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Most of the chambers are empty, but in one I see a merrow. The floor of his cell is wet, but not enough for him to be comfortable. His scales have grown dull and dry. He watches me with eyes that are pale all the way through, the pupils barely discernible from the irises or scleras.

There is a scuffing sound from the other side, and I see a girl tossing a piece of rock into the air and catching it. For a moment, I think I am looking at a glamour, but a moment later I realize that she’s actually human.

She looks as though she might be around my age, with hair the color of straw. There’s a bruise on her cheek. “Can I have some water? Will you tell me how much longer I have to be here?” Her voice trembles.

I follow her gaze to the wooden tub in the corner of the room, a copper ladle hanging off one side, its body streaked with verdigris. She pushes a ceramic bowl toward the bars and looks up at me plaintively.

“Is a man with a single wing for an arm here?” I ask.

The human comes eagerly to her feet. “You’re not one of the guards.”

I dip the ladle into the tub and haul up some water, then pour it into her bowl. Across the way, the merrow makes a low moan. I dip the ladle again and splash him.

“The winged guy?” the human whispers. “He’s down there.” She points toward the end of the corridor. “See? I can be helpful. Let me out, and I could be of service to you.”

It is tragic that she has only me to beseech. Does she not see my predator’s teeth? How afraid must she already be for me to seem like a possible ally?

I splash the merrow again. With a sigh, he sinks down to the floor, gills flexing.

I need to see Hyacinthe, but looking at the girl, I cannot stop myself from thinking of Bex, my unsister. Imagining her in a place like this, with no one to help her and no way out.

“How did you come to be here?” I ask, knowing that more information is only going to make it harder to walk away.

“My boyfriend,” she says. “He wastaken. I met a creature, and he told me I could win Dario back if I threatened to dig down into their—” She stops, possibly at the remembrance that Iamone of them.

I nod, though, and that seems enough to get her speaking again. “I got a shovel and came out to the haunted hill, where everyone says weird things happen.”

While she talks, I evaluate the stalagmites and stalactites of her prison. Perhaps one could be cracked if someone very strong swung something very heavy at it, but since these prisons must have been constructed to hold even ogres, there’s no way I would be able to do it.

“Then I was grabbed. And thesethingssaid they were going to bring me before their queen, and she would punish me. They started naming what they thought she might order done. All their suggestions were like something out of theSawmovies.” She gives a weird giggle, one that tells me she’s fighting off hysteria. “You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, right?”

Living in the mortal world as I did, I have some idea, but there’s no point in telling her that. Better get her mind away from what could happen. “Wait here.”

She scrubs a hand over her face. “You have to help me.”

I find Hyacinthe’s cell at the end of the corridor. He’s sitting on the floor, on a carpet of hay. Beside him is a tray of oranges and sweetmeats, along with a bowl of wine set down so that he might lap from it like a dog. He looks up at me in surprise, his amethyst eyes wide. I am surprised, too, because he is no longer bridled.

“Where is it?” I blurt out, terrified that it is in the possession of Queen Annet.

“The bridle?” He rubs his cheek against his wing. I see a few fresh feathers at his throat. The curse is spreading slowly, but it is spreading. “The prince was afraid of it falling into the hands of the Court of Moths, so he had Tiernan remove it.”

“Oak has it?” I ask, wondering if that was the real reason he ordered it taken off. Wondering what he was planning on doing with it.

Hyacinthe nods. “I suppose.” Then he sighs. “All I know is that I don’t have to wear it, at least until we depart the Court of Moths. Are we leaving? Is that why you’re here?”

I shake my head. “Has Queen Annet asked anything of you?”

He takes two steps closer to the bars. “I think she wishes to delay Oak long enough to determine if there’s a profit in returning him to the High Court, but that’s only from what I overheard the guards saying.”

“You think his sister wants him back?”

Hyacinthe shrugs. “Trussing him up and handing him over could bring Queen Annet some reward if Jude does, but it would not do tocrossher if she and the High King turn out to support his mission. Discovering what they want takes time, hence the delay.”

I nod, calculating. “If Elfhame wants to stop us . . .”

If the High Court makes a captive out of the prince, from love or anger,then who will stop Lady Nore? Will I be held as well? And if not, then how long before Bogdana finds me?

“I don’t know,” he says in answer to one or all the questions I do not ask.