When I finally catch up with Malachite, he’s so far down the tunnel, I can smell the stale age of the dust in the air. I’m panting with the effort of so much running and so little oxygen, but the beneather is making no noise at all, crouched low even though the scar the valkerax made is wide and tall enough to accommodate him.

“So,” I start breezily. “Got any tips? You know, from your entire culture of professional valkerax killing?”

For a moment, I don’t think he’s heard me, and then he speaks, low and hoarse. “If you feel the air grow hot, you’re about to die.”

“Good.” I draw Father’s sword, my hand only mildly shaking. “I was hoping you’d say something sweet and sultry like that.”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t so much as look back at me. But I can see his eyes glowing, the red irises spilling a bloody haze of light in the otherwise utter pitch-black in front of him.

“I-I thought you said your eyes glowed only on full moons?”

“Or if we catch the scent of valkerax,” he manages, every word sounding labored, as if he’s trying to keep his mind together in one place. He suddenly holds up a pale hand, and I freeze. “The light,” he demands. “Put it out.”

I scrabble with the oil lamp, extinguishing the tiny flame. Instantly we’re plunged into perfect darkness. Malachite’s breathing is suddenly close to my ear.

“There should be eleven others of my kind standing here with me,” he says. “But all I’ve got is you.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

He’s silent.

“I’ll put on a funny hat and dance a godsdamned Helkyris waltz in its mouth if you need me to,” I insist. “Anything. Anything at all. But we have to get Evlorasin back.”

“You’ve said that word before.” Malachite’s voice frowns. “Is that its true name?”

I curse myself. “Look—just tell me what to do. I’ll do it. I’m immortal. Whatever you need, I can do it.”

“You’ve been talking to it,” he muses. “That’s the only way you’d know its name. Why? They’re madder than a drunk old man on New God’s Night. They speak only non—”

“We just need to find it.” I make my voice hard. “Now.”

To my relief, Malachite backs off with the questioning and darts ahead of me. The ground of the hastily dug tunnel isn’t level, but even when I skid and fall on the rock and dirt, I jump to my feet again. Warm blood on my gravel-skinned knees and stone-cut shins lasts only a second as Varia’s magic heals me. The pain is nothing.

we’ve been through far worse, the hunger slithers loudly. we are far worse.