When a Sepulchre came from above us, slipping to the ground as though it were suspended by invisible cords, we halted and spun about to find two more closing in from the rear. Judging from the blinding light that reflected off the walls, the rest of their number occupied the passage that extended all the way back to the chamber.

Shea whipped out her pistol, but the Sepulchre closest to her plucked it from her hand, one razorlike finger hooking the trigger mechanism. The awful wheezing sound the creatures made was now everywhere, almost drowning out the river. As the horrifically scarred and stretched face loomed closer to me, I clenched my fist around the hilt of my long-knife. I was seconds away from taking a swipe at the Sepulchre's mouthless aspect when inspiration struck-Evangeline had thought them capable of speech. I uncurled my fingers, concentration overcoming instinct, and raised both hands. If they could speak, they could recognize surrender.

The Sepulchre who had stopped us tipped its head to one side. Reaching for Shea, it tugged almost gently on her clothing until it rose to come face-to-face with her. She was defenseless, and fear emanated from her like vivid dye disseminating in clear water.

For a moment, we stood suspended in time; then one eerie finger rubbed the looking glass pendant that hung around Shea's neck, the friction causing a high-pitched squeak. Seemingly attracted by the sound, the colony pressed in on us from behind, and I felt hands on my shoulder blades and upon the sheath at my hip where the Royal Anlace had once rested. But I had lost my chance to attack, and could do little more than hold still. Then their wheezing changed to words that emerged from no orifice I could see.

"Magic sings," the whisper said, one voice leading, the others echoing. I was shaking head to toe, so hard I thought my joints might come unhinged. Clearing my throat, I drew dozens of spectral eyes.

"What...are you...doing...beneath...Tairmor?" I asked, strange spaces between my words, for it took great effort to force each one from my mouth.

The reply was more a reverberation in my head than an actual sound, and it felt like the Sepulchres were tapping into my brain to communicate. Shea's hands were raised as though she might cover her ears, confirming that she heard it too.

"We hide. Survive. Unseen, unwanted. Cut off from the Old Fae. Unable to be what we were."

"The Old Fae? I don't...understand."

"Humans and Fae were one." The answer thrummed in the air, and I thought it originated with the Sepulchre who was touching Shea's necklace. "Then we were honored. Now we are banished. And abused."

Abused... Were they talking about their involvement in the conspiracy against the Fae? It hadn't occurred to me that the Sepulchres might be unwilling participants. The earth seemed to undulate beneath my feet.

"Who is abusing you?" I asked, looking at these hideous beings with tentative sympathy.

The Sepulchre wagged its head from side to side. "We are banished. Others are abused. They are changed. Violent. But you are friends, magic-bearers. Save us. Save us all."

The creature released Shea's pendant and slid to the ground, facedown, and I had the impression it was trying to bow.

The wheezing resumed, growing louder, then the creatures backed away, and it felt like part of my soul was withdrawn from my body along with their fingers. The sensation was enough to make me woozy, and, hardly aware of my descent, I hit the hard floor of the cavern and knew no more.

I was in the woods with Davic, holding his hand and skipping. We were likely the only Fae out today-it had been drizzling all morning, and a fog rose around us, heavier the farther we tried to look ahead. I let go of Davic's hand, clamped my eyes shut against the haze of raindrops, and spun in a circle until I was dizzy and had no idea from whence we'd come. I loved the sensation of being lost. There was a surge of the heart that came with not being able to find my own way home, followed by the security of knowing that Davic would always lead me back.

He caught me before I could topple, and I beamed into his striking gray-blue eyes, about to surrender to him when I heard the scream. It came from all around us, dispersed by the fog. I pulled myself upright and clung to Davic's jerkin, scouring our surroundings. His body was taut, while I tried my best to mute all senses except my hearing. When the sound repeated, a shrill cry that scraped down my spine, I shoved away from my promised and followed it into the mist.

"Anya!" Davic called. "Don't-let's go back!"

I finished the rest of his speech in my mind: You don't know what's making that sound, or why. It could be dangerous. It could be...

