Darkhaven’s halls made its kitchens seem a haven of comfort. They were massive and windowless, wrought entirely of gleaming black stone. No gentle lamplight alleviated the darkness; only veins of blue-white fire glittering in the walls. Cradling the tray against his hip, Dani laid one hand upon one wall and found it warm.

“Marrow-fire,” he murmured. “It must be.”

“Aye, but where’s the Source?”

“I don’t know.” Dani shook his head. “Below, Malthus said. Somewhere in the depths of the earth, below Darkhaven’s foundation.”

“I’ve seen no stair.” Thulu sighed. “We’ll have to search, Dani. Best we find a place to hide that tray and ourselves before our luck runs out.”

“The tray.” Dani glanced at it. “For her Ladyship, he said. Do you suppose …”

“The Lady Cerelinde?” Uncle Thulu whistled softly.

“She would know what to do,” Dani said, for it seemed to him it must be true. The Haomane-gaali Peldras had been wise; not as wise as Malthus, but wise and gentle, filled with the knowledge of his long years. Surely the Lady of the Ellylon must be no less! The thought of laying the burden of decision on the shoulders of someone wiser than he filled him with relief. “All we have to do is find her.”

The task proved easier than they reckoned. After a few more turns, they rounded a corner to see a quartet of Fjeltroll posted outside a door halfway down the hall. They were hulking Fjel with black, bristling hides and gleaming black armor. A madling was speaking to them; a woman.

Dani stopped with a mind to retreat. It was terrifying enough to have passed to and fro under the noses of the Fjeltroll amid a reeking crowd. This was too dangerous.

And too late.

The woman caught sight of them and raised her voice. “Time and more you came! Would you have her Ladyship starve?” She beckoned, impatient, as they stood frozen and staring. “Well, come on!”

Dani and his uncle exchanged a glance, then proceeded slowly.

For a moment, a brief moment, he thought they would get away with it. The madling woman snatched the tray from his hands, giving it to the Fjeltroll to inspect. One lifted the domed cover, and another leaned down to smell the dish. Dani began to back away unobtrusively, Thulu behind him.

“Wait.” One of the Fjel guards spoke. They froze where they stood. It sniffed the air, broad nostrils widening. “These two are new,” it said in its low, guttural voice. “What did the General say to do?”

Dani wished they had run, then; had run, had hidden, had never tried to find the Lady Cerelinde. The madling came toward them. Her eyes glittered with an unholy glee as she drew near, near enough that he could smell her, rank and unwashed.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Has General Tanaros been looking for you?”

Neither of the Yarru answered.