His pale eyebrows pull together as he removes a slim silver hairpin. Thank the Sisters for his vanity.

“Sirscha,” he says sharply, gripping my arm as I slide the pin into my own hair. “You must understand that I helped you as your friend, not as a Hlau of Penumbria. I don’t quite know what’s going on, but it’s better that way. I won’t have the Fireborn Queens dragged into war.”

The word friend surprises me. Guilt pricks me for suspecting him of trying to kill me. I don’t want his clan forced into a war, either. I don’t want anyone getting caught between Queen Meilyr’s hatred and Ronin’s machinations.

“You should know this at least,” I say. “Your people are in danger of attack. Prince Meilek should have already begun warning everyone, but the camps might be better convinced to hear it from you as well.”

Although I can tell he’s uncertain, he only nods. “I’ll come back for you. Good luck.” He crosses the courtyard and adds, “Try not to do anything too foolish.”

I creep from shadow to shadow, my feet a whisper over stone. Rather than go through the gardens, I scale the surrounding wall, which gives me a better vantage point. There isn’t a single soldier in sight now that Spinner’s End has been emptied of its guests, but I remain up high, shrouded by the castle towers that lend their shadows to the deeper regions of the maze.

Before long, my boots fall on the arches dressed in webbing, and the pull of that dark magic squeezes around me. Here, I grip the edge of the stone and swing myself down onto the curved path. The power of Ronin’s familiar weighs against my shoulders, a cloak woven of iron. It sinks hooks into my skin, reeling me toward the columns where webbing brushes ghostly fingers over the top of my head.

More webbing clings to the wooden door at the end of the garden. I tear away the bits of white. A heavy padlock secures the door shut. Brandishing Theyen’s hairpin, I crouch and take the padlock in hand. The lock clicks in less than five seconds. I silently thank Kendara’s obsessive training.

My eyes scan the courtyard again, ears straining for anything unusual. There’s only silence. I draw the blades at my back, slowly, so that the sound of metal sliding from its sheath is no more than the wind whispering through the old castle stones. I nudge the door open with my foot. It doesn’t creak.

There must be a separate entrance for the Spinner. Nothing larger than a person could get through this one. I cross the threshold into a wall of white. My feet touch stone, but I can’t see where it leads because webbing stretches in thick layers from ceiling to floor.