"Dying," I murmured to myself, picking up speed. Wet leaves slapped my face and branches dripped water down the back of my shirt, but I didn't care. Then I heard the screech a third time-nearer yet softer, as if the creature was weakening.

At the base of a tree some yards away I found the font of the cries. A baby fox, fur still peachy with fuzz, was crying piteously. Its leg was crushed, whether from a fall or an attack by another animal, I couldn't be sure. It was difficult to tell if it had suffered other injuries. But where was its mother? Listening acutely, I could detect no sounds in the bushes. She wasn't coming, perhaps couldn't come, making an attack the more likely cause. The mother fox had probably fallen to the same predator. The woods were quiet, at least until Davic came jogging in my wake.

"Nature, Anya, you can't do that. You don't know what could be out here."

When he noticed where my attention was focused, his demeanor softened. He couldn't stand an animal in pain any more than I could. He deliberated, then slipped his cloak off his shoulders, not about to leave a wounded creature to die in fear and agony. The kit shivered. Its baby coat was soaked with the day's drizzle, and it opened and closed its mouth, emitting small whimpers. It was wary but sensed our magic. It knew we were allies, even though it had probably never come face-to-face with a Faerie before.

Davic crept up to the whimpering animal and draped the cloak over it before it could run and hurt itself further. It struggled, but he scooped it into his arms. Holding the small bundle close to his chest, he made comforting sounds for benefit of the kit, which gradually relaxed, although I suspected more out of exhaustion than trust. Either way, it was safe.

"Let's go," Davic said, now in a hurry.

When we arrived in Chrior, we took our charge to my alcove in the Great Redwood. A few drops of Sale down its throat sent the fox to sleep. I stroked its neck while Davic examined its tiny leg. He had never been taught medicine, but he had a penchant for putting things back together, and therefore for figuring out how they'd broken in the first place. He could design, build, repair, or deconstruct anything given the proper time, and he could do it all without writing a single step down.

"There aren't teeth or claw marks, and there's no blood," he determined. "But the break can't be from a fall. The angle of the impact isn't right. It's almost like..."

"What?" I pressed.

"Honestly, it looks like this was calculated. I can't rule out that something fell on the leg, but did you see anything nearby that would be heavy enough to do this?"

I shook my head-weeds, leaves, broken branches, the density of twigs. There hadn't been anything that could have caused the injury.

Davic nodded, eyebrows drawn close together. "Then I think someone did this, perhaps with a rock. The poor thing couldn't have gotten far after that."

Blood pounded in my temples, and I grasped for an explanation other than the one that frightened me. "But humans can't cross the Road."

"Right," he replied, meeting my eyes.

Davic had reached the same appalling supposition I had. But how could a Faerie have done this? We were supposed to be friends with Nature and protectors of innocents like this kit. Furthermore...if we were correct about the baby's fate, what cruelty had been inflicted upon its mother?

Regardless of how the injury had occurred, there was nothing to be done at present except straighten and bind the fox's leg, which Davic did deftly.

"It's a girl," he said when he'd finished. "Pretty thing."

"Poor thing," I corrected.

"We can't know for sure how this came about, Anya," he said, seeing the sickened expression on my face. "I'm just guessing. There's no point in worrying about it. We'll just keep her until she can walk on that leg, then let her go where we found her."

"We should tell my father, as Queen Ubiqua's Lord of the Law."

"Yes, of course, but that can wait until morning."

My promised went home for dinner with his family on the other side of the city, leaving me with the patient, for whom I constructed a burrow of sorts with a blanket and some sticks. She was in a corner, warmed by the heated walls on both sides, so I retreated to my bedroom, confident she would feel better tomorrow. If only she could have spoken and assuaged the pit of nerves that Davic's deductions had opened within me.

But during the night the fire in the indentations died, and when I awoke the next morning, the little fox was cold. I scrambled to hold her against me, blanketing her and sharing my body heat, but she was gone. I looked at her face with its beautiful red fur, glassy amber eyes partially open like she'd died looking for aid-for me. My throat hurt, and I let it sting, afraid that if I tried to swallow the feeling away, it would run to my eyes and escape as tears. She'd needed someone to nurture and protect her, and I hadn't done enough.

