One snore erupts from the northern wall, so deep it almost feels like the floor shakes.

If it’s North’s turn to sleep, East and South usually snicker at his snore, but they don’t now. I close my eyes and listen, trying to strip away North’s snore to hear anything underneath.

And there it is—a whimper of a snore from East, like a mewling puppy.

The Kaiser will be furious if he finds out both of them are sleeping. He doesn’t like to take chances, and my Shadows, like most Kalovaxians, are too terrified of him to risk his wrath.

If only South is watching me tonight, there must be something I can do. One Shadow is easier to mislead than two, though not by much. It’s still one dedicated and deadly man whose entire job revolves around watching every move I make.

But then I hear it: a third snore, this one raspy and light, easy to mistake for a particularly riotous wind pouring through the cracked window.

The realization floods me with joy that’s all too quickly replaced by dread. What are the chances that on the same night Blaise appears and arranges a meeting, my Shadows are all asleep for the first time in ten years? Much lower than the chances that I’m walking into a trap. Felicie comes to mind again and I can see the Kaiser’s angry, red face and the whip in his hand.

This time, the punishment will be worse.

But if it isn’t a trap, if Blaise is really waiting in the kitchen cellar and he was in league with Ampelio, how can I not go?

When the moon is high in the sky and I’m sure most everyone is asleep, I throw my quilt off and slip from the safety of my bed. There is still no sound from beyond the walls, so I inch closer to one of the holes, my heart pounding in my chest.

The snores are unmistakable now from each of the holes. The Shadows are all well and truly asleep. It’s possible, of course, that they all ate and drank too much at the banquet and fell into a deep sleep, but I don’t believe in coincidences. The thought that I’m walking into another one of the Kaiser’s traps paralyzes me for a moment, but I push on. I cannot be a coward anymore.

The icy stone floor feels like needles on the soles of my feet as I tiptoe across it, but my steps are quieter without shoes. Barefoot, I make my way to the door and pause with my hand on the doorknob. It would be so easy, I think, to crawl back into my bed, to banish thoughts of Blaise and Ampelio and my mother to the back of my mind for good. I could bury it all deep inside. I could refrain from angering the Kaiser and he would continue to keep me alive.

But I think of the blood staining my dress, my hands. Of Ampelio.

I suck in a deep breath and force myself to turn the doorknob and push the door open just wide enough to slip through out into the hall. The doors to the Shadows’ rooms are all closed, but there are wine goblets left on the floor outside them. Some kind soul must have brought them drinks from the banquet. Or maybe not so kind, depending on what else was in the wine.

Clever, Blaise. I stifle a smile before realizing that for the first time in ages, no one is watching me. I let myself really smile. For a moment, I think of them asleep in their tiny rooms, and the temptation to spy on them for once passes over me, but I can’t risk waking them.

The smile stays fixed on my face as I continue down the hall. The cellar is in the west wing of the palace, beneath the main kitchens, so I need to turn left. Or is it to the right? In the dim light from torches lining the walls, I can’t be sure of anything. All it will take is one wrong turn, one wrong corridor, one person where they aren’t supposed to be. The thought almost sends me running back for my bed, but I know it’s only a slower death that awaits me there.

I have to make a choice. I have to trust myself. I go left.

The sounds of late-night revelers travel up the grand staircase and down the halls to me—music and drunken laughter, shouts of glee at Astrea’s expense. A toast is raised to the Ash Princess, and they make lewd jokes I’ve heard so often they roll off my back like water. The easiest path to the kitchens leads right past them, down the stairs and just around a corner—a terrifying prospect, considering their current state—but there is a reason Blaise designated the kitchen cellar, and it isn’t only because it’s dark and deserted at this time of night. It’s because of the tunnels.

When we were children, before the siege, Blaise was determined to explore all the passages hidden within the castle, drawing up dozens of scrawled maps that only he could read. And since his mother and mine were close friends and always together, he was often forced to let me tag along. I discovered them as well. We didn’t come close to finding all of them, but in the year or so we spent looking, we found dozens. Including one that leads from the east wing of the palace to the kitchen cellar.

It’s the kind of memory I thought long lost, like most of my memories before the siege, but seeing Ampelio today and then Blaise has them all coming back to me.

Still, it would be only too easy to miss the entrance after so many years. The darkness doesn’t help and I didn’t dare bring a candle. The voices of the revelers are moving now, getting closer, but they head down another passageway, away from me, and I let out a sigh of relief.

When I come to what I am almost positive is the right hallway, I reach out and trail my fingers along the wall. Ten years ago, the stone was at eye level, so now it should be about waist height. How can it be possible that I’ve grown so much, when it feels like yesterday that I watched my mother die?

But then, it was also another lifetime.

I’ve nearly given up finding it when I run my hand over a stone that juts out slightly from the rest.

Like Guardian Alexis’s nose, Blaise had said with a snicker when we’d first found it. Guardian Alexis was an Air Guardian who had a nose that arched like a bow ready to snap and who liked to tell jokes I didn’t understand. He must be dead now.

I twist the stone once clockwise, twice counterclockwise, before giving the wall a firm shove with my shoulder. It takes a few more shoves before a hidden door hinges open, but that’s a good thing. It means no one has used this tunnel in quite some time. With one last look back to make sure I’m not being followed, I step inside and push the door closed behind me.

The tunnel is narrow and dark but I press forward, feeling along the dust-draped walls to find my way. I should have brought a candle. And shoes. No one has been in this tunnel for a decade, and the stones that make up the walls and ground are coated in dirt and dust that cling to my hands and the soles of my feet.

I walk and walk and the path twists on longer than I remember, curling in ways that make me certain I’m going in circles. Every so often, muffled voices leak through the stones, and though I know their owners can’t know I’m here, I hold my breath as I pass. One way or another, I’m sure now that this will end in my death, but it doesn’t matter. Even if all this is for nothing and I am killed for it, even if it is a trap, I’m doing the only thing I can.