“What about where Degan Gaunt might be held?” Arista asked.

Amilia glanced at Nimbus, who stepped up. “Well, my research at the Hall of Records is inconclusive. In ancient imperial times, Aquesta was a city called Rionillion, and a building of some significance stood on this site. Ironically, several parchments refer to it as a prison, but it was destroyed during the early part of the civil wars that followed the death of the last emperor. Later, in 2453, Glenmorgan the First built a fortress here as a defense against rebellions. That fortress is the very palace in which we now stand.

“None of the histories mention anything about a dungeon—odd, given the unrest. I’ve made a detailed search of nearly every section of the palace, interviewed chambermaids, studied old maps and plans, but I haven’t uncovered a single mention of any kind.”

“What does Aquesta do with criminals?” Arista asked.

“There are three jails in the city that deal with minor offenses and the Warric prison in Whitehead for harsher cases that don’t result in execution. And then there is the infamous Manzant Prison and Salt Mine in Maranon for the most severe crimes.”

“Perhaps it’s not a dungeon or prison at all,” Arista said. “Maybe it’s merely a secret room.”

“I suppose I could make some inquiries along those lines.”

“What is it, Amilia?” Thrace asked, catching a thoughtful look on her secretary’s face.

“What? Oh, nothing …” Amilia’s expression switched to one of annoyance. “This is very dangerous. Asking all these questions and nosing about. It’s risky enough ordering extra food with each meal. Someone will notice. Saldur is not a fool.”

“But what were you thinking just now, Amilia?” Thrace repeated.

“Nothing.”

“Amilia?”

The secretary frowned. “I just—Well, a few weeks ago you talked about a dark hole …”

“You think I was there—in this dungeon?”

“Don’t, Modina. Don’t think about it,” Amilia begged. “You’re too fragile.”

“I have to try. If I can remember—”

“You don’t have to do anything. This woman—she comes here—she doesn’t care about you—or what might happen. All she cares about is herself. You’ve done more than enough. If you won’t turn her in, at least let me get her out of here and away from you. Nimbus and I—”

“No,” Thrace said softly. “She needs us … and I need her.”

“Dirt,” Thrace said, and shivered.

Arista looked over. She was in the midst of trying to determine how to finish her latest letter to Hilfred when she heard the word. The empress had knelt before the open window since Amilia and Nimbus had left, but this was the first she had spoken.