. “He won’t even believe me, and even if he does, his only real recourse will be throwing me in the dungeons the moment I set foot in Veilhome.”
She glanced at Moore, but he’d gone silent, unable to meet her eyes, and Seven let out a bitter laugh. “What good is power when you’re this powerless?” she asked. “I can kill monsters, run faster than I ever dreamed, shape dice to my will—but I can't make my own father listen to me.”
The words spilled out, uncontrolled. “Maybe…maybe father was right. Maybe it was best for everyone to just forget me. Someone else could have found everything LMC’s doing. Someone with real power. Real influence.”
She looked at Moore, hoping on some level that he’d contradict her. And yet his silence spoke volumes. She was right. Had always been right about her place in the world. She’d been foolish to think it could have been different.
“Emmet could do this. He’s clever, resourceful. You could do it—you know the legal code far better than even he does, and given enough time, you could find plenty of evidence to shut all of this down. Luca might not be able to uncover some grand conspiracy, but he could certainly bring the tunnels down around LMC’s ears—literally.” She took a shaking breath. “I mean, Moore, any of my siblings would have been able to get an investigative team out immediately. Instead, even if I get to Veilhome in time, I’ll have to fight for it. No one will believe me.”
She leaned back against the wall, bracelet still in hand, suddenly exhausted by it all. “I spent my whole life trying to stand out, Moore,” she said quietly. “Trying to be noticed, trying to be something good enough that my family would overlook the issue with the dice entirely.” A bitter sort of laugh escaped her lips. “How…lucky that I had something all along that would have made me stand out, but I would have been as good as dead if I’d used it. I am worthless. A cosmic joke.”
For a moment, silence settled over the room, and distantly, Seven heard Luca and Emmet’s soft snores, and the strange little squeak she’d come to associate with Pocket’s deep sleep. Moore shifted on his cushion, and for a moment, Seven thought he might leave. Instead, he settled back against the wall, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
“Seven, do you know why we keep spares around?”
Seven flinched at the word. “Of course I do. I’m not stupid.”
“You must be,” Moore replied. “Or you’ve taken one too many blows to the head lately.” He leaned forward. “Spares are there for safety. They don’t take risks. They don’t gamble. Does that sound like you?”
“No,” she muttered.
“Spares certainly don’t spend their exile hunting down the man who wronged them. They don’t take foolish mining jobs when they’ve never held a pickaxe in their lives. They don’t infiltrate the headquarters of their bitter rival and burn up every dice in the building just to spite them.”
“I’m just being selfish,” she argued. “I have my own name to protect—“
“Seeking justice isn’t a selfish action,” Moore said, his words measured and clipped. “Justice matters to everyone. The truth matters to everyone. And you're not just risking everything for yourself—you're doing it for every miner under LMC's thumb.” He paused. “Tell me, Seven—if you could prove Rook’s treachery at the cost of the other miners in LMC, would you do it? Would you trade them for your own reputation?”
“Of course not.”
Moore’s eyes caught the light of the ember, and Seven swore she saw something else there. Something like the faint magic she swore she saw on festival days, when dice were tossed into Veilhome’s lake, glowing, radiant, and warm all at once. “These aren’t the actions of a spare, Seven. They’re the actions of a queen. And that, more than anything, was what your father feared. Not the Luck coursing in your veins, but the strength to do what he couldn’t.”
His words hung in the air between them. Queen.
Seven stared at him, the bracelet nearly forgotten in her hands. It seemed foolish, really, to be having the conversation with Moore at all. To even voice how she felt to him. Laid out so clearly, it seemed obvious.
But she'd spent so much of her life believing the lie that shaking it felt impossible.
And yet, as she let the emotions settle around her, the word queen echoing faintly in her mind, she felt something shift. Like some sort of cloud had finally cleared from her spirit. Like the lie, starved of air, had simply died.
Because Moore was right. She wouldn’t leave the miners behind—she’d already sworn that to herself. She’d done everything in her limited power to make a change, even with no throne, no responsibility, no authority or respect. She’d tried, however much in vain, to move forward despite impossible circumstances.
And if she could get out of Hell’s Maw and bring the truth of LMC’s treachery to the light of day, she might see real change—not just for herself, but for the entire kingdom.
It doesn’t matter if father believes me or not, she realized. I’ll deal with it myself—even if I have to get a little creative.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice small in the darkness. “For everything, Moore.”
Moore smiled, and it took years off his face. “I’m sure you’ll more than make it up to me—already have, if I’m being honest. I’m not certain I would have had it in me to take out that giant bug on my own.”
Seven smiled, but her mind wasn’t on his words at all, but on the next steps. “I’m going to have to destroy the dam,” she said, turning the bracelet in her hands. “No one’s going to believe us.”
Moore nodded, his eyes drifting to the bracelet in her hands. “As much as I’d like to continue my string of encouraging wisdom, you’re right. Even if they believe us, Rook will do untold amounts of damage down here before House Veil sends investigators. Your father has never been one to expedite bureaucracy.”
“I want to make sure everyone gets to the surface first,” she said. “I don’t trust the lift, and if something goes wrong, I want to be there. Once everyone’s safe, we can get horses for the three of you, and I’ll come back down and handle the dam.”
“Alone?”
“Of course.”
Moore frowned. “Seven—“
The words died on his lips as something clicked in Seven’s hand—the bracelet, she realized. She’d been working on it absently throughout their conversation, turning it in her hands, memorizing its lines, tracing the flow of Luck through it.
A series of clicks emanated from the pile of bracelets on the table. Seven stared as all of them went dark. The Luck fizzled out, then twined through the air to settle in her outstretched hand, lighting up another triangle in her palm.
The fourth stack.
For a moment they both sat dumbfounded, watching her golden hand, the dark blue hues of the room saturated with the sparkling gold of the Luck as it settled into her hand.
This was hers. Something she didn’t have to share, didn’t have to fight for, didn’t have to gamble to win. This Luck belonged to her, and this time, she knew exactly how to use it.
“Moore,” she said, her voice almost singing with glee. “I think you’re almost right about me, but I can think of an even better role than queen.”
She let the Luck creep around her hand, feeling it settle into her gut, warm and steady. In her mind’s eye, she saw the dam crumbling, Rook’s shocked face, the miners walking free, and Luck spilling out to saturate the kingdom again.
“I’m not a spare. I’m not a queen.”
She smiled, meeting Moore’s eyes.
“I’m the key.”
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