He doesn’t answer that. We descend the stairs at as brisk a pace as my darkblind eyes can manage, the sonorous beat of the valkerax’s breathing against the stone the only sound.

The moment we hit level ground, Yorl calls out into the darkness. “Get the impalers wound and the archers primed on the wall walk. Teori, Jonall—prepare to open the gates. We’re sending the Heartless in at last.”

The clank of armor is unmistakable but lacking the cadence of metal boots. The soft padding of celeon paws echoes as what sounds like a dozen scatter to obey his orders. It’s strange—judging by his immature mane, he’s not very old, but everyone down here is treating him with vast seniority. The perks of knowing the crown princess on a first-name basis, I suppose.

“Heartless,” I hear him say and turn to me. “You—”

“I’m Elizera Y’shennria. Zera for short,” I interrupt. “But celeon usually call me a pain in the tail tuft.”

“We have no time for jokes,” he retorts. “And even less time for introductions. I am Yorl Farspear-Ashwalker. That is all you need to know. The valkerax is being heavily sedated and can remain awake for only less than a half per day. We must work quickly. Valkerax do very poorly aboveground. It’s already been three days—another twenty, and it will die.”

“I thought Varia said it would take a month.” I tilt my head.

“The longest I’ve managed to keep a valkerax alive above the Dark Below has been one month. But most don’t reach eighteen days.”

I start. “How many…how many times have you done this?”

“Several. None of them here in Vetris.” His answers are succinct and remind me exactly why I’m here. My heart. The bittersweet memory of it in my chest the other night rushes through me, heady and sudden. “When we’re in the valkerax’s chambers, I will give you a vial. You will drink the contents. It will allow you to speak to the valkerax for exactly a half at a time.”

“I thought they were mad, that nobody could understand their speech.”

“They are,” Yorl says coolly.

“So how—”

“It’s an Old Vetrisian recipe, an attempt at negotiating with the valkerax to stop their rampage. An attempt that failed. My grandfather had been working on making the recipe functional up until his death. I carried it to completion.”

“Your grandfather was a polymath, too?”

“You will drink the vial.” Yorl ignores me, very clearly and purposefully. “And speak to the valkerax.”

“A liquid that lets you talk to a creature not even the beneathers can understand,” I marvel. “That’s awfully handy. Why haven’t you passed it around to them yet?”