The gardens are magical at this time of night. I walk through clouds of fragrance, and the moon lights my way, both from its place above me and through its reflections in myriad pools below. I whisper to Slicewing to take me to Dineas, and she leads the way, a spot of ink cutting through the night. I follow her until the gardens give way to grand buildings—forests of stone columns and facades with bas-relief carvings that hint of men and animals. I pass the occasional slave or soldier and even a well-dressed official, but none of them give me a second look.

After a while, I pass through to what looks like an outer circle of the palace. The buildings here are built of mud, and I see soldiers walking around. Slicewing slows here and flits from rooftop to rooftop until she finally alights on a squat building. It doesn’t seem much different from the others at first glance, though then I see that the walls are stone, and the windows are narrow. Two guards stand in front, and through the windows I see others in the anteroom beyond the door.

This must be the prison. I duck out of view, shuddering at the thought of Dineas inside, and open my sack. I have five bundles of smoke herbs to burn, as well as a jar of fine wine laced with sleeping draft. Diadem is wrapped tightly around my upper arm.

I will myself to think. There’s one good thing about this prison—the thick walls and small windows make it hard to air out. There’s a chimney near the front, most likely connecting to a fireplace in the anteroom. I take out two strips of cloth and wet them thoroughly. The first, I tie around my neck. The second, I hold out to Slicewing.

“Slicewing, take this to the chimney.” I point as well as I can. Slicewing obediently grabs it and flies toward the prison, but simply drops the cloth onto the roof before circling back to collect her praise.

I shake my head. “No, Slicewing, bring it back.” The bird cocks her head to the side and fetches the cloth again. I frown, trying to think how better to give the command. “The chimney, Slicewing. Take this to the chimney.”

Again Slicewing takes flight, but this time, she drops it on the other side of the roof.

I sigh, and order Slicewing to fetch the cloth back. Perhaps it’s too much to ask. I’m about to tuck the cloth back in my bag when Scrawny digs his claws into my arm.

“What is it?”

Scrawny stretches his wings in reply. I shrug. “If you want to give it a try…Scrawny, take this to the chimney.”