The Queen of the Underverse - Chapter 22

A Note from Lyrie: Welcome to Chapter 22. I’m Lyrie—yes, that Lyrie—Provider of House No. 2 here in Amberford. You first met me back in Chapter 17, though most folks don’t remember introductions unless I’m yelling at them. I’ve lived in this city nearly my whole adult life—fifty years, give or take—and I’ve served as a Provider for almost fifteen of those. Long enough to learn patience, not long enough to master it.

I’ve watched Memory Orphans come and go. Each one takes a piece of my heart with them, the little thieves. And now the Underverse has saddled me with a Marble-Headed Idiot who’s been nothing but trouble since the day she crashed—quite literally—into my life over twenty years ago. She nearly got me and my then-current boyfriend killed. I still haven’t forgiven her for that. She claims it was “an accident.” Mm-hmm.

Still… she surprises me. From time to time. When she’s not being a menace.

I just hope she won’t be the death of me by the end of this story.

— Lyrie, Provider of House No. 2

I’ve read the end already… It’s a shame about the Providers.— Yuunral Naretar, Scholar of Banned Books, The Archives of Questionable Accuracy

---

Previously on The Queen of the Underverse…

Trapped in a sealed room with no clear escape, Rebecca finds herself at the mercy of Kai and Asher—two men whose intentions grow darker with every breath she takes. Her greatest fear isn’t for herself, but for S’Rah, the Memory Orphan she’s sworn to protect. Time is slipping through her fingers, and the walls are closing in.

Meanwhile, Chalky and Lyrie begin their search. One is a marble-headed brute with more heart than sense; the other is a Provider who has survived fifty years of Amberford’s nonsense and knows trouble when she smells it. Together, they’re the Underverse’s last, best, and only chance of reaching Rebecca and S’Rah before it’s too late.

Ye saga continues…

---

Book 1 - The Queen's Saga - Chapter 22 - The Memory Farm™ - The Descent

Sometime before Chapter 21

Chalky and Lyrie were standing right next to S’Rah in the Memory Market.

Or they would be—if she were there.

Chalky had traded her usual travel clothes for something plainer: a snug vest of dark canvas, trousers patched at the knees, and boots that clomped like stone on stone. A bright bandana, patterned with veined marble streaks, was tied around her head, and a pair of rough gloves covered her hands. Beneath the vest, her shirt still carried a slogan in cracked lettering: Rock Solid Defense.

It wasn’t armor, exactly, but she looked like she meant business. A holster was strapped to her hip, the ManaShard pistol resting there like it belonged—like she’d been waiting centuries for an excuse to use it.

Chalky shook the tracker Shean had given them, as if that might coax it into obedience. He’d placed a minor glyph on S’Rah to track her. He hadn’t told her; he said she was always going on about privacy. Shean agreed she was right—then did it anyway. He wasn’t about to let her go without a way to find her. “Abyss take me if I lose her,” he’d said.

“Will you stop that?” Lyrie hissed. “Even with my glamour spells, they’ll figure out we’re up to something.”

“Well, she’s not here, is she?” Chalky hissed back. The tracker confirmed that S’Rah and, supposedly, Rebecca had been taken to the Memory Farm.

Well, she’s not here, is she?” Chalky hissed back.

If the Memory Farm was supposed to be in the middle of the Market, then this clearly wasn’t the spot.

They stood in a square surrounded by stalls and shops. A fountain burbled nearby, its statue spouting water from its fingers—and turning its head to watch them.

Lyrie eyed the statue and pushed Chalky. “Let’s move to the other side of the square and pretend we’re window shopping.”

The Market was surprisingly uncrowded this afternoon, so they weren’t too worried about being overheard. Still, an occasional merchant with lowercase letters jumped out at them, offering a happy memory for an hour, or a lost hour, or that time you couldn’t forget for an hour. Those weren’t the serious ones—the ones with the capital letters, the Memory Merchants. Those, they avoided.

Lyrie’s glamour worked on most creatures in the Underverse, though she didn’t boast about it. It was her secret edge. It disguised your appearance, not your body type or voice—it made people’s eyes slide right over you as long as you didn’t draw attention to yourself.

Of course, when one of you was waving a tracker around in the middle of the Market Square, that effectiveness dropped considerably.

“She has to be here. Shean’s glyph was done right—he showed me how. Look, he put one on me.” Lyrie waved a hand over her other hand, and a faint glyph shimmered briefly before fading.

“So he’s tracking you, too. The nerve.” Chalky gasped theatrically.

“I told him to, you marble-ninny. So he could follow us.” Lyrie frowned.

“So I’m not good enough to be tracked.” Chalky pouted.

“It doesn’t work on you, you marbled idiot.” Lyrie rolled her eyes, sending her hair loop swinging.