When Davic came to check on the kit, he wrapped his arms around both me and the dead fox, because I didn't want to put her down. He didn't think it was wrong or ghastly. He understood. A life had gone out of the world, a life he and I had both cared about, however little time we had spent with her.

He kissed my forehead, content to stay with me all day if that's what I needed.

"Anya, I know it doesn't mean much right now, but you can't save them all. You can try, but you can't save them all."

I woke on my stomach in the tunnel near the Sepulchre cavern, the area around me so empty and dark that it took me a minute to determine which way was up. As my disorientation passed, I felt around for Shea. When my hands met the fabric of her clothes, I found her shoulder and shook her awake.

"What the hell happened?" she asked, nothing more than a voice in the blackness.

"I'm not sure. What do you remember?"

"Sepulchres."

Then I hadn't dreamt it. I'd hoped my mind had conjured the encounter, because this far underground, with no sun and not so much as the superficial reassurance of security from a crowd of people, being asked to save us all was petrifying.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

GWYNETH.

Shea and I resumed our ascent through the tunnels, surfacing at last on the west side of Tairmor. Emerging into the daylight, I wondered if the tunnels were kept by the Governor and his fellows as an escape route in case of an emergency, though Tom had said the cavern system was unmonitored by Ivanova's men. Either way, the higher-ups in the government most certainly did not know the system was occupied by Sepulchres.

A quick assessment of the area around us told me we were already a mile or two from the city gates, a safe enough distance to keep us from being of interest. We were also within sight of what Shea told me was a river station, from whence boats ferried people to and from the ocean. Having never made it all the way to Sheness in my travels, I was unfamiliar with this mode of transport, and not particularly trusting of the notion.

It was late afternoon and the sun was beating down, leaving only a few patches of snow dotting the landscape of dead grasses and rolling hills. The river, emerging from the gorge, widened and flowed more slowly, though its surface hosted no ice. I offered Shea my hand to pull her from the lip of the cave.

"Remember where this entrance is," she advised. "Could come in handy."

Senses on alert, we approached the station, a wooden longhouse built half into the hill and half upon the water, where it was supported by thick, dock-like posts. There was no sign that anyone was looking for or following us, and the few people we did encounter were busy preparing themselves or this evening's boat for travel.

The Nautigull, so named for the seagulls that flew about the area pestering passengers for food, had two enclosed decks with a railed and canopied sundeck at the top. Though aged, the boat looked well kept and sturdily built. It had an apparatus like a windmill at the back that rested partly in the water to propel it forward; it represented one of those feats of human engineering that impressed some Fae and appalled others. Our boats were operated by Water Faeries, and required nothing more to provide transport than the ability to float. Humans couldn't communicate with the water, and had to employ cleverness and force in such endeavors. They did well with what they had; faulting them felt arrogant.

Though the fee for boarding was hefty, it wasn't unmanageable with the money Luka Ivanova had given me, and the fare included meals and a stateroom, for we would travel through the night. The man collecting tickets scrutinized our passports before reluctantly motioning us on board. We alone among the passengers did not check baggage with him, having nothing more than our packs, and his scowl suggested he thought the money with which we'd paid was stolen. As it turned out, our lack of luggage was but one of ample things that set us apart from our fellow passengers. We were also younger than the rest, far less well attired and, from what I observed, the only females.

Everyone who boarded with us-a club of men in tailcoats with cigars-proceeded to the sundeck, where they settled in to await the boat's departure in comfortable lounging chairs that had been bolted to the floor. Shea and I kept to ourselves, trying to disappear into the rail next to what appeared to be a buffet table equipped with an outdoor stove. Instead of socializing, we spent the long minutes whispering guesses about the men's occupations. I was glad for the amusement, as it distracted my attention from the lapping of the waves against the sides of the boat. Though the three months Davic had given me were running out and we needed a fast mode of transportation, I was glaringly aware of the depth and strength of the water beneath us.

