Poor Fiona, Han thought. I’d rather be an orphan than have a father like yours.

Bayar’s voice cut into Han’s thoughts. “You will take me to the armory now, or you will die down here. One or the other.”

“There’s a third option,” Han said, his voice low and even. “You’ll die down here.”

Bayar raked out his arm and spat out a charm, light sizzling off his fingertips. Han threw up a barrier, and Bayar’s magical missile shattered into glittering shards. They traded shots, bolts of flame ricocheting through the caves, lighting the stone chamber like midday and sending bats spiraling out of hidden perches.

When their magic collided, Han’s usually prevailed. He continually moved forward, pressing the wizard back, conjuring distracting glamours that appeared to attack from all sides. Bayar spun around, spewing flame like one of the pinwheel fireworks that went up at solstice.

The duel continued. Now Bayar’s face wore a sheen of confusion and sweat. His attacks became more random, disorganized, and desperate, his defenses more porous. Han had been in enough street fights to know when he was winning.

“How does it feel to be on the losing end?” Han said. “We Waterlows have always been smarter and stronger than you Bayars. No wonder you hate us so much. Beginning with Alger Waterlow. You’ve been telling lies about him for a thousand years.”

Bayar stared into Han’s face, his black eyes narrowed, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a snarl.

“This is for my mother and my sister, Mari,” Han said, pounding him with another flaming assault, each blow like a fist against flesh. “Remember them? You burned them alive. And Jonas and Sweets and Jed and Flinn. They were friends of mine, and you murdered them.”

Bayar got off a wavering jet of flame, and Han countered it easily. “And how about the people in Ragmarket who lost their homes when you burned them out? And all those assassins you sent after the queen?”

Bayar turned and melted into the mist.

Han followed. When the footsteps stopped, Han stopped also, then eased forward, alert for the slightest sound. The mist pressed in on all sides. The back of his neck prickled. Bayar could be inches away and Han might pass him without knowing.

Did he dare return to check on the mysterious archer? Could he even find him again?

No. Not with Bayar loose in the passageways. He needed to deal with him first if he meant to escape the labyrinth himself.