“Do you think that will stop them?” Zaira pulled us into a deep, shadowed archway that led to a gated town house garden. We waited tensely as a dozen soldiers passed our hiding place, armed with flintlocks and sabers.

“Looks like we’d better move quickly,” I said once they were gone. “Before those soldiers come looking for us.”

Before I ran out of time.

With storehouses and workshops locked and shuttered for the night, the street lay in black shadow. I would have passed Savony’s warehouse, but Zaira recognized it. She had the lock open in minutes, and we crept down the entry hallway under the round mirror eyes, in the flickering lamplight. The clink and creak of Marcello’s rapier-and-pistol harness seemed loud as a shout in the pressing silence.

My bloody rune still marked the artifice circle on the far door. I pushed it open, the raw wood rough under my fingers. Ignazio couldn’t possibly have beaten us here, but I was still fearful of what we might find.

The storeroom opened before us, its looming space palpable, but only the gray trace ends of starlight filtered down through the high windows. The golden rectangle cast on the stone floor from the lamplit hallway didn’t reach far. Those poor children must spend every night in utter blackness. I shuddered.

“Jaslyn?” I called softly.

A rustle and faint “Hello?” rose up from below, hollow and uncertain.

“Grace of Mercy,” Marcello breathed. “They really are under the floor.”

I couldn’t make out the drain in the grainy shadows, but we headed toward the center of the room, our footfalls startling echoes off the walls.

“It’s me, Amalia. We’re here to set you free.”

“You came back!” Hope lit up Jaslyn’s voice.

I found the drain and slid my fingers between the metal bars. Small cold hands touched mine. Jostling and whispers sounded from the cellar.

“They came back!”

“She’s going to let us out of here!”

“Give me those tools,” Zaira commanded, her voice hard with purpose.

I passed her my satchel. A few clinks sounded in the darkness, and then a frustrated grunt.

“I can’t see a cursed thing. Do we have any light?”

“Hold on.” A soft glow flared in Marcello’s hand as he shook a pocket luminary awake. “This won’t last long,” he warned.

“Long enough.” Zaira bent over the drain, blocking my view of dark staring eyes and wan faces below.

“Hurry,” a boy pleaded.

“I’m working on it, brat. Stop grabbing at the bars, or I’ll never get this off.”

Marcello held up the luminary, giving it another shake to give the spark of light a bit more time as it faded. I sidled up to him until our shoulders and hips touched, and his free arm went around my waist. I drank in his warmth, too aware it could be my last chance.