Most of our travel companions looked like moderately successful businessmen. However, Shea and I figured one passenger to be a solicitor based on his pompous manner and leather satchel, and another, closer to our age than the rest with bright, innocent blue eyes, we supposed to be on an errand for his father. Since no new passengers had arrived in some time, I expected we would be on our way before long, but the boat remained moored to the dock. I soon learned the reason. The men around us stood as though called to attention, removing their hats and adjusting their coats to tidy their appearances. Shea and I glanced at each other in bewilderment, then joined the others in beholding the gate beyond which the gangplank descended. Judging by the reactions of our fellow travelers, the two people who were approaching were by far the most important of the Nautigull's passengers.

The young woman wore a dark green travel dress with crinolette, bustle, and matching jacket; an elaborate feathered hat; black high-heeled boots; and fishnet gloves over delicate, bejeweled hands. Her mouth was painted dark red, her eyes lined with an autumn glow, and her rosy cheeks were framed by ash-brown hair. Behind her walked a tall, somewhat stocky older gentleman in a black cloak, an aureate cane acting as an extension of his arm, directing the men managing their luggage. Try as I might, I couldn't stop staring, though my interest was not only due to their wealth-they were also familiar to me.

As our fellow travelers bowed and murmured, "Sir, madam," I was finally able to place the newcomers. They had been guests of the Governor at the execution. The woman, my age or close to it, had stood at Luka Ivanova's side, and the man, probably her father, had been next to the Governor during his speech. They drew near, and the other passengers gave them respectful nods, Shea and I following suit, suddenly feeling we had more in common with the moderately successful. With a smile that turned her lips upward but did not crinkle her face, the young woman separated from her father and descended the stairs to the lower decks.

"I'm afraid my daughter is not on the lookout for suitors, gents," said the older man, taking a seat as though he were holding court.

Laughter ensued, the comment enough to break the nervous tension in the air. Taking advantage of the moment, Shea and I stole away and headed to the cabin deck, the lowermost deck where the staterooms were located, and where our tickets indicated we were being housed. The departure horn blew as we found our assigned quarters in the forward section that was reserved for female passengers. Though I wondered if the wealthy young woman was in one of the rooms off the central corridor, I had neither the energy nor the inclination to search for her. Instead, Shea and I entered our tiny cabin-little more than two beds with a bit of floor space in between-and collapsed on our mattresses. Shea dozed off almost immediately, rocked to sleep by the undulating water beneath us, while I found the same movement disconcerting. The noise of the waves was amplified by the now-present hum of the propeller apparatus, and I felt entombed in our tiny space. Was there a way out if the cabins flooded? Not that I could see. But tiredness eventually overcame my discomfort, and I likewise fell asleep.

The sound of voices and high-pitched giggling woke me several hours later, along with an ache in my stomach that could only be attributed to being waterborne. While my elemental connection had been in place, I'd never experienced seasickness, but now nausea played games with me, sneaking close to the top of my throat then retreating like the tide. But the noise coming from down the hall was an even bigger annoyance.

Groaning, I rolled off the bed and glanced out our small window. Night had fallen, and the surface of the water looked oily in the glare cast by the lights of the riverboat. Then another barrage of giggles hit my ears, and I gave Shea's bedpost a swift kick. She grimaced and met my eyes, her expression too alert for her to have been truly asleep. No doubt the obnoxious laughter had disrupted her slumber, too.

"Should I shoot them?" she asked, freeing one hand from her blankets and searching the floor for her pack and gun.

"No, but whoever that is, I'm about to tell them to shut up. Coming?"

Shea got out of bed, her ponytailed hair worked into a masterful mess. She pulled on a pair of leggings, unevenly tucked in her shirt, and followed me into the hallway.

A single lamp hung from the ceiling to illuminate the passage, the motion of the boat swinging it side to side. A steadier stream of light emanated from a room a few doors down the corridor, and we headed toward it, another round of giggles sufficient to convince us that this was the culprit's location.

The door was partway open, and I peered around it, not wanting to be taken by surprise when I barged in on the occupants. I snorted in disgust at the sight that greeted me. The pretty young woman who had a few days ago been on Luka Ivanova's arm had brought the young, blue-eyed chap to her bed. Still mostly clothed, they were nonetheless passionately engaged, the stench of alcohol rank about them.