Chalky planted her hands on her hips. “Look, have I called you a crazy-quilt lady or a wandless wizard weirdo?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

Chalky turned away with a huff. “The point is, we should stop the name-calling and find them.”

“I’ll stop when you stop.” Lyrie crossed her arms in front of her chest, daring her to continue.

Chalky glanced at the tracker. “It says she’s back at the statue, but she’s not. So that means she’s there—but she’s not. So where?” Chalky looked up at the buildings around them.

Lyrie pointed at the ground.

“What?” Chalky looked at her sideways.

“She’s not above us, you... I mean, she’s got to be below us, doesn’t she?”

“Right. That makes more sense.” Chalky nodded.

“How would they get down there? A portal? Too flashy.” Lyrie muttered.

“I’d go for simple—less attention. Probably stairs or an elevator. Where would you put that?” Chalky scanned the square.

“They’d need a service elevator,” Lyrie mused.

“I suppose. Regular or service, we still have to find it.”

“Yes, but all we have to do is follow the deliveries to the service elevator,” Lyrie said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

“What deliveries?”

“Food deliveries. What do you think they eat down there?”

“Memories?”

“Have you ever eaten Memory food? I have. It’s awful. You’re starving again within an hour—and sometimes with the runs. No, thank you.” Lyrie shuddered.

“So we find a food delivery aetherruck and follow it.” Chalky looked doubtful. “Great. Where do we find one?”

“How about that one?” Lyrie pointed over her shoulder.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Lyrie smiled, grabbed her hand, and they followed the aetherruck as it rattled through the square.

Fortunately, it couldn’t go very fast through the Market. Still, Lyrie renewed the glamour spell on them each time the aetherruck stopped. It finally pulled up to a tent, where several workers unloaded crates into it. They were marked with various foodstuffs.

“That’s got to be it.” Lyrie pointed at the truck, and a small, hot yellow mark burned on the rear fender before it faded. A worker looked out and sniffed the air.

What did you do that for?

“What did you do that for?” Chalky grabbed Lyrie’s hand.

“In case this wasn’t the place and we need to find them again.”

“Oh, good thinking. Glad you’re on our side, then.” Chalky smiled at her and moved toward the tent.

Lyrie glared and mumbled too low for Chalky to hear, “Of course I am, you marble nitwit.”

They walked up to the tent as casually as they could, and Lyrie circled it once. “There’s a ward around it. I confused it. It won’t last. So we have to be quick.”

They ducked in.

“Bingo. This is it!” Chalky beamed.

“How do you know?” Lyrie was still looking around.

Chalky pointed to the panel in front of her. “There’s a sign that says ‘Service Elevator — Memory Farm’ and a bunch of buttons. They’re marked with sigils.”

Lyrie sighed and shouldered her aside to look. “Well, Lyra’s left tit.”

“Excuse me.”

“Sorry—slipped out. The sigils are a passcode. I might be able to trick it, might not.” She glanced toward the entrance. “What I did to the wards will wear off soon.”

“Work on it quickly. Roll with your gut—I trust you. I’m betting my marble ass on it. I’ll keep an eye on the front.” Chalky pulled out Shean’s pistol.

Lyrie turned back to the sigils and waved her hands over them. “There’s not much ass to bet on,” she mumbled.

“I heard that.” Chalky was near the front when she heard the faint, familiar sizzle of wards turning off in the distance. Then a male voice:

“Hello, is anyone in there?”

An arm slipped through the tent flap. Chalky grabbed it and flung the figure into a crate with a solid thud. She kept the pistol ready in case anyone else came through. No one did.

The man groaned. Chalky straddled him and covered his mouth with one hand as he thrashed. She set the pistol down, grabbed his head with her other hand, and twisted.

It happened in less than two seconds. Lyrie had been ready to cast Charm, Web, or even Sleep when she heard the audible snap.

Chalky felt the body go limp. She searched him quickly and found a sigil card and a set of keys etched with runes.

When she looked up, Lyrie was standing over her.

Chalky picked up the pistol, stood, and fired. The sound it made here was different than when Shean used it—more of a whoosh. The body vanished in a flash of ozone and mana. Red, glowing motes swirled around Chalky, then settled into her chest and disappeared.

Lyrie studied her for a long moment. “So he’s dead.”

The tent went quiet.

Lyrie studied her for a long moment. “So he’s dead.”

“Yep.”

“I could have incapacitated him.”

“Yes, you could have. And then we’d be hauling a tied-up Collector around. No time. No space. I made the call.”

Lyrie looked again. “Huh. So you just absorbed his residual mana? I never knew you were a badass.”

