“I care very little for the dux,” Naumoriel said, “and not at all for your excuses. You know the price of failure.”

“I do.” Kit bowed her head. “With Gyre’s help, we will have the Analytica in hand tomorrow evening.”

“Then why bring him here?”

“It was the only way to ensure his cooperation.” Kit stepped aside, letting Naumoriel look at Gyre. “His price for helping us was that I guide him to the Tomb.”

To Gyre’s surprise, the ghoul laughed at this, his ears twitching. It ended with a cough, and there was a wheeze in Naumoriel’s breath when he spoke.

“Bold, boy. Bold.”

“I’ve been called that,” Gyre said.

“And quite foolhardy.”

“That as well,” Gyre said. Kit sniggered.

“I supplied Kitsraea with ample resources to secure the help she needed.” Naumoriel cocked his head, ears quivering. “And yet she brings you to see me.”

“It wasn’t her money I wanted.”

“You want to visit the Tomb.” He pronounced the word with an ironic twist. “Why? Did you think to plunder our graves?”

“I didn’t know the ghouls survived,” Gyre admitted.

Naumoriel leaned forward. “And now that you know, do you regret your request?”

“Not at all.”

“Why?” Naumoriel’s lips split in a cold smile, showing small, sharp teeth. “What do you hope to find?”

“Be honest,” Kit had said. Gyre took a deep breath.

“Power,” he said. “The Twilight Order destroyed my family. My whole life, I’ve searched for a way to destroy them in turn. But they have the power of the Chosen, and they leave the rest of us nothing. Only the ghouls ever stood up to that power.”

“Power. And you thought you’d just come down here and find it?” Naumoriel’s grin widened. “That goes beyond bold.”

Gyre shrugged.

The old ghoul barked another laugh. “You certainly know how to choose your allies, Kitsraea.”

“Thank you, Master,” she said, though Gyre wasn’t sure it had been a compliment.

“Very well,” the old ghoul said to Gyre. “Get me the Core Analytica, and you may bring it to the Tomb.” A tiny pink tongue ran across his pointed teeth. “I make no promises as to whether you’ll return.”

Before Gyre could answer, the image vanished.

*

Emerging onto the street after the darkness of Elariel’s lair was like stepping into a different world. The sun was low in the western sky, but it was still blinding, and Gyre felt half-drunk as he staggered out the door. Kit took his arm in hers.

“Well,” she said. “That went better than expected.”

“You …” Gyre shook his head. He had a thousand questions, and an unpleasant feeling she wasn’t going to answer any of them. “Are these your ‘contacts’?”

She nodded. “Elariel has spies all over the city. Tiny constructs”—she held her hands a few centimeters apart—“that let her see or hear what they do.”