“How long have I been down here?”

“Three days now,” Elariel said. “Your legs were damaged, too, so you may feel some aches for another day, I think.”

Three days. Quickheal and bone-break potion—though they were dhak by Order standards—had never worked that fast.

“And Kit?” Gyre said.

“She should be awake before tomorrow.”

Okay. He sat up and met the ghoul’s gaze. She retreated a step, her smile fading, and her long ears drooped. Time for the real question.

“So why are we still alive?”

Elariel looked at him for a moment, saying nothing.

“You must kill anyone who stumbles into your Refuge, or it wouldn’t remain secret,” Gyre pressed.

“No one ‘stumbles in.’ We have had four hundred years to conceal ourselves.” Elariel sighed, her fur rippling. “But you are correct. If the Geraia knew you were here, they would have you killed at once.”

“They’re your leaders?”

She nodded. “The oldest and wisest among us.” Gyre was certain he detected a sarcastic spin on the words. “The heads of all the families who remain in Refuge. They decide any matters that affect the city.”

“And you’re hiding us from them?”

“We are … delaying our report.” Elariel cocked her head. “My master says we need to discover what you know. He commanded me to heal you so you could speak to him.”

“Ah.” Gyre shifted to the edge of the table and stretched his legs. “I suppose I should thank him.”

“I would … wait.” Elariel’s ears drooped again. “He may decide the best way to obtain the information he needs would be to render it from your living brain.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Or he may not!” Elariel said, with a forced smile. “He is unpredictable. But now that you’re awake, you will have to go and see him.”

*

The state of Gyre’s clothes gave him some idea of what the rock ingestor had done to his body. They were practically shredded, ripped and torn as though they’d gone through a spiked mangle. When he asked Elariel if the ghouls had anything that might serve, she shook her head.

“I fashioned those”—she indicated the shorts he was wearing—“when I remembered how odd you humans get about your coverings. Are they insufficient?”

Gyre assured her they were perfectly adequate. They were a little large for him, but he managed to retrieve a mostly intact belt from the wreck of his gear. In the process, he investigated the remains of his pack, but his stash of alchemicals had either been confiscated by the ghouls or destroyed by the journey. Both his knives were missing as well.