Leaving Bryn to guard the cave entrance, he shuffled deeper into the darkness. The cave narrowed, tapering from a wide chamber into a tunnel barely large enough to let him walk through. The sounds of Bryn and the sphinxes faded behind as Jeid trudged deeper into the darkness.

In the cold tunnels beneath the mountains, they hid—the survivors of Requiem.

As Jeid reached them, he forced himself to square his shoulders, to raise his chin, to hide all signs of weariness and fear. He had been their king back in Requiem; he would be their king here too.

From a marble hall to walls of granite, he thought. From splendor to ruin. From a palace to a tomb. The pain clawed inside him. Does Requiem end here in darkness, far from the light of our stars?

The caves were long, narrow, and winding, a labyrinth twisting under the mountains. Back at the cave entrance there was room enough for a dragon. Here the tunnels were too small for shifting. The Vir Requis huddled in human form, resting against walls, perched in alcoves, or lying on the floor.

"My king," whispered an elderly woman. She sat against a wall, reaching out to him.

He nodded at her. "May the stars bless you, Grandmama."

He walked past her, moving deeper into the mountain. A young man shivered, slumped in the shadows, clutching the stump of his severed arm. Sweat beaded on his brow.

"My king," he whispered.

Jeid stroked the boy’s head. "May the stars heal you, my son."

He kept moving, passing by every one of his people—the fearful, the brave, the wounded, the grieving. Everyone here had lost a soul in the attack on Requiem. Two hundred Vir Requis had lived among the birches; only a hundred now hid in this cave, the others lost or fallen to the enemy's claws and poison.

The caves twisted and formed, branching off into many paths, each only two or three feet wide. Jeid kept walking deeper into the cold darkness. Almost no light filled this place. A few clay lamps rested in alcoves, their wicks flickering in their oil; the light was barely brighter than stars on a cold, moonless night.

There are no stars here in the mountain, he thought. Only fading light. Fading hope.

Jeid kept walking, passing by more people until he reached Dorvin. The young man leaned against a wall, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides.

"Dorvin." Jeid placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Why are you here? It's almost your shift. Go replace Bryn at the entrance."

The black-haired young man raised his eyes. A dark fire blazed in them. "There's no word of her yet?" His lips twitched. "No word of Maev?"

Jeid felt his belly tighten, the fear stretching inside him like a growing demon. "No word. Not from Maev. Not from Laira." He clutched Dorvin's arm. "But we have to believe they're alive out there. We have to."