The dungeons overlaid the deepest, darkest sections of the crypts: the chambers of the disgraced. Here, the realms of the living and the resting place of lawless Ancestors were separated only by a rotten wooden door. Prisoners died frequently in the dungeons’ grimy conditions, and guards had no wish to move the bodies of criminals to their Ancestral tombs elsewhere in the city.

And now, Constance was terribly aware of their nearness. She’d tried to rest and recover her strength, but how could she sleep when noises drifted regularly from the catacombs below, the dead stirring in their palaces of stone?

The spell was solidifying, testing itself, finding its strength—and here in the dungeons they were all unprotected but for the bars of their cells.

Constance reached through those bars and forced her own cup of water to Xander’s lips, but she wasn’t sure whether he swallowed—most of it ran down his chin. Earlier she’d shouted for help, insisted that he be attended to, but the guard who eventually turned up told her to shut her mouth or he’d kick her teeth in.

She hadn’t given up. She’d promised not to. But after a night of sitting in filth and darkness, Constance had to admit she was starting to lose hope. Even if Lena and Emris turned up in Duke’s Forest now, the Justice would simply take them into custody. Somehow she had to meet the girl before the Justice found her. But how?

Her forehead sank onto her knees. Then she heard a muffled roar from outside.

She met Dr. Thorn’s eyes. Both of them frowned.

Constance stood up, craning toward the barred window high up in the wall of her cell. She could distinguish different sounds within the distant but growing roar: footsteps, and the pulsing chant of raised voices.

She laughed out loud, pressing her hand against her mouth.

“What is it?” said Dr. Thorn, his voice a hoarse croak.

“It’s a revolt,” she said, unable to believe her luck. “I promised the people an end to the storm cloud by dawn today. How could I have forgotten?”

In spite of everything, a spark of hope ignited in her heart.

*    *    *

The noises outside grew louder as the day slowly brightened. What sounded like a booming, threatening announcement from the battlements had little effect: if anything, the roar of the crowd intensified. An hour later, Constance heard weapons drawn outside. She heard the rhythmic stomp of angry feet against the flagstones, chanting, and shouts. And she waited.

Xander lay still, oblivious, his breath shallow. Opposite, Dr. Thorn also slept fitfully, the gauntlet on his hand occasionally twitching with red light.