Perenelle stopped and peered down the corridor. The far end of the tunnel sloped down into the sea, and she had a sudden image of the Old Man of the Sea crawling up the tunnel toward her. Shaking her head, dismissing the image, she snapped her fingers and created an inch-long candlelike white flame that floated just above the center of her forehead. Like the light on a miner’s helmet, it cast a yellow-white beam ahead of her. Perenelle turned back to de Ayala. “Will you stand watch for me, warn me if anyone, or anything, is coming?”

“Of course.” The ghost folded in the middle, attempting to bow without legs. “But why are you here, madame? There is nothing down here but the Crow Goddess.”

Perenelle’s smile lit up the gloom. “That’s who I’ve come to see.”

“Have you come to gloat?” The Morrigan’s voice was a hoarse, almost masculine rasp.

“No,” Perenelle said truthfully. Standing in the middle of the doorway, she crossed her arms over her chest and peered into the cell. “I’ve come down here to talk to you.”

Areop-Enap had spun a beautiful circular orb web in the center of the underground cell. The threads were about the thickness of Perenelle’s little finger, and they shimmered liquid silver in the light from the tongue of fire bobbing above her head. Directly in the center of the web, arms outstretched, black-feathered cloak spread out around her, lay the Crow Goddess. It looked as if she were simply perching in midair and could swoop down at any moment.

“You do not look well,” Perenelle said a moment later. In the soft light, Perenelle could see that the creature’s alabaster skin had taken on a greenish hue. Her black leather suit had dried and cracked in long splits that exposed the goddess’s pale skin. The silver studs set into her jerkin were stained and blackened, and the heavy leather belt around her waist was dripping with moisture, the round shields set into it tarnished the same green color as her face.

The Morrigan smiled and licked her black lips with the tip of her tongue. “And you have aged in the hours since we last spoke. We will die together, you and I.”

Perenelle moved her hand and the tongue of flame floated closer to the Morrigan. The Crow Goddess tried to twist her head to one side, but it was held fast by the sticky silver web. Reflections appeared in her jet-black eyes, giving them the appearance of having pupils. There was the hint of bone beneath the flesh of her face.

“You look ill,” Perenelle said. “You might go before me.”

“The Symbols of Binding are poisoning me,” the Morrigan snapped, “but no doubt you knew that.”