As soon as I’m out, he closes the door again and the riser lowers away, leaving me alone in a dark hallway, lit only by moonlight filtering in through the windows. Ahead of me, the hall is lined with doors on either side, but I have no idea which one is Erik’s. Though I visited Hoa here, it was an entirely different place then, bustling with life and people who directed my way. Now I don’t even know how to begin to guess which room is which.

I walk slowly down the hall, hoping for some kind of sign, but each oak door is exactly the same. Even the designs carved into them and the cut-crystal doorknobs are identical. Being alone again is beginning to make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. If an assassin wanted to attack, this would be the perfect moment—they could do the job without any trouble and then blame it on the Gorakians, who don’t seem to have many friends in Sta’Crivero to begin with.

Tilting my head, I look at the doorjambs for light bleeding out, a sign that someone inside is awake. It’s well past midnight, so most of them are dark, but eventually I find one that isn’t and knock softly.

There’s a long pause before footsteps thud softly toward me and the door creaks open. A small, wiry Gorakian man appears, with a gleaming bald head and round spectacles perched on the end of his hooked nose. He peers at me irritably, his forehead heavily creased. He might not be happy with me for interrupting whatever he was doing, but at least there is very little chance of him being an assassin.

“I…I’m sorry to bother you,” I tell him. “I’m looking for Eri—I mean, the Emperor. Which room is he staying in?”

He frowns and I realize that he doesn’t understand Astrean. I open my mouth to repeat myself in Kalovaxian since he’ll probably understand that after living through the Kalovaxians’ occupation, but he speaks first.

“Emperor,” he repeats.

Relief courses through me and I nod.

The man leans out the door and points down the hall away from the riser, but there are too many doors for me to make out which one he’s pointing to. He must realize this as well, because with a labored sigh he shuffles out of his room and leads me to the door he means, knocking much louder and longer than I would have. I suppose it’s a good thing, though, because it’s a few moments before Erik finally answers the door, eyes half-hooded with sleep. He blinks blearily at us for a moment, as if trying to make sense of the picture before him.

“Tho—Queen Theodosia?” he asks in Kalovaxian. “Master Jurou? What’s happening?”

The man—Master Jurou—frowns and launches into fast Gorakian that I can’t make out a word of. I don’t think Erik can either, because all he does is stare at Master Jurou and wait for him to finish. When he does, he looks at Erik, waiting for a response Erik has no idea how to give. Master Jurou realizes this and gives a loud harrumph before stalking back to his room and closing the door with a slam.

Erik winces at the loud noise. “I see you’ve met Master Jurou,” he says.

“I didn’t know which room was yours,” I admit. “Who is he?”

He opens his mouth to answer before closing it and frowning, considering the question. “He’s…an alchemist,” he says. “Best in Goraki, even before the siege. If we’re being honest, I’m not entirely sure what he does, but everyone seems to think it’s very important. As you can see, I don’t speak Gorakian, though my mother’s doing her best to remedy that. Something to do with gold, I think.” His frown deepens and he shakes his head, eyes refocusing on me.

“What are you doing here, Theo? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I tell him.

“And you decided to share your misery with me? Very thoughtful, but I wish you wouldn’t have,” he says, yawning around the last couple of words.

“I want to go visit S?ren,” I say. “And since the Kaiser has a bounty on my head, I don’t think it’s wise for me to go down to the dungeon alone.”

“Not unarmed, though,” he notes, nodding toward the dagger at my hip.

“More for show than anything,” I admit. “You saw me yesterday—I’m more likely to hurt myself if I try to wield it.”

“Fair enough,” he says with a sigh. “Let me grab my sword and we’ll go together. I wouldn’t mind seeing S?ren myself.” He ducks back inside, but before the door closes behind him I hear him mutter, “Though I’d rather we’d waited until daylight to do it.”

THE DUNGEON BELOW THE STA’CRIVERAN palace is the kind of place that doesn’t get many visitors—in fact, it has the feel of a place that one doesn’t enter expecting to leave again. The riser operator balked when Erik and I asked him to take us down here, but when I told him the King had given me permission he begrudgingly acquiesced, though as soon as he dropped us off he couldn’t leave fast enough, whirring off back to the surface before the doors had even closed behind us.

