The empty sconce is brass like the others, but a careful look reveals that it’s placed in the stone wall a little differently, jutting out farther, with a more pronounced outline around its mortar setting.

I give the sconce a firm twist to the left.

A section of wall pulls back into darkness and slides silently to the side.

“Holy God,” Iván says. “How did you know—”

“Let’s go. Hurry!” Still holding the torch, I step into darkness.

I sense Iván at my back. Once we are both well inside, I push down on a brass lever, and the stone door slides closed.

Finally it’s safe to whisper. “I’m going to show you a lot of things tonight, Iván. Secret things. And if you tell anyone about them—”

“You’ll tattle to your empress?”

I round on him; he towers over me. “No. I’ll kill you.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. The torchlight makes hollows of his cheeks. After a moment, a mocking grin spreads across his face. “Do you really think—”

“I’m not being dramatic. Very few know about the passageways I’m going to show you. Even among the Royal Guard, only those in Elisa’s inner circle know them all. Her safety depends on keeping it that way. So if you tell anyone, I. Will. Kill. You.”

His eyes narrow as if in thought. He’d have beautiful eyes if they weren’t so darkly veiled and quick to anger. He says, “Actually, that sounds fair.”

Not the response I was expecting, but I’ll take it. “It’s safe to whisper in most of these passages,” I tell him. “When the stone walls give way to wood, though, we must be quiet like mice.”

“Understood.”

The passage is narrow and dusty, though not as dusty as it once was. The empress has been keeping these routes in better condition than previous monarchs, and the torchlight reveals lighter patches of fresh mortar, where either Royal Guards or the spymaster’s people have completed maintenance. We turn right once, then left, ignoring a branching corridor. The ceiling becomes lower; Iván must duck his head to continue.

“Do you think someone will notice the missing torch in the latrine?” he whispers.

“Maybe, but all torches in the palace are free to use.”

“Oh. That’s good.” After a moment, he adds, “Have you killed anyone before?”

I guide us down a short set of stairs. The walls close in so tight they nearly brush my shoulders. “Yes.”

“Who?”

“None of your business.”

Our passage ends at a large wooden panel. I slide it aside, revealing a small storage closet. We slip into the closet, shut the panel, and snuff out the torch. Light filters in from the hallway. Chests are stacked shoulder-high against the walls, and a few burlap bags spill into the center, leaving us little room to maneuver. Iván’s body invades my space; like me, he smells of manure and sun-warmed straw.

“This is the awkward part,” I say to his chest. “We have an open hallway to travel, which will take us to the entrance to the catacombs. There’s always a Royal Guard on duty there, and absolutely no way past him. We’ll have to walk right up and show him the prince’s seal.”