Free The Crown of Embers by Rae Carson

centuries.”
    “But is it meant for those coming or going?” I muse. “Which direction ‘leads to life’?”
    “Only one way to find out,” Hector says, and it warms me to hear the anticipation in his voice.
    The limestone squeezes tighter until the corridor is barely wide enough for the guards’ armored shoulders. Though it’s cool and breezy, I’m too aware of the weight of rock above. So huge, so heavy. A whole city goes about its business up there. I’m becoming very nervous when Fernando announces, “Another stair.”
    This one leads upward, straight instead of spiraled, and rough-hewn as if carved by a giant clumsy ax. I’m glad to note dry, mold-free steps.
    “Fernando,” says Hector. “Aim your torch away.”
    The guard puts the torch behind his back. Ximena does the same with hers, and it becomes apparent that a separate glow, faint but true, illuminates the stairway.
    “Do you think it leads outside?” I ask.
    “We’ve descended too far,” Hector says. “Unless I’ve gotten turned around, I think we’re beneath the Wallows.”
    The Wallows. The most dangerous quarter of my city, where I’m not to travel even with an armed escort. The place each monarch before me has vowed to improve, with mixed—mostly poor—results. Where prostitutes and beggars and black-market merchants band together to form a society within a society, outside of my rule.
    Hector turns to me, his gaze fierce. “Majesty, if I sense danger, I’ll hustle you away, against your will if necessary.”
    “And if that happens, I promise to be only temporarily enraged.” It comes out more sharply than I intend, mostly out of pique that he has reverted to calling me Majesty even among friends. “Let’s go.”
    Climbing yanks at my sore stomach, and I slow everyone down. The passage is so tight and steep that hanging on to Hector is more trouble than it’s worth. The sound of rushing water gets louder, and the glow brightens. Soon we don’t need the torches at all. I can’t imagine what would cause such light so deep underground.
    The stairway levels off. Fernando gasps, and I’m about to ask him what he sees, but speech leaves me when I step into brightness.
    The stair has ended at a high ledge overlooking the most enormous cavern I’ve ever seen. The river curves against the sheer wall opposite our ledge. The water is as smooth and clear as glass, though a constant sound like rushing wind attests to rapids nearby. To our left, the wall is riddled with smaller caves, all connected to one another by swinging ladders and scalloping rope bridges. On the floor of the cavern are several large huts, cobbled together from driftwood and shipwreck scavenge.
    People are everywhere, going about their lives as if this were any ordinary place. A woman sits framed in the entrance to one of the small caves, stirring something over a cook fire. Outside the largest hut, two bearded, wind-chapped men work together repairing a fishing net. Near the river, a group of barefoot children plays a game with sticks and a leather ball.
    Light streams through cracks in the ceiling. These sunlit crevices are lush with plants: broad-leafed creepers, a few ferns, and hundreds of hanging vines that don’t quite brush the tops of the huts.
    “It’s a whole village,” I whisper, “right beneath our feet all this time.”
    “I’ve not even heard of this place,” Hector whispers back.
    But the peculiar nature of the cavern amplifies our voices, carries them to the huts below. Everyone freezes and looks up. I see my own shock mirrored in their faces.
    Hector’s hand flies to his scabbard. He and Fernando step up to shield me from view. But it is too late, for someone bellows, “It’s the queen!”
    I hear gasps of surprise, utensils clattering, running footsteps.
    Hector whirls on me. “We need to get you out of here.”
    “Not yet! They’re more afraid of us than we are of them, see?”
    Fernando swings his bow over his shoulder and fits an