“Hardly inspires confidence,” Erik murmurs, looking around the dim hall, lit only by rows of small sconces. The air down here is stuffy and rancid, making me nauseous. I don’t want to put a name to whatever that smell is. It doesn’t smell like it’s coming from anything—or anyone—alive.

We follow the hallway until we reach an iron gate that stretches from ceiling to floor, wall to wall. Leaning against it on our side is a young Sta’Criveran man who looks half-asleep. When he hears us approach, though, he bolts upright, eyes widening in surprise. He looks about twenty, but his skin is sallow and there are dark circles under his eyes. I wonder when he was last aboveground.

“What are you doing here?” the man asks, flustered, before swallowing and trying again. “I mean, how can I help you?”

“We’re here to visit Prinz S?ren. King Etristo has given me permission to visit at my leisure.”

He frowns, looking bewildered. “But it’s the middle of the night,” he says.

I shrug. “Such is my leisure,” I say. “My name is Queen Theodosia and I would like the prisoner brought to a secure, separate room away from other prisoners. Has he eaten?”

“I…yes, Your Majesty,” he says.

“I’m glad to hear it,” I say. “He can be a bit stubborn about that sort of thing. Is there a room like the one I described?”

“Prinz S?ren is being held in a solitary cell,” he says. “It’s quite comfortable—for a cell, I mean. Certainly better than anything else down here, and far from the other prisoners.”

“That sounds like it will do nicely,” I tell him with a smile. “What’s your name?”

“Tizoli,” the man says before hastening to bow. When he’s done, he turns to the gate, fumbling with the ring of keys hooked onto his belt. It takes a couple of tries, but he finally unlocks the door and leads us through.

* * *

—

S?ren’s cell is a little bigger than the brig on the Smoke and at least thrice the size of the cell I had back in Astrea. Unlike on the Smoke, he isn’t cuffed, so he can stand and walk and do whatever he likes within its walls. Unfortunately, what he wants to do is sleep, which he does quite soundly, curled up in the corner with his face turned away from us.

“S?ren!” I shout through the bars of the door for what feels like the hundredth time, but he still doesn’t move. I turn toward Tizoli, who’s lingering behind us, unsure whether he should stay or go. “Is he well?”

“I…er…I think so, Your Majesty,” he says, looking around nervously.

“He’s fine,” Erik says. “He could sleep through a hurricane—has, in fact.” He cups his hands around his mouth and bellows S?ren’s name so loudly that I have to cover my ears. S?ren, though, only rolls over, burrowing closer to the wall.

“If you could just open the door for a moment, we could nudge him awake and come right back out,” I say to Tizoli, but he shakes his head again, just as he has every time I’ve asked him since we came down here ten minutes ago—it must be at least five times by now.

Erik takes a deep breath, preparing to yell again, but I cut him off by grabbing hold of the button on the sleeve of his cloak and yanking it off in one sharp tug.

“What did you do that for?” Erik demands, looking at his torn jacket in disbelief. “That was brand-new—my mother is going to kill me.”

I ignore him and step right up to the bars and reach my arm through, clutching the button tight in my hand. I throw the button as hard as I can at S?ren’s head, hitting him square in the middle of the forehead. It was a small button, but it was enough. S?ren’s hand flies up to belatedly swat it away before his eyes crinkle open and he stares at us sleepily.

“Finally,” I say. “You sleep like the dead.”

S?ren pulls himself up to sit, still looking dazed. “I think I’m still sleeping,” he admits. “What are you doing here? And what time is it?”

“Nearly dawn, I’d guess,” I say before turning to Tizoli. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?” I ask him. “We’ll come get you when we’re done.”

Tizoli hesitates but after a moment he nods and goes back down the hallway. I listen to his footsteps fade before speaking again.

“Quite the reversal of fortunes,” I say to S?ren, smiling even though there’s nothing funny about any of this.

S?ren smiles back, though it looks halfhearted. “Are you here to rescue me, Theo?” he asks wryly.