I smiled, thinking of Jase’s audacity in the face of the queen’s generosity, to insist on being named the first. Any lingering hopes anyone entertained of taking over the arena and Hell’s Mouth would be quashed-especially once they learned that Tor’s Watch’s sovereignty was to be formally recognized by the Alliance. It was all we had talked about our first week on the trail-staking out the boundaries for this new tiny kingdom and revising the rules of trade. Before we left Marabella, the king’s aide, Sven, had drawn out a northern route for us that paralleled the Infernaterr. Whoever had once wandered these halls probably thought it would be perfect forever.

But at one time, long ago, it must have been perfectly beautiful and majestic. Even the manor, nested high on a rocky ledge, wore a leafy headdress of trees and vines. They hadn’t withstood the ravages of falling stars and time, forests now pulling them back into the earth with their gentle emerald fingers. The surrounding grounds were sprinkled with crumbled outbuildings that seemed to extend for miles. Was this the home of a ruling Ancient? Aaron Ballenger himself? The opulence whispered like a dying swan. The manor was mostly in ruins now, but hints of its greatness shone through, intricate blue-veined marble floors that still had some shine in hidden corners, towering pillars, and a ceiling that once held a painting, bits of cloud, a horse’s eye, and a beautifully rendered but disembodied hand gracing the broken plaster. I walked to the window while Jase finished dressing. It was a luxury neither of us was eager to leave behind. We had soaked miles of travel from our skin last night and again this morning. Our lodgings had afforded us a hot spring. The tattooed wing on his chest glistened in a soft fog. He pulled on his shirt, his skin still steaming against the brisk air. We had made good time, but between the trip to Marabella and now our trek back, we’d been gone from Tor’s Watch for over two months. I remembered her telling me about her dream. But the wound wept yellow, and my brow was feverish, the filth of the cell seeping in. Shouldn’t you do something? Was it a laugh I heard as the beam faded away? Or was it a quarterlord taunting me? I wasn’t dead yet, so I knew that the knife plunged into my belly had at least missed anything vital.

What have we here? It pointed at my belly now, my shirt stiff with dried blood.

The narrow beam came only after long spells of darkness, maybe once a day? I wasn’t sure, and even then it didn’t stay for long, sneaking in like a curious onlooker. How long had I been here? Five days? A month? Eleven years? I called out to my mother and then I remembered. It should have been easy, but the warmth eluded me. A dusty beam of light wormed its way through the stone, and I leaned in, hoping to steal some warmth.

A vow of thieves