Chalky finally grinned. “You have your secrets, and I have mine. I didn’t reach five hundred years old by being naïve or silly all the time. Besides, I still think you’re a crazy patchwork wizard.”

Lyrie chuckled. “You’re still a marble-headed idiot.”

Chalky beamed. “That’s the spirit. Now, we’ve got some younglings to save and an Earth girl to rescue.”

---

With the sigil card, it didn’t take Lyrie long to activate the elevator. The tent thrummed, and the whole floor began to descend. The flap sealed itself shut. They traveled for a few minutes—the Memory Farm must be deep underground.

During the ride, Lyrie decided to rest and drink some mana potions. She hated the taste. A short nap wouldn’t restore what she’d spent getting here. Taken as a whole, it wasn’t much, but she preferred to be topped off before entering the belly of the beast.

Finding the Memory Farm had been lucky; sneaking in by happenstance. The legends around the place were—well—legendary. Any moment, the hammer could fall. She hoped Shean was having luck with his contacts. She didn’t want more deaths or accidents getting in the way.

The death of the Memory Merchant didn’t break her up, but Chalky’s efficiency did shock her. She’d known the marble woman for twenty years, even before becoming a Provider. There were times she’d thought Chalky was just an air-headed servant—someone Lyra kept around for a laugh. Now, the Dente Nocturn from stories had supposedly come to life. Chalky was secretly a badass warrior. Maybe Lyra was right about the Underverse, too.

Chalky was humming to herself over there, lost in her thoughts.

If she survived this, she and Shean—and the other Providers—would have to do something, if it wasn’t too late. Chalky was still trying; Lyrie couldn’t do less.

Would you stop that incessant humming, Marbelina?

“Would you stop that incessant humming, Marbelina? I’m trying to rest,” Lyrie complained, eyes still closed.

“I think you need to loosen those hair loops; you’re so grouchy.” Chalky sighed and pulled a red blanket from her satchel. She spoke to it. “No bonding—just comfort, okay.” The blanket seemed to ripple.

“It’s a firecloak,” Chalky said, “and it has limited restorative powers on organics. Wanna try it?”

“Oh, I’ve heard of those. It’s what I sensed in your trunk before. They’re rare. Sure. That’ll help.” Chalky wrapped it around her.

“Careful—it’s ticklish, and it tickles back,” Chalky warned.

“What’s with the bonding warning?”

“Oh, it bonded with Rebecca.”

“It did not.” Lyrie looked closer at it.

“Yep. Saved her life. Firecloak kind of attached itself to her. She rejected it, though.”

“Why would she do that?”

Chalky sighed. “She thought it was taking over her body. It was just trying to help. It’s not very good at consent.”

Lyrie smirked. “Sounds like half the men I know.”

Chalky chuckled. “Pretty much. Anyway, it likes to help. You’ll feel warmer in a minute.”

Lyrie shifted under the cloak. “You’re right. That’s… actually nice.”

“See? Told you.” Chalky smiled. “You know, you should smile more often. It makes you look less like someone’s disappointed grandmother.”

Lyrie groaned. “If I had the energy, I’d hex you.”

“I’d probably deserve it.”

“So, let me get this straight. She bonded with this”—she held up a firecloak—“something you can’t normally do under normal circumstances. And then the bond was broken.”

“Yep.”

“She’s weird.”

“Yep.”

“Are all Earth people like this?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“So why did you bring firecloak?”

“Well, it seemed like the thing to do, and…” She mumbled the rest.

“What?”

“Well, Rebecca and I got into a fight—mainly it was on her, mind you. Anywho, she left me and firecloak behind. So I was lonely, and so was firecloak. I figure we’d go looking for Rebecca together.”

“The girl we are going to save dumped you and firecloak?”

“Well, when you put it that way… it sounds stalkery.”

“When has it not? First Kai and then this…” She laughed.

“Look—Kai—is something worse. I’m doing this because I promised Lyra. Well, she made me swear on her deathbed—well, on her throne. Anywho, she was dying, and she made me promise.”

Lyrie laughed. “Sweet Lyra, I hope the ride ends soon so we can stop having this heart-to-heart.”

Chalky huffed.

––To be continued

---

Next Time on The Queen of the Underverse…

At last—finally—it’s my moment to shine! Do yourself a favor and acquire the complete 20-volume scholarly masterpiece: A Brief History of Queen Lyra: The Last Queen of the Underverse before next week’s installment. Trust me. Scholarship waits for no one.

— Yuunral Naretar, Scholar of Banned Books, The Archives of Questionable Accuracy

Don’t miss: Interlude Underverse - Secrets of Lyra

---

Click here to buy ➡️ BOOK ONE now available – I’d love your honest thoughts on story flow and overall reader experience.

© 2025 Donnavon Evans

November 18, 2025