“Most of the Geraia would rather tear out their own fur than go near it. It carries very low … mmm, you might say ‘social standing,’ but it’s more complicated than that.” Elariel’s ears twitched in a manner that Gyre was starting to recognize as something like a chuckle. “My master is considered strange, by our standards. Possibly insane.”

“Wonderful,” Gyre muttered.

“Monitoring the boundaries of the city is among his tasks, naturally. So he was the one who noticed your approach.”

“Along with … whatever you were doing before?”

Elariel blinked, and her ears drooped. “Yes. Of course.” She tapped another door. “In here.”

The door, swinging open of its own accord, revealed only a very small room shaped a bit like an egg, big enough for three or four people to stand uncomfortably close together. Gyre looked at Elariel curiously, and she gave him a mischievous grin.

“Just get in.” Her ears twitched again.

Gyre stepped over the threshold, cautiously. Elariel followed, then turned around to face the way they’d come, tapping the door to close it and then stroking a complicated gesture on its surface. A moment later, the bottom dropped out of Gyre’s gut as the whole tiny room began to rise.

“It’s a—” Elariel said something in the ghoul language, ears twitching wildly. “A lifter. It’s just taking us to the top of the tower.”

“You might have warned me,” Gyre said.

“I might.” Elariel’s lip quirked.

A few moments passed in silence, and the feeling of acceleration faded. The door opened again, now facing a small antechamber, blocked off from the lifter by a spray of what looked like the fronds of ferns, stretching from floor to ceiling.

Elariel said something in her own language, then added, “I have brought the human Gyre.”

Naumoriel’s rumbling voice came from beyond the ferns. “Leave him. Attend to the other until I summon you.”

Elariel answered with a liquid warble, then stepped back into the lifter. Her ears were drooping again, but she managed a half-hearted smile.

“Good luck,” she whispered, before the door closed.

“Gyre,” Naumoriel said. “Come here.”

Gyre hesitated, but there didn’t seem to be anything to be gained by refusing. He found a gap in the ferns and pushed his way through, into a larger room beyond.

It was a big, circular space, floored with the same carpet-like plant. One wall was taken up by what looked at first like panels of pure darkness. Even with the nighteye, it took Gyre a moment to realize he was looking at windows, and even longer for any details to resolve. He got the sense of vast shapes, tall and slender, marching back into the darkness in irregular ranks. Here and there, tiny pinpricks of light gleamed, barely bright enough to throw shadows. There was a sense of motion, though it was too dark and distant to make out details, like looking into the teeming mass of an anthill.