It was the perfect place to hide.

It was also, quite possibly, a disastrous place to hide. Surely the Empire knew of what had happened at the outpost, had heard of the girl blowing apart an entire regiment of adatrox and, perhaps, surviving. An adatrox could have seen Simon retrieve her body from the wreckage, flee on horseback with her. Maybe this adatrox had sent a message to Lord Morbrae.

Maybe the general’s ashes, blown apart when the outpost detonated, had coalesced back into a solid frame. Maybe he was, at this very moment, stalking their trail.

Eliana counted her breaths until her thoughts stopped spinning.

They had no choice; they had to stop in Rinthos. Hob needed to meet his contact, who would help resupply Patrik, his soldiers, and the now-homeless refugees.

And Eliana, as far as they knew, desperately needed medicine.

As they passed through the outer wall of Rinthos, Eliana glanced up at the overcrowded city towering above her and licked her cracked lips out of sheer uneasiness. An interweaving network of stone paths, wooden bridges, and twisting staircases stretched high above them, connecting apartment to apartment and high road to low road. Not far from the city was the Sea of Bones, which churned between Ventera and the occupied kingdom of Meridian. A thin film of sand coated the crumbling roads, and whenever they passed one of the canals that snaked through the city, the pungent smell of fish and waste was enough to turn Eliana’s already restless stomach.

They had been navigating the choked streets of Rinthos for an hour when they finally found Sanctuary’s entrance—an unremarkable door at first glance, coated in peeling gray paint and bolted with a broken lock.

But past the door, down a narrow staircase, they emerged into a small, damp room manned by three masked guards. Each towered two heads above even Simon.

The lead guard stopped Simon with a curved blade at his throat.

Simon lowered his hood, then uttered something in a lyrical language Eliana didn’t recognize. Not traditional Venteran and not the plain common tongue.

Beside her, Remy sucked in a breath.

Whatever Simon had said must have been the right thing to say. The guards moved aside; one of them unlatched the heavy metal door on the far wall.

Simon inclined his head, then led the way into the dark, low-ceilinged rooms beyond.

Sanctuary.

The smell of the city’s infamous gambling pits slapped Eliana like a fetid hand—cooking meat, pipe smoke, scented oils, ale and wine, sweat-stained bodies, the tang of blood.

“What language was that?” Eliana whispered to Remy as they followed Simon inside.

“Old Celdarian,” Remy whispered back, his fingers tight around her own.

A chill went down Eliana’s back. “The language of the Blood Queen.”

“And of the Lightbringer,” Navi added.

Eliana glanced at her, resisting the urge to touch the necklace beneath her shirt.

Sanctuary was a cramped and raucous city-within-a-city. Five circular levels, lit by gas lamps at every column support, looked down upon a floor packed with people. They gathered at tables, hands full of cards, or around pits where vicious dogs tore at each other. Men in ragged trousers beat their opponents to a pulp in square wire cages, while onlookers shouted out their wagers and thrust fistfuls of money into the air.

And above, on each of the mezzanines looking down over the fighting pits, the shadows teemed with shapes—couples whispering over their drinks, scantily clad dancers writhing on tabletops. Card players masked in clouds of smoke gathered on cushions surrounding low tables. One man, so corpulent Eliana could not see his eyes within the folds of his skin, shouted out with wet, choking laughter as two men wrestled at his feet. On the third level, a woman so pale that both her skin and hair glowed white in the candlelit gloom held court in a private curtained parlor. A beautiful young man wearing hardly enough to cover himself lounged beside her, muscles shimmering with powder.

They passed the couple and disappeared into a dark, narrow corridor flanked by two hooded figures, their faces hidden. Eliana’s fingers itched to grab Arabeth.

A curtain dropped closed behind them, plunging them into silence. Their footsteps disappeared in the corridor’s plush carpet. Tiny gas lamps softly lit the way.

“A charming place,” Navi observed mildly.

A smirk twitched at Eliana’s mouth. “Perhaps we should enter Simon into one of those fights downstairs, win ourselves some coin for your refugees, Hob.”

Simon stopped at a door in the wall. “Only if you are my opponent, Dread. We could re-create our first meeting for everyone.”

“The one when I would’ve beaten you, had you not pulled a gun on me?”

“The one when I knocked you soundly on your ass.” Then he rapped once on the door. A metal slat in the wood snapped open, and Simon uttered another sentence in Old Celdarian.

At once, the door opened to a quiet chamber lined with silent robed figures. A muscled, middle-aged woman with amber-brown skin rushed out from a side door, straight for Hob. “Thank God you’re alive!” She hugged him fiercely, clapped a hand on his back. “We heard about the attack on—”

The woman had seen Navi, and after a moment of frozen shock, she sank to her knees.

“Your Highness,” she whispered. “Forgive me. I knew you would be here, and yet seeing you in the flesh—” She looked up at Navi, eyes glittering with tears. “Since hearing of your flight from Astavar, and then seeing the intelligence you sent through Red Crown from Orline… My lady, I prayed every day that the Queen’s light would guide you home to us.”

Navi helped the woman rise, her own eyes bright. “You are from Astavar?”

“I am, my lady. But Red Crown is my allegiance. I have not seen home since the Empire took Ventera.”

“Please, tell me if I can bring back with me any messages for your loved ones.”

“I have no loved ones, my lady.” The woman set her jaw. “They all came with me to fight for Ventera. I am the only one left.”

Navi closed her eyes. “My sister, your courage leaves me without words.”

“Well!” The woman sniffed loudly and wiped her eyes. “Lucky for you, my lady, I’ve enough words for us all. Hob?” She slapped a hand onto his shoulder. Hob grimaced. “I know you need my help, for your Patrik and your wandering rebel babes. And my help you shall have. But first, baths. You all smell like shit.”

“Who is this?” Eliana jerked her head at the woman. “Will anyone introduce us, or will we all just stand here and let her ramble on?”

“I know who you are.” The woman stepped back from Hob and considered Eliana with narrowed eyes. “You’re the Dread of Orline. You ruined the raid. You almost got everyone at Crown’s Hollow killed.” She looked Eliana up and down, then spat in her face. “My name’s Camille. I’ve got enough paid swords in this place to fill a temple. So don’t fuck with me, girl. Or it’ll be your end.”