I sit bolt upright in bed and hug my knees to my chest.
I have to talk to Ingra. I want to tell her everything. I want to tell her I’m sorry. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
The passageway is narrow and lined with ugly golden gargoyles. I keep to the shadows, my pockets bulging with food I swiped from the kitchens.
Half a dozen guards stand stationed outside the entrance to the dungeons, the gold pommels of their longswords gleaming in the light of a single flickering lantern. Ever since the mysterious break-out in which King Balen freed a number of prisoners, Hal has doubled down on the already stringent security measures.
There’s a collective groan of irritation as the candle is snuffed, smothered by an obedient ribbon of shadow. Before any of the guards can so much as strike a match, I dart past them into the darkness beyond.
Like everything in this place, even the dungeons are hewn from solid gold. They sit right above the mine, where many of the strongest serfs are sent to work – tall, strapping boys like Seth and Ty, breaking their backs mining the empire’s principal source of wealth.
I pick my way carefully down the steep steps, pausing on each floor to peer into cells. It’s cold. A little damp, too. Silent and eerie and still. I shed my cloak of shadows, having no need for it any more. My heart thuds violently as I spiral deeper and deeper into the darkened cavern, not stopping until I reach what appears to be the bottom level.
The air is thicker down here. It smells like death and decay, unbearably strong thanks to my unparalleled senses. Resisting the urge to plug my nose, I force myself onward.
Some cells are empty, doors ajar. Some contain a handful of occupants, their skin tinged grey, their eyes dull. I scan their faces, searching for my friend.
I’m beginning to lose hope when someone clears their throat startlingly close to me. ‘You did the right thing, you know.’
I whirl round.
The voice belongs to a boy sitting cross-legged on the floor of his cell. His skin is sallow and his eyes are a murky shade of yellow, like a cat’s. Yet what captures my attention are the manacles round his wrists. They’re clear, made of glass. No, not glass.
Crystal.
My knees buckle. This boy … He’s a Mage. Just like me.
‘Salvos, Elva.’
I turn rigid. My name. He knows my name.
And he greeted me in Obsidian.
‘Who are you?’ I whisper back.
The boy smiles. ‘I wanted to thank you for your intervention.’
‘W-what intervention?’
‘With the Castellion boy. You saved his life the other night, yes?’
I nod once, hardly daring to breathe.
‘You did the right thing,’ he says again. ‘I wasn’t ready for him quite yet.’
I frown, trying to make sense of his words. He might be speaking my native tongue, but I can tell it’s not his. I detect an accent. Soft, yet guttural. Neptan, perhaps?
Fear skitters down my spine. Nepta was an isle once home to Magi gifted in necromancy. So this boy is a Death Mage. Yet why are my instincts screaming at me, telling me that he’s something …more? Something different, somethingancient, despite him appearing not much older than I am. I can sense it – that strange, haunting otherness. It chills me to the bone, as if I were looking into the eyes of Death itself.
The Mage jerks his head. ‘She’s over there. Your friend. Hurry, now. Dawn is fast approaching, and daylight chases away little shadows like you.’
I begin to retreat, not stopping until his smiling face is out of sight. My whole body is trembling so violently I feel nauseated.
At the end of the passageway I find a small, poky cell, barely bigger than the Pit. A single prisoner sits with her back against the wall, absent-mindedly tracing shapes in the layer of grime coating the ground. Her hair is matted. It’sstrange to see it hanging limply round her shoulders rather than woven into a thick braid down her spine. Vicious red lines score her cheeks. I dig my nails into my palms and swallow hard.
‘Ingra,’ I whisper.
She jerks away from the sound of my voice as though it were the crack of a whip, her dark eyes straining through the gloom. Of course – I can see her, but she can’t see me.
