“Not much of a fighter, are you?” she said. “Are you sorry you killed Mr. Howser now?”

He squinted up at her, raised his dysfunctional, still smoking hand to shield his eyes from the lift’s light. “My specs!”

She dangled them in front of his face, yanking them back when he tried to snatch them. “You get these back when we reach the palace floor. In the meantime, I suggest you behave. Otherwise, I will find a way to do this without you.”

His mouth became a grim line as he took her meaning, and he climbed unsteadily to his feet. Karigan dropped his specs into the pocket of her greatcoat and started the lift. It jerked upward, numbers ticking by in a small panel indicating floors. This, she thought, was a vast improvement over stairs, which could become tiresome, particularly in the castle, but she would take all the stairs in the world over a lift any day just to be home.

When the word “Main” rolled up into the panel, she applied the brake. The car screeched to a halt and shook so hard that she and Silk almost fell.

“It would seem I need practice,” she muttered. Silk just glared at her. She glared back at him. “We are going to Lhean. If you deviate from our course, or try to alert others to your predicament, it will go badly for you.”

“It could go badly for you, too.”

“I can hide in the shadows.”

He held his broken hand to him like an injured wing and seethed. The hand had finally stopped smoking, which was a good thing, as it would have provoked unwanted questions.

“Now we will proceed calmly,” she told him. “You will act like there is nothing amiss.” She returned his specs to him, which he took with his left hand. As he put them back on, Karigan hoped it was the last time she had to see his nacreous eyes. “A false move, and they will think a ghost has killed you.”

“The emperor was right to conquer the lands and put females in their rightful place,” he muttered.

“You are welcome to your opinion,” Karigan replied. She had no interest in arguing just now.

“It is not an opinion, it is the natural order of the world.”

She ground her teeth. He was not making it easy to avoid an argument. She faded out and slid the doors open. When Silk did not move, she shoved him out of the lift into the marble and gilt surroundings of the palace. Karigan surveyed the corridor. Fortunately, the massive columns she had seen in almost every corridor, and other architectural embellishments, provided plenty of concealment and shadows.

Silk paused just outside the lift, peering around, either looking for aid or searching for her.

“I am right behind you,” she murmured. “Now go.” She jabbed the small of his back with the bonewood.

Silk made some inarticulate noise and set off, but he’d not gone more than a few paces when a messenger hurried up to him. Karigan waited in the shadow of the nearest column.

“Dr. Silk,” the messenger said. “I have been searching all over for you. This missive came in for you from Mill City.”

The messenger handed a folded piece of paper over to Silk, and Karigan tensed, watchful lest Silk attempt to betray her, but he simply took the letter and stared at the envelope. The messenger bowed and trotted off.

By the time Karigan reached his side, Silk had opened the message and scanned the contents. He tilted his head back in laughter.

“You think you are so clever,” he said, presumably to Karigan.

She snatched the message from his hand. His gasp reassured her he hadn’t anticipated that. “I’ll remind you to keep quiet,” she warned him. Fortunately the corridor remained empty.

The message was from a Heward Moody, Imperial Engineer. Among the various lines scrawled across the paper, one stood out: As you desired, the drill has breached what we believe to be the royal tombs.

“No matter what you do here today,” Silk said, “I have succeeded.”

The faces of Chelsa, chief caretaker of the tombs, and the tomb Weapons, flashed through Karigan’s mind as she reread Heward Moody’s message, that the drill had broken through to the tombs. What did this mean for them? How would they defend the tombs? Certainly Silk would not anticipate anyone living down there, much less a dedicated defense.

She stuffed the message into her pocket. She would not enlighten him, but she could not help saying, “I would not be so pleased if I were you. The tombs are not so easily taken.”

The truth was she had no doubt the Weapons would put up a fight, but they’d never withstand the full might of the empire. The tombs had been the last bastion of the home she knew, and now they, too, would fall.

“Keep moving,” she said, prodding him firmly with her staff but not hard enough to hurt him—though it was tempting to injure one of his kidneys by shoving harder in just the right place. Injuring him would prove . . . satisfying. She returned to the shadows, darkness fringing her thoughts. For all the harm he had caused her and her friends, would anyone blame her for hurting him? Killing him?

No, she thought, as she glided from the shadow of one column to the next. Insufficient. He deserves torture. Drawn out and excruciating torture.

The darkness in her mind grew as she traveled abreast of Silk. Every so often someone would pass in the corridor. Some greeted Silk, others did not. Some actually seemed to go out of their way to keep their distance from him.

Karigan tried to focus on remaining silent and faded. The use of her ability weighed on her, wearied her, steeped her mind in the darkness.

A man walking from the opposite direction actually stopped to speak to Silk. Silk engaged in the conversation. Karigan listened closely to them, but the topic appeared to be bureaucratic in nature.