“This apartment has been shut up for hundreds of years,” Raisa said. “Maybe a thousand. You should have seen the way it looked before we cleaned it up. Someone made it, but whoever it was would’ve died a long time ago.”

Amon was examining the sliding panel, running his hands over the wood molding surrounding it. “You should have it boarded it up, Raisa. Close it off permanently.”

“You worry too much,” Raisa said. “I’ve been here three months and no monsters have come through.”

“I’m serious. I’m going to talk to my father about it.”

“You will not,” Raisa said. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

He tilted his head, frowning. “I don’t remember promising anything.”

“Anyway,” she went on, “I’ll see if there’s a way to put a lock on it. That should do.” She crossed to the small pantry, suddenly reluctant to see him go. “Do you want anything else to eat?”

He shook his head, smiling ruefully. “I’d better go. We don’t want anyone to find me here.”

Raisa shook her head. “I guess not,” she said. She felt conflicted, confused. On the one hand, she mourned the Amon she’d known in childhood, a friendship that would never be the same. On the other, she felt a thrill of possibility, a breathless fascination with this new Amon and anything he might do or say.

She walked him to the door and they stepped out into the hallway.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said. “I’m really tired of southern food.” He paused, cleared his throat. “Don’t forget about the tunnel.”

“Sorry I kept you out so late,” Raisa said, committing to nothing. “But I’m really glad you’re home.” Putting her hand on his arm to steady herself, Raisa went up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

“So this is where you’ve been all evening,” someone said in a voice as cold as a demon’s kiss.

Raisa jerked away from Amon and turned, knowing as she did so it was the wrong thing—the guilty thing—to do.

It was Micah Bayar, dark eyes glittering in the light from the sconces. A strong odor of wine said he’d been drinking.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, knowing the best defense is a good offense. “Skulking about the queen’s tower in the middle of the night?”

“I might ask this soldier the same question,” Micah said. “He seems rather…out of place.”

“Her Highness asked me to escort her back to her rooms,” Amon said, stumbling onto the excuse that she and Micah always used. “I was just leaving.”

“I see that,” Micah said. “I thought you had a headache,” he said to Raisa.

“I did,” she replied. She turned to Amon. “Good night and thank you, Corporal Byrne.”

She turned to enter her room, but Micah grabbed her arm, the loosed power in his grip stinging her flesh. “Hold on,” he said. “Don’t rush off. I need to understand something.”

Raisa tried to pull free. “Micah, I’m really tired. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”