Just as they came to Rohan’s hallway, Thisbe stopped obediently like she and the others had done each time. As Mangrel and Rohan turned off to go to Rohan’s crypt, Rohan’s pinkie brushed Thisbe’s. And she thought she heard something. She froze and looked up. Had he done that on purpose? And had his lips twitched the slightest bit just now? Had his eyes focused on her for a split second? Had he . . . Had he whispered something to her?

But no. Rohan didn’t look back. Feeling delirious, Thisbe stayed still and waited as Mangrel locked Rohan inside. When Mangrel returned, she followed him to the next passageway to her crypt, which backed up to Rohan’s. With a surge of hope, she remembered the tunnel she’d created between their rooms.

But just as suddenly the hope faded, for she knew full well that the Revinir was aware of the tunnel. And she most certainly must have filled it in by now, unless she trusted the mind-controlled slaves so much that she didn’t think any harm could come of them intermingling—after all, wouldn’t they just go tell her everything truthfully? But Thisbe also knew that the Revinir didn’t trust anyone so blindly. Her shoulders slumped. Thisbe walked into her old familiar space with its old familiar smells and memories and felt a sense of dread come over her. Before she turned to watch Mangrel close the door in her face, she glanced up the huge pile of dragon bones that led all the way to the back wall. The tunnel to Rohan’s crypt, which she’d created by using her explosive magic, wasn’t visible anymore. In fact, the entire back wall was now covered with a thick plate of gold. That would surely keep Thisbe from getting to Rohan again.

“Get some sleep,” Mangrel said gruffly. He hesitated, then fished a piece of hard bread from his pocket and set it inside the door before closing it. It was almost endearing.

Thisbe picked up the bread and sat down, her feet aching. She stared at the new back wall and gnawed at the bread. A few minutes later she was surprised to hear her door opening again. Without a word, Mangrel’s wrinkled face and wispy hair appeared low to the ground as he slid a pitcher of water inside. The door closed again.

Fighting sleep, Thisbe kept staring at the back wall, trying to remember exactly where the tunnel had been. Wondering if the hole was still there, behind the metal, or if it had been filled in.