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She turned to face him, expecting fury or doubt. But there was only concern, his white face almost soft in the torchlight. It stopped her cold.

Their eyes met, emerald on copper.

“I didn’t know you could get any paler, but here you stand,” Sorasa spat, whirling around again. Her heartbeat rammed. “We need to get you both out into the sun again, you look terrible.”

“You look worse,” Sigil sighed. “What’s your plan, then?”

“I heard pieces of things, here and there,” Sorasa said, quickening her pace. “Pirates stalk the Long Sea, threatening port cities. Every ship into the harbor could be a hunter. Sea travel is slow and dangerous now.”

“Corayne’s mother is making herself useful,” Sigil said, half smirking. “I knew I liked her.”

“If the Queen is here, Taristan is too,” Dom said, sneering up to the ceiling. As if he could see right through the floors of the palace. “We can still kill him.”

“Are you going to prance off and let him knock you around again?” Sorasa wanted to grab him by the collar, lest the Elder run off to his death. “Or are you going to listen to me?”

“Tell us your plan then,” he snapped back, crossing his arms over his armored chest. The lion molded to the breastplate roared at her from eye level. To anyone else, he seemed a knight of the Lionguard, deadly and imposing.

Sorasa turned to Sigil instead, meeting her gaze with a hard look.

“There is a Temur ambassador here,” Sorasa said slowly, letting the ramifications sink in.

Sigil’s keen dark eyes narrowed. Torchlight danced, reflecting in hergaze. Sorasa watched as the gears turned in the bounty hunter’s mind and a grin split her broad face.

“I assume you’ve already thought what I’m thinking now,” Sigil chuckled, taking Sorasa by her good shoulder.

Her grip was almost bruising but Sorasa leaned into it, her own smile small and sharp.

“Among many other things,” she said.

A jailer lay dead at his post, his throat opened. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading slowly across the dirty floor of the guardroom.

Sorasa blinked slowly against the blinding glare of too many torches, willing her vision to adjust after days in the dark. Across from her, Sigil did the same. Dom required no such time, his own body braced against the iron-banded oak door. He listened, all his focus on the next chamber, and the beating hearts within.

He held up five white fingers, closed his fist, then five again.

Ten.

Sorasa wiped the Lionguard dagger on the dead guard’s tunic, cleaning the blade. The other dagger twisted in Sigil’s fingers, the hilt clutched in her fist. Dom still held the longsword, the torches flashing the length of the steel. Grimly, he leaned back from the door, moving without sound to stand in front of it. Even in full armor, he moved silently, with little effort.

All three knew their survival rested on speed, silence, and secrecy. All three knew the edge they stood upon. All three felt the fate of the realm in their hands.

The Elder moved first, swifter than any mortal, kicking the door down. It splintered under his force, the lock blasting inward as the oak swung on screaming hinges, flying open to reveal a small room of shocked guards.

There was hardly time enough for the men to grab their weapons, let alone call for help. Dom’s sword cut through the closest two, separating heads from shoulders.

Sorasa’s dagger buried in another neck, striking the guard at the far end of the room, his hand already on the next door. She slid below another guard’s outstretched arm, stealing his sword and cutting him down in the same motion.

Sigil struck behind her, punching with one fist and stabbing with the other. Teeth skittered across the stone floor and bodies crashed through battered wooden furniture, sprawling over chairs and the single table. Sorasa stayed low, agile enough to wheel under any strike. She collected blades as she went, throwing one just to pick up another.

Silence fell as the bodies piled up, until there was only one guard left alive. He shuddered under the table, one hand on his throat, trying to stem the flow of blood.

Sorasa showed him the only mercy he knew.

When his heart stopped, she surveyed the guardroom with a cold eye.

There were no windows. The guardrooms were still underground, but coals crackled in a small fireplace, warming the chamber. She checked the chimney and cursed. The shaft was too small to climb, even for the Amhara.

A deck of bloodstained cards splayed over the table, alongside a few piles of coins, upended cups, and half-empty plates. Sorasa grabbed the leftover food like an animal, tearing at a piece of stale bread and dried meat. It tasted better than anything she’d ever eaten before.