Time blurred. The world went away. She shivered and shuddered—then gasped as the chains fell away.

Elizabeth was free. The One Beneath had released her. Once again she could die.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she knelt upon the floor, put her forehead down in the puddles of her own blood that congealed there. All but the last few cuts had healed, because of her body’s lingering regenerative power; she wept only for the loss. “My only liege,” she whispered.

He cries for missing you, too, said Asa, in a tone of voice that suggested he would rather not have told her. Demons often resisted their servitude. It did not signify.

Slowly Elizabeth rose to her feet again. She took up one of her bottles of water—but the thirst had diminished. Strange, not to have it there: She almost missed the craving. After a couple of swallows, she used the rest to rinse blood from her skin. Only a couple of scratches needed bandaging. As it had been centuries since she needed anything like that, Elizabeth wound up ripping some old cloths to tie around the cuts. Probably they were not clean—there was something about cleanliness and infection she dimly recalled from the past couple of centuries—but it hardly mattered. Her other magics remained in place, for now.

“Only one errand left,” she said to the demon chained within her mind. “Finding you a place.”

Eager though I am to depart your company, I feel the need to point out—you haven’t exactly done much to stop Nadia Caldani.

Elizabeth shrugged. “She has been taken care of. The boiling will have frightened her, and now she is without her Steadfast.”

She is not. Her Steadfast remains by her side.

“That’s impossible.” Verlaine Laughton had survived Elizabeth’s attack through some fluke of modern medical practice, but she had been comatose for the week since and would remain so until the time came to begin breaking the seal of the captive’s Chamber. In such a state, Verlaine should have provided little power to Nadia—and none when Nadia left the hospital in Wakefield.

I can tell you only what I know. Nadia still has her Steadfast.

Then it could not have been Verlaine. But who?

A thought came to her and was as quickly rejected. It was ridiculous. Absurd.

And yet, if there was no other possibility—

Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she took in the unbelievable truth.

Mateo paused in front of the door. “You’re completely sure there’s no other leads we can follow.”

“Unfortunately, none come to mind.” Nadia squared her shoulders, obviously trying to make herself feel strong. The autumn wind caught her dark hair, a strand of it curling along her cheek.

Did she know how vulnerable she looked in moments like this? Mateo could sense in her the fear that drove her onward—for Verlaine, for him, for her family, but never for herself. Yet Nadia had already taught him that vulnerability wasn’t the same thing as fragility. As deeply as she had been hurt—could yet be hurt—nothing had broken her.