Adam Ionkovo pulled himself out of a shadow when the guard turned her back, landing on the flagstones with the slightest rasp of leather on stone. The woman, in a blue army uniform with a musket on her shoulder, was still looking toward the stairs, listening to a muted conversation from the guardroom above.

They were in the cells under the Guardhouse, former headquarters of the Armsmen, which Janus’ Army of the East had taken over for important prisoners. One level down, Maurisk and the rest of the Directory languished, along with a few other “traitors” who’d been rounded up or surrendered themselves. This level was unused, except for this single cell, with its single prisoner.

It was also only a few floors away from where Ionkovo himself had been “imprisoned” while he was playing his little game with d’Ivoire. The irony was not lost on the Penitent Damned.

He had chosen his moment carefully. The infernai, the desert creature who served the Beast, had dogged his every step the past few days, especially when he came anywhere near either Vhalnich or the queen. The sand-thing couldn’t keep Ionkovo from slipping away, but he couldn’t hurt it, either. A stalemate, which the Penitent found intensely frustrating. But tonight, with both the queen and Vhalnich at the Sworn Cathedral, he was betting that the infernai would be there, too, giving him at least temporary freedom of action in other matters.

A few steps, and he was behind the guard. His right arm slipped up and over her shoulder, then down across her throat to stifle her cry, while his left slid a knife from its sheath and slipped it gently between her ribs. She bucked and twitched against him for a moment, then stilled, and he held her for a moment longer before withdrawing the blade and letting the corpse slip to the floor. He cleaned the weapon on her shirt, sheathed it, and took the keys from her belt.

The door had a small, barred window, and through it he could see the prisoner was awake. Jane Verity’s red hair was a tangle, her clothes in tatters. Her green eyes were bright, though red streaks suggested she’d been crying.

The closest lamp was several yards away, leaving the corridor thick with nice, dark shadows. Ionkovo slipped into one, submerging like a diver going underwater only to resurface a few feet away, inside the cell. He stepped out of a shadow on the wall, and Jane backed away, eyes widening.

“You’re one of them,” she said. “The Penitent Damned.”

“I am,” Ionkovo said. He wasn’t wearing his mask, but there wasn’t much point in denying his identity now. “You can call me Shade, if you like.”

“Are you here to kill me?” Her eyes went briefly to the door, and he realized she’d seen him kill the guard.