In my experience, reasoning with the intoxicated was a nonsensical, circular activity. I'd managed, with some amusement, a happy-go-lucky Davic on rare occasion, but I expected interrupting this liaison would reap nothing but frustration. Shea laid a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention. With a mighty roll of her eyes, she motioned me back down the hall.

We'd gone only a few steps when we heard a muffled grunt, and the giggling ceased. I turned my head, wondering if one member of the amorous pair had succumbed to the drink, and saw a shadow pass before the light in the bedroom. Content that the problem had resolved itself, Shea and I returned to the cabin in the hope that the rest of our night would prove more peaceful.

By the next morning, my stomachache had subsided, and I was hungry for the breakfast the crew served on the open deck. The day was sunny but cold, due in part to the constant movement of the riverboat, and tarpaulin drop cloths had been hung to the west to cut the wind.

Shea and I went through the buffet line, then joined the other passengers who were seated at a large table engaged in deep enough conversation to pay us no mind. It took me a moment to notice that the pretty young woman who shared our corridor was at my right, only she wasn't ignoring us like the rest. She touched my forearm, wearing the same smile I'd seen the day before, the one that didn't reach her amber eyes.

"I'm Gwyneth," she offered, extending her hand. I accepted it with trepidation-Shea and I were not on this boat to make friends, and I was reluctant to give up so much as my name. I obliged, however, afraid that my refusal would stir questions.

"Anya."

Gwyneth then shook hands with Shea, using only the tips of her fingers as though she wasn't conditioned to endure such a coarse gesture.

"And you are?" she asked.

"Mary Archer." Shea looked Gwyneth up and down. "You look well this morning, considering your evening's entertainment."

I coiled my fingers to keep from slapping my forehead. Why would she say that? We were trying not to draw attention to ourselves. Fortunately, Gwyneth didn't take offense at Shea's remark, perhaps because she didn't want to bring the incident within her father's purview.

"I'm sorry," Gwyneth said, leaning closer to us. "I'm afraid I did have a bit to drink. No more than my companion, mind you. I just hold my liquor better. But you mustn't say a word. The women on this boat ought to stick together."

She spoke as if we were old schoolmates or members of a sisterhood, and an irritated flush crept up Shea's neck.

"It wasn't a woman you were stuck to last night," she grumbled, making no attempt to conceal her dislike for our new acquaintance.

Knowing there was only one way to deal with Shea's tenacity, I jumped in to redirect the conversation.

"And where is your companion this morning?"

Gwyneth shrugged and settled her light brown hair about her shoulders. Her crimson dress matched her lips, behind which white teeth shone in brilliant contrast.

"He must still be asleep," she replied, but I sensed a lie. I also sensed it was a lie I shouldn't pursue.

Showing no concern for Shea's sullen silence, Gwyneth bestowed her company and her conversation on the men at the table. This suited me just fine-she struck me as trouble, and trouble was something we did not need.

Shea and I finished our meals and returned to our state room, where we passed the time playing games with the dice and cards we found stashed in one of the drawers beneath our beds. The air was chilly despite the sunshine sifting through the window, so we snugged our cloaks around us. I didn't mention her horrid manners, because the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I wasn't a bit like Gwyneth in Shea's eyes. I didn't drink and carouse in the style of a wealthy party girl, but now that Shea knew I was royalty in Chrior, did she imagine my life to have been equally lavish and indulgent? The assumption wasn't wrong; I'd never wanted for anything. Maybe Shea's resentment of Gwyneth was in part directed at me.

A couple of hours later, a gong sounded and we joined the others for lunch on the captain's deck, the middle deck that housed a lounge, a galley kitchen, and a dining room. There was no sign of either Gwyneth or her blue-eyed admirer, but her stocky father was once more the center of attention, zealously discussing business in Sheness. I gathered he was the owner of a shipping and trading company that operated out of the port city, an enterprise that had earned him great wealth, the admiration of his colleagues, and the personal friendship of Governor Ivanova.

Shea had been napping when the lunch bell tolled, and was quiet as we settled into our corner of the long dining table. I didn't mind her mood, since it gave me the opportunity to eavesdrop on the others gathered for the meal.