Not that it matters. Gyre had no illusions that he would be able to fight his way out of the Tomb, if it came to that. Elariel had escorted him out of the room he’d awoken in, and just on the short trip to where she’d stored his gear he’d seen a dozen constructs. They weren’t the spiked, stone-lined guardians from up above, but many of them were large and powerful-looking, and presumably more martial versions weren’t far away.

Not all the constructs were humanoid, either. Smaller things trotted on four legs or hopped like rabbits, and even tinier varieties hummed through the air on delicate, multicolored wings. They all had a similar look, their bodies built of striated black muscle laid over metallic bones that poked through at the joints, like anatomy models no one had bothered providing with skin. Some had specialized limbs, sporting knives or hammers or more complicated tools whose function Gyre couldn’t begin to guess.

The complex they were in seemed to be mostly small rooms set off of long, winding corridors. The floor was covered in gray-green stuff that he initially thought was carpet but on closer inspection turned out to be some kind of plant, sprouting myriad fine, hairlike stalks that were soft on his bare feet. The walls were smooth, polished stone, and every so often light-patches gleamed on the ceiling, bright to his adjusted eyes but probably invisible to a normal human.

Doors were oval metal slabs, and they opened themselves at a tap from Elariel. Gyre nearly jumped the first time this happened, but when they went inside the room, he saw the door itself was a construct, with hinges of black muscle.

The Tomb. It was overwhelming, and Gyre tried to discipline his thoughts. Call it Refuge. He wondered how far underground they were. The air felt fresh, not too warm or cold. No wonder the ghouls don’t bother with clothes.

“How many of your people live here?” Gyre said as they walked.

“Oh, hundreds,” Elariel said. “Hardly a city by your human standards, I know. But we live longer than you do.”

“And—”

“We had a conversation once before, didn’t we, about how the less you knew the safer you’d be? Perhaps you should keep your questions to yourself.”

“Just this one, then,” Gyre said, hurrying a little to keep up. “What does Naumoriel want with me? It can’t be coincidence that the only two ghouls Kit and I know are the two that found us here.”

“No coincidence,” Elariel said. “My master is”—her lips worked briefly as she translated—“Sovereign of the Exterior, you would say? King of the Outside, maybe. His assigned area of responsibility is everything that lies beyond the boundaries of Refuge.”

“That sounds like an important job.”