The tunnel was damp.
Isaac hunched his shoulders, trying to ignore the green water trickling down his back. The air smelled of mildew and stone. He had no idea how long they'd been walking for. Twenty minutes? More? Torches flickered ahead of him, illuminating the pockmarked wall. He was amazed that fifty of them could fit in this tunnel at once.
He exhaled. The air felt like glass in his lungs.
"For the record," Isaac muttered, "I still think this is a bad idea."
Camille looked up. "We're almost there."
She was dressed in close-fitting trousers and a cloak, and her mouth was pinched. She'd shed her fur muff; it dangled from her waist like some sort of bizarre tail.
"How do you know?" Isaac asked.
Camille bit her lip. "George told me."
Isaac followed her gaze. George Dartmouth was stalking ahead, holding his torch as if it was a battering ram. A tasseled red sock dangled out of one boot. "Has nobody considered the fact that George is a complete stranger with questionable taste in socks?"
"I trust him," Camille said simply.
He wished the words didn't feel like a knife to the gut. "We should turn back."
"Isaac..." Camille slowed, placing a hand on his arm. "We've never spoken about the battle. Not properly. But I know you watched people die. I know you watched Henry Holloway..." Her mouth tightened. "What I'm trying to say is that not all scars are physical."
His stomach tightened. "I'm not afraid."
"There's no shame in it," Camille said softly.
Her cheeks were flushed. Some of the blonde hair had come loose from her plait, and it curled around her chin. Isaac balled his hands into fists.
"You don't understand," Isaac said tightly. "This plan will never work. We have to—"
"We're here!" Dartmouth called.
The group paused. Isaac could just make out a wooden door; this one looked more secure than the last, although still very kickable. He had no doubt that Anna could knock it down with a single blow.
The knot in his stomach grew tighter.
Anna shrugged off her cloak. "I'll go first." She glanced sideways. "Unless you'd like to offer your head as a battering ram, Dartmouth."
Dartmouth's teeth glinted in the torchlight. "I don't see why I should. Your head is much bigger."
Camille bobbed on her tiptoes. "What's the layout like, George?"
Dartmouth glanced at her, and his expression softened in a way that Isaac found unbelievably irritating. "We enter into the servant's quarters. There's only one door — next to the fireplace — which leads to the rest of the castle. From there, it's a short walk to the main bedroom. My scout tells me that's where Eris sleeps."
"And why," Isaac muttered, "is your scout so familiar with Eris's bedroom?"
Camille ignored this.
"Worst case scenario," Darmouth continued, "we have to lower the bridges and let the rest of my men in. That will give us two hundred extra bodies." He unsheathed his sword. "Best case scenario, Eris is asleep, and we make quick work of it."
Anna crossed her arms. "I'm not murdering Eris in his sleep."
Dartmouth raised an eyebrow. "Suddenly grown a conscience, Cidarius?"
"No." Anna's smile was feral. "I just want to watch him die. Very, very slowly."
Several men stepped backwards. Dartmouth muttered something under his breath that sounded uncomplimentary.
"I'll go first," Ryne said, stepping forward.
Ryne bumped Dartmouth's shoulder none-too-gently on the way past, although it could have been an accident. He reared back — as if to kick down the door — and Isaac's chest gave a sudden, painful squeeze.
"Ry," Isaac said, catching his shoulder. "Don't."
Ryne stilled. Isaac's heartbeat was loud in his own ears. He was aware of everyone staring, but he no longer cared. Listen to me. His fingers dug into Ryne's shoulder. Turn back before it's too late.
Isaac swallowed. "If they're waiting for us on the other side..." Which they would be. He knew they would be, thanks to own idiocy. "There's no turning back. They could trap us in this tunnel. It would be a slaughter."
"We've been over this." Ryne's voice was calm. "Step back."
Isaac closed his eyes. He knew that voice. It was the "I-am-your-king-and-you-will-listen-to-me" voice. There was no point in arguing with it.
Isaac released him.
Ryne kicked down the door. A sudden wave of dust went up. Several men coughed, burying their faces in their sleeves as they pushed into the room. A shaft in the ceiling let through moonlight, which coloured the sparse furniture in silver: a mirror, a wooden chandelier, two benches... But no people, Isaac realized, his chest easing; it was just them.
"You see?" Dartmouth strode into the centre. "There's nothing to be afraid of." He held out his hands. "Nobody knows about this tunnel. It's been unused for—"
An arrow struck his head.
Dartmouth's body jerked sideways. His body fell to the floor with a thump, and red pooled around his head. Blood roared in Isaac's ears. Next to him, Penny was staring at the body, her eyes wide.
"Fuck," she breathed.
Isaac didn't have the heart to correct her language.
Someone stepped into the moonlight. "Hello, cousin. Nice of you to stop in."
Eris Delafort was dressed in a red velvet suit, his dark hair neatly combed. He lowered the bow. Blood ran through the cracks of the tiles, pooling near his shoes, and Eris wrinkled his nose. Took a step back.
"Eris," Ryne said dryly. "Your sense of hospitality could use some work."
Eris wiped his hands on a handkerchief. "I don't like guests."
"Funny." Ryne's hand twitched behind his back in a shooing gesture. The message was clear: retreat. "I don't recall this castle belonging to you. The last time I checked, you were a guest here, too."
Eris waved a hand. "Semantics. Oh, I wouldn't bother, if I were you." He raised his voice, looking at the soldiers creeping back into the tunnel. "A hundred of my men are waiting on the other side of that tunnel. They're very cross at being kept up so late. And they're all carrying vast amounts of weaponry."
