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Elowyn Wispwood was on her feet at the parapet. She’d scrabbled her way there and stood with her hands buried in Regan’s hair as she shoved her back against the low stone wall.

Regan screamed. Lysander was shouting my name. I released Viktor and ran, faster than I’d ever run before, muscles burning. Elowyn Wispwood shoved, Regan’s body tipped backward, and I dove forward, knowing I wasn’t going to be fast enough, waiting for her body to fall. But it didn’t.

Lysander reached the parapet wall in a blur of motion. His hands were raised, fingers splayed wide. His wounded hand shook with effort. Regan’s body froze in midair, suspended. Sweat poured down Lysander’s face. “I can’t—” His teeth were clenched, his arms shaking. “I can’t hold her.”

I sprang. As the flagstones and the fire vanished behind me, I saw Elowyn Wispwood behind Lysander’s back—her hands closing around Florence, dragging her back into the burning room … where Viktor Drakharrow was already beginning to rise. I caught Regan in my jaws. We tumbled in midair, falling together. The ground rushed up to meet us.

Chapter 29

NEVILLE

The fluffin was a creature of many talents. Being furry and adