The soldiers they passed were unused to seeing women in their domain, and Trynne and the maidens were given a few leers as they passed. She ignored the rudeness and followed the strain of magic down another corridor. At the end, she found a heavy iron door with torches bracketed on either side of it. There were two guards posted there, arms folded.

“Back up top, lasses,” one of them said dismissively as Trynne approached.

“What’s through the doors?” she asked, ignoring the command.

“This be the wine cellar,” he replied stiffly. Even without her power, she would know it for a lie. “Not a place for visitors.”

Trynne gazed at both men. “My name is Trynne Kiskaddon,” she said. “Lord Owen was my father. He grew up in this castle.”

The two guards exchanged surprised looks. “I beg your pardon, your ladyship. Our master has given instructions that you are permitted to go anywhere you choose. I meant no disrespect.” He turned and yanked the door open. It took both men to do the job because of its weight.

As Trynne passed, she caught one of them giving the other a knowing look. She stopped and held out her hand to the maidens. “You both wait here. I should return promptly.”

“Yes, my lady,” they said, nodding. She could tell that they understood her meaning, that they were to wait behind to prevent the guards from locking her in.

Holding the torch, she continued down the steps, feeling the swell of the magic growing stronger. The stairs were short and ended in front of another door watched by another set of guards. They wore Fallon’s badge, the Pierced Lion. They asked no questions as she approached, only turned and pulled at the heavy doors for her. She nodded to them both, feeling her unease growing with each step.

The presence of magic was growing stronger. She could sense it filling the corridor. She reached out with her magic and sensed a single person waiting for her ahead. Her heart pounded in her throat. Was it Gahalatine? He was making no effort to hide his power at all. In fact, quite the opposite. His power was luring her there.

They were belowground in the bowels of the castle. The noise of the grinding stones had faded, and all was quiet other than her footsteps and the hissing flame of the torch. The smell of pitch was strong.

As she walked carefully ahead, she saw an iron gate blocking the way. The darkness and her weariness descended on her, making her fearful. There were several iron doors farther down the corridor, beyond the gate, but no one was standing guard. She approached the gate, watching the light play off the round bars. There was someone in the corridor, though not behind any of the iron doors. Someone she could sense but not see.