"No offense," Ryne said, "but I fancy my chances."
Eris raised an eyebrow. "Even with the sunhounds?"
The room stilled.
Anna stepped forward. "What did you just say?"
She looked very small in the vast room. God-Slayer winked at her back, turning to a beam of starlight in the darkness. Eris's green eyes glittered.
"Sunhounds," Eris said slowly. "Large, bloodthirsty dogs. Perhaps you're familiar with them?" He twirled the bow lazily in his hands. "I hear they ripped your good friend Henry Holloway apart."
Grayson shook his head. "That's impossible."
"Oh, no," Eris said cheerfully. "He's very dead, I assure you. I saw the body myself."
Grayson's face was hard. "Only Lucia could summon sunhounds."
"Ah, yes," Eris said, spreading his hands. "About that."
There was a rustle of movement; the shadows seemed to peel away from the walls. Penny's face was a white mask. "Ryne." Her voice was a whisper. "There are more people. But one of them feels..."
Ryne's voice was sharp. "What?"
Penny shook her head.
The torchlight flared. Thoraine — the Faerie King — was closest to the mirror, wearing a ridiculous jacket made of leather and black feathers. His three sons stood beside him, all dressed in similar outfits. Wellow gave a sharp smile in Isaac's direction, and Isaac's scarred palm twitched in response.
But nobody was looking at them.
A young woman stepped forward. She was dressed in a sheer white gown that was transparent in the moonlight, revealing the curve of her legs. Her eyes glinted like twin golden coins. There was something unnatural about those eyes, Isaac thought, but even if there wasn't, you could have guessed who she was. The way she stood was odd. Too still. Too composed.
Camille's face drained of blood.
"No," she whispered.
Isaac gripped her hand. "It's okay."
Camille shook her head. "This isn't happening."
"Breathe, Cami," Isaac urged.
Anna shifted her weight. "Oh, good. I was just thinking we didn't have enough genocidal maniacs to deal with. What a treat."
Her voice was calm, but Isaac could see the way her hand shook, resting on the blade of her sword. She was scared shitless. They all were.
Lucia cocked her head. "Annalise. You look healthier."
"And you look uglier," Anna said. "Your little faerie friends couldn't build you a better body?"
So Anna had worked it out, Isaac thought; that was unsurprising. Camille had mentioned that Lucia was writing to someone called her "benefactors," and now the goddess was back in a different body. It wasn't hard to connect the dots.
But the tunnel.
Nobody had worked out how Lucia knew about the tunnel.
Isaac flexed his sweaty palms. He was a prisoner standing at the edge of a plank, staring down at the frothy dark water below. The wood would give way beneath him. It was just a matter of when.
"We put a sword through you," Grayson said incredulously. "I watched it happen." He moved, half-shielding Penny from sight. "How are you not dead?"
Lucia's smile was marble. "I'm immortal, lordling. I cannot die."
Not true, Isaac thought. He glanced at God-Slayer. If he could somehow communicate to Anna how to use it... if he could tell her that she had to put it through Lucia's heart... His palm burned, and he flexed his hand.
But how?
"Now," Lucia said, turning to Anna. "You have something I want."
Anna raised an eyebrow. "Charm and a sense of comedic timing?"
"The sword." Lucia held out a hand. "Give it to me."
Anna tapped her chin. "Yeah. Let me think on that." She dropped her hand. "Oh, wait. No."
"Hand it over," Lucia said calmly, "or I will kill your friends one-by-one." She nodded at Darmouth's bleeding body. "Just as I did with this one."
Anna shrugged. "Not really my friend. More like a frenemy. Friend-with-an-army-benefits, if you know what I mean."
She was playing for time, Isaac realized. Ryne was sizing up the room, his eyes flicking between the two doors. He had his problem-solving face on. The "I-am-about-to-lure-you-into-checkmate" face.
"You knew we were coming," Ryne said.
Isaac stilled.
Ryne looked to Camille. "Who else did you tell about the tunnel?"
Camille was ashen. "Nobody." Her hand felt clammy. "Only George knew. And he didn't tell anyone. He wouldn't have put me at risk like that."
Ryne's eyes narrowed. "Nobody?"
"Nobody." Camille glanced sideways. "Well, apart from..."
Isaac could see the moment realization struck her. A thousand emotions crashed over Camille's face — disbelief, hurt, betrayal — and she shook her head. Her fingers trembled, and he tightened his grip reflexively.
"No," Camille whispered.
Isaac swallowed. She wrenched her hand free, backing away.
"No."
He reached for her. "Camille..."
She flinched. The movement was quick, but she might as well have driven a knife through his gut. There was something raw in her eyes.
"I trusted you," Camille said. "We all trusted you."
"Why?" Ryne asked.
He was looking at Isaac, his green eyes inscrutable. Isaac's palm burned. His heart was dissolving, ripping itself into shreds. But what could he say? What possible explanation could he give to defend himself?
Nothing.
"Because he knew you would lose." The goddess smiled. "You can't blame him. It was only good strategy."
Isaac shook his head. "That's not true." Ryne looked away, and his heartbeat picked up. "I'm on your side. You have to believe me."
A muscle jumped in Ryne's jaw. "It doesn't matter." His outline was a ghostly reflection in the mirror, flickering in the torchlight. "It's done now."
Lucia extended her hand. "The sword, Annalise."
Anna took a step forward. Her shoulders were squared, her face very pale. When she smiled, there was no light in it; only icy darkness, sharpened into a blade. She crooked her fingers in a come-hither gesture.
"Get it yourself," Anna said.
And all hell broke loose.