The secret passage of owls and rooks stretched for at least a mile, some of it in darkness lit only by the single torch that Leopold carried—and all of it damp. Every few minutes as they walked, Leopold asked, “How do you feel?”

And every few minutes, Safi answered, “Fine. It’s annoying, but it doesn’t hurt.” She spoke the truth each time—and thank the gods for it. She had feared, when she removed the noose in his quarters and stuffed it in his armchair, that every step away would be agony. Instead, this perpetual shivering deep in her bones had not worsened.

The tunnel finally stopped at a wide set of stairs. At the top, a cedar chest waited. Leopold bowed over it and removed two loose, hooded cloaks of dreary, easily missed brown. After draping one over Safi and pulling her hood low, he slipped into the second. Then he lifted an alarm-stone and held it up for them both to see.

It did not flicker. It did not light.

“No one outside,” he said before replacing it, and several moments later, he took Safi’s hand into his and pulled her to the stairs’ end. A simple stone wall waited. Three taps with his fist, just like in the tower, and the wall disappeared.

A cold breeze and moonlight swept in—as did the muddy scent of water and the gentle lap of waves. It was the River Praga, which carved through the city, and the wall opened right onto it. Reeds drifted lazily nearby. Sounds of a sleeping city wafted down, as if a street were above, and Safi could just make out a stone wall on the river’s opposite bank.

That fact alone—that she could see depth and color and moonlight—sent a thrill winking down her spine.

She was free. For now, for tonight, she was free.

“We are near the Sarian Bridge,” Leopold explained. “And we will be getting wet.” He motioned to small rivulets swirling toward his feet through the open wall. “Since it is very hard to explain to one’s attendants why one’s dancing shoes are muddy, can you go barefoot?”

Safi nodded. A grim smile compressed her lips. Shoes should be a luxury, Habim had taught her. Not a requirement.

That lesson had served her well over the past two months. Her mentor and his Heart-Thread might have tumbled through hell-gates that Safi couldn’t comprehend, but she couldn’t deny how much they had taught her. How very much she owed them.

And they had sent her the Truth-lens. That had to count for something.