THE LAST TIME I WAS in this cave was with S?ren, after we made our way through the tunnel, holding hands and shivering in the dark. It was after he’d lost my trust in the Vecturian battle, just before I’d lost his on board the W?s. And yet, here we are, side by side on our way back into the palace, and there are few people I trust more. And this time, we’re not alone.

“Theo, if you don’t mind,” Heron says to me from behind my right shoulder, Artemisia beside him and Maile behind them. Even at low tide, the water in the cave comes up to our knees.

I bring a ball of fire to the palm of my hand, just big enough to illuminate the back of the cave and the small tunnel hidden in the recesses of the rocks. I enter first, and the others follow behind, single file, led by my light.

The tunnel is shorter than I remember it being, but that might be because I’m less miserable than I was the first time. I’m not exhausted from running, hungry from a night spent alone in a cell, cold from the evening chill in the air. Instead of dragging on, it feels like only a few moments pass before I come to the fork in the tunnel.

One path leads to the throne room, where Cress might be sitting right at this very moment. Tempting as it is to go there first, I force myself to take the other path, the one that leads to the dungeon.

The thought of that place never fails to raise goose bumps on my skin. I remember the last time I was there, how I found those three Guardians who had sworn themselves to my mother. I remember what had been done to them, blood drained, fingers cut off, kept underground for years and years as experiments for the Kaiser’s mad plans.

But if the Kaiser was mad, what does that make Crescentia? After all, what she did to Laius is just the same. Not to mention how she used her own blood to poison those she called friends. Who will she be keeping in the dungeon? I’ll know for sure soon, but my imagination is horrible enough all on its own.

“Your hand is shaking,” Artemisia says, approaching my left shoulder.

I look and realize she’s right—my hand is shaking and the flame with it, throwing wobbly shadows onto the wet stone walls.

“It’s cold,” I say, which is true enough. The tunnel is cold, but holding the fire, I don’t feel its bite. Still, Artemisia takes the excuse in stride.

“Now isn’t the time to lose your nerve,” she says, and though her voice is soft, I can hear the warning underneath.

You don’t get to fall apart. Not now.

It’s a warning I don’t need, but I’m grateful for it all the same. I take a deep steadying breath and force my hand to still.

“There it is,” S?ren says, his steps sloshing in the water as he comes up on my other side. Then he walks past me to the expanse of stone wall ahead.

At first, it appears to be a dead end, but when I examine it closely, I can just make out the seam in the wall, the outline of a door. S?ren rests a hand on it and turns back to look at us, his expression taut but his eyes wild in the firelight.

“Ready?” he asks.

No, I think suddenly. No, I’m not ready at all. But I think about what S?ren said—you’re never ready to charge into battle, but you do it anyway.

“Ready,” I reply.

S?ren nods and shoves the door with his shoulder, hard. With a groan, it opens just wide enough for him to slip through.

The rest of us linger behind, listening.

Heavy footsteps. Voices, low and harsh-edged as they speak in Kalovaxian. Then, the sound of a fist colliding with bone, a crack that echoes, a scuffle. Then, nothing at all for a few moments.

I hold my breath as footsteps start again, coming toward us.

S?ren peeks into the opening, blood spattered over his face but a grim smile on his lips.

“It’s done,” he says, ushering us out into the dungeon. He’s holding a Kalovaxian man by the arm—a guard, I assume, though he’s been stripped of his uniform—and when we’re out of the tunnel, S?ren drags him into it, pushing him gracelessly to the side.

He steps into my aura of firelight again, and I take him in. No worse for wear, but now he’s wearing the guard’s uniform over his shirt and trousers. In the dim lighting, he’ll pass for one of them.

“Did you get the keys?” I ask.

He holds up a brass ring with three keys—two for the gates that separate the dungeon from the rest of the palace, one for all of the cells, I remember.

We start at the deepest part of the dungeon, unlocking cells and checking on those inside. Many, I realize, aren’t Guardians, they aren’t dangerous. They’re only Astrean people, starved and hurt and barely alive.

“I only stole a heel of bread,” one woman says, clinging to me with bloody fingers, her eyes wild and her hair matted. “My master had thrown it away, and I hadn’t eaten in days.”

My heart hurts to listen to them, but I force myself to. I stay by their side while Heron heals the ones who can’t walk on their own, one by one. Then Artemisia, Maile, and I walk them back to the tunnel with directions: Find Erik. Find the boat. Climb as high as you can on the rocks around the cave and wait for rescue.

S?ren pretends to patrol the next block of cells, but really he’s looking for another guard and another set of keys so that we can move through these cells faster.

We need to get all of the prisoners out before we make our move.

After about twenty minutes, S?ren jogs back toward us, out of breath and holding two new rings of keys. He passes one to me and one to Maile.

“Hurry,” he tells me. “There are more guards down here than I expected. These two didn’t recognize me, but the next ones might.”

I nod, finding the key that looks the same as the one Heron’s been using.

“Get the ones who can walk to safety,” Heron says to us, without looking up from the face of a woman with a broken leg. “Leave in their cells any who can’t move, and I’ll come to them as soon as I can.”

I don’t bother replying. Instead Maile and I head in different directions, keys in hand.

When I unlock the first cell, I find five Guardians, though the space is cramped even for a single occupant. I don’t know how I know they’re Guardians, but I sense it as soon as I step inside.

“Can you all walk all right?” I ask, my voice hushed.

One man looks up at me with dark eyes protruding from a gaunt face.

“Who wants to know?” he asks, his voice rough and hoarse. When he speaks, I see that he’s missing several teeth.

Unlike the last time someone asked me a similar question in these cells, I don’t hesitate. “Queen Theodosia Eirene Houzzara,” I say.

The man sits up a little straighter, and a couple of the others murmur to themselves, their voices too quiet for me to make out any words.

“Is that so?” the man asks, looking at me with thoughtful eyes.

“I’m happy to give you a rundown of my family history at some later date, but just now I need you to come with me, to safety.”

“Safety,” a woman says with a scoff. “In case you haven’t noticed, child, this is not a safe world.”

“I really don’t have time to convince you to escape if you don’t want to,” I say, looking down at the long row of cells I still have to get to. “There’s a tunnel open down that hall,” I say, pointing. “If you can’t get out there yourself, I have an Air Guardian friend who can help.”

“Do you now?” the man asks. “I don’t suppose you could use another?”

I dig into the burlap sack I brought and pull out an Air Gem, and toss it to the man, who catches it deftly.

“Anyone else?” I ask.

After that, there is a clamor for gems—another air, two waters, and an earth. I pass them out and give fresh orders to help the others who have already gone, and to guide those who will be coming. “Get everyone to high ground or onto the W?s as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, my Queen,” the man says, clutching his gem in his hands.

I smile briefly before hurrying from the cell to the next one, then the one after, and the one after that.

By the time I reach the end of my row, I have no more gems in my bag and all of the cells are empty. The Air Guardians I found wasted no time jumping in to help heal those who were hurt; the Earth Guardians carried others. What might have taken an hour is done in half the time.

“Everyone’s in the tunnel?” I ask, returning to the group.

Heron nods. “Any sign of more guards?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” S?ren says. “They’ll be posted nearer to the entrance, or at the mess hall just outside of it.”

“Well,” I say, “we’ll give the prisoners another few minutes to clear the tunnel. Then you can sound the alarm to summon them.”

IT TAKES HERON, MAILE, AND me working together to push the door of the tunnel open as wide as possible, while Artemisia checks to make sure the escaped prisoners have gotten out safely. When she returns, her eyes are glowing.

“All clear,” she says.

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?” Heron asks her, but she waves away his concerns.