Today, I will not ask. I will visit Iisak, and then I will do my best to find Parrish myself. I lace up a belt over my robes, loop my hair into a loose braid, and stride right past my guards without a word.

Conys and Bea fall into step behind me like silent shadows, but they do not question me. I am certain they will report my destination to my mother later, but hopefully she will be too consumed with courting Grey’s consideration of an alliance to worry much about me. She always was in the past.

I deliberately take the longest route through the palace to avoid seeing Nolla Verin and Grey. Or my mother.

Instead, I turn a corner and nearly run straight into Tycho.

He falls back at once and stumbles over his words. “Lia Mara! Ah—forgive me. My lady.” A blush lights his cheeks, and he attempts to bow. “Your—Your Highness?”

He’s so earnest about everything he does that I can’t help but smile. “Tycho. We are friends. Call me Lia Mara.”

His eyes flick to my guards, then back to my face. “Things are different here.”

That statement steals the smile from my face. “Not different between you and me, surely.”

He grins. “As you say.”

“Where were you hurrying off to?”

“Grey asked me to accompany him for his ride with Nolla Verin this morning—”

“Oh.” My lips flatten into a line.

“—but your sister was quite convincing that they should be allowed to get to know each other privately.”

I can imagine the scene perfectly. Nolla Verin would have rapped a riding crop across his knuckles in her effort to be convincing—though she probably wouldn’t do it in front of Grey. “Oh, I am certain she was.”

“Jake was turned away as well, but he said he was going back to bed with Noah.” Another faint blush finds his cheeks.

“Well, if you find yourself without a destination, would you care to escort me to the dungeons?”

His eyebrows go up. “The … dungeons?”

“Yes. I am going to visit Iisak.”

A breath escapes his lips. “Oh. We can see him? Yes. Yes, of course.” Then his eyes widen. “Wait. One moment, please.”

“Certainly.”

He dashes down the hallway to return a few minutes later, looking rushed and flustered. He glances at my guards and stops his fidgeting, then straightens and offers his arm. That is not a custom here, but he is trying so hard, so I take his elbow as I saw ladies do in Emberfall. We walk arm in arm through the quiet torch-lit hallways.

“You look very fine,” I say to him, and mean it. In the woods, he always looked a bit wild, his hair untamed and his eyes shadowed with watchful distrust. Today he is clean, his golden hair combed straight and tied into a queue. The cut of his jacket broadens his shoulders and the boots give him an inch of height, making him look less like a boy and more like a young man.

He glances shyly at me. “Thank you. So do you.”

The stairs are well-lit, but Tycho hesitates before descending at my side. The dungeons are rarely occupied—and in turn, they are rarely guarded. The Stone Prison exists on the western side of Syhl Shallow to hold captives for any length of time. Only one guard waits at the bottom, a grizzly older man with a scar across one eye. He does a double take when he sees me, and stumbles to his feet, but offers little more than a nod and a curious glance. No one in this palace has ever had anything to fear from me.

“Your Highness,” he says in Syssalah. “You have come to the dungeon?” He asks this as though I might be lost.

“Yes,” I say. “I would like to see the scraver.”

The guard grimaces and sucks a breath through his teeth. “He nearly took my arm off when I brought him breakfast. I think you’d be better served upstairs.”

At my side, Tycho’s hand has gone tense on my elbow, and I pat my hand over his fingers. “Iisak saved our lives on more than one occasion. I’ll take my chances with my arm.”

The guard nods and extends a hand toward the cells. “They put him in the last one.”

I start walking, and he calls after me, “Tell that ungrateful creature that he’s got the only one with a window.”

When we reach the cell, I discover that the guard was right: a small window allows light down from near the ceiling. But the cell is by far the smallest, hardly eight feet square, nowhere near enough room for a man, much less a creature with a twelve-foot wingspan. Iisak’s wings are folded in tight against his back, and he reclines in the shadows, his black eyes glittering in the torchlight. An iron bowl is upturned in the opposite corner, food splattered against the rock wall. I consider his diet of raw meat in the woods and wonder what they tried to feed him. It looks like porridge.

I wonder if that was on purpose, then consider the selection of this cell when so many others were available. I consider my mother.

All of this is on purpose.

I wonder what cost she will demand. I wonder if I can find out.

The scraver does not look surprised to see us. “Ungrateful, am I?” he says.

Tycho moves to the bars first. “Are you unwell?”

“I am in a cage, boy. Nothing in a cage is ever truly well.” He bares his teeth at the guards lurking behind me, and I wonder what they would do if I attempted to press my hands against the bars as well.

Tycho dips a hand into his pocket and pulls free a handkerchief. “The servants didn’t leave animal parts in my chambers,” he says wryly, “but I brought you some sweet cakes and meat pies.”

So that is what he went back to his room for.

Iisak looks startled by the offer, and he uncurls from the ground to take the wrapped food from Tycho. Those razor-sharp claws brush against the boy’s fingers with surprising gentleness.

“My thanks.” Iisak withdraws into the shadows again but does not unwrap the food. I wonder if he’ll actually eat it.

“Do not let your kindness make you vulnerable,” Iisak says. Those dark eyes shift to me. “The same advice applies to you, Princess.”

“I am not worried about being vulnerable.”

He smiles sadly. “Then it appears my advice is offered too late.”

Tycho ignores his warnings. “Why are you in the dungeon?” he says. “Will you be harmed?”

“The queen is fond of bargains and debts. She has made it clear that my transgression will be costly. Have no worries, boy. I spent months in a cage. I can be patient.”

“What will it cost?” I say.

He regards me silently in response.

I move closer to the bars, and Bea and Conys move with me, but they do not stop me. “Does she have what you seek?” I ask softly.

His eyes fall closed, and a cool thread of air swirls through the bars. “No.”

No.

He could have made his way home secretly, but he took this chance.

“Are you sure?” Tycho says in a rush. “What if—”

“I am sure,” says Iisak.

“What was it?” I say. “If you tell me, if I can help you—”

“You cannot help me.” He sighs, and a coating of frost appears on the stone wall beside him.

“Please,” I whisper. “Please let me help you.”

“You cannot help me, Princess. Your mother will not yield to you. You know this as well as I do.”