“No.” I pulled on my scaled coat, then put my cloak back on, checking the inner pocket for the small bulge that had been present with me every waking minute, my fear of losing it almost as great as my fear of being caught with it. “Wait here. I need to get the key.”

Ducking out into the hallway, I glanced in both directions before coating the floor with a layer of magic to muffle the sound of my steps. From the lower level, the King’s laughter echoed through the floors along with the awful weight of his magic. Such an enormous amount of power that he never used but to intimidate. Never used but to further his own ends, which never amounted to any good but for him. Angoulême was supposed to be his enemy, yet in this, they were as good as allies.

“Laugh while you can,” I muttered under my breath, then delved into the lock on my father’s study, muting the sound of the click as it opened. It was black inside, but I moved through the room on memory alone until I was next to his desk, then formed the faintest ball of light to guide my motions.

The key sat in a golden box on the table, and I unraveled the magic that was its true protection, easing a weight I’d constructed years ago onto the key’s cushion before allowing the trap to settle back into place. When I was younger, I’d taken it countless times without asking to go adventuring with my friends, but then the only risk had been a slap on the wrist.

Tonight, the stakes were much higher.

Shutting the gate, I led Pénélope into the tunnels until we were round several bends before dropping my illusion and illuminating our surroundings. Her eyes were wide, the sluag spear she gripped shaking, her heart a rapid thunder that matched my own, although for different reasons.

“Stones and sky,” she whispered, reaching out to touch the crushed wall of a building, fingers tracing what had once been a window frame. “It’s like walking through an enormous tomb, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.” The truth was, I had never given it much thought. We came here for fun, excitement, and adventure, not to contemplate the dead. And death was too pressing, too imminent, for me to want to think about it now.

“I thought it would be more ominous,” she said, bending to examine the pattern of the cracked paving stones. “But it’s more sad than anything else. All those lives lost in the space of a heartbeat, not even a chance to say goodbye. To tell those who mattered that they were loved.”

“But at least it was quick,” I said, taking her hand. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

She made a noncommittal noise, but followed me through the ruined streets without hesitation until we reached the narrow crevice leading into the labyrinth proper.

“It looks like the pathway to a nightmare,” she said, her steps faltering. “Marc, I don’t know if this is a good idea. I’m not trained to fight – especially not against the sluag – and if we were to become separated, I haven’t the wherewithal to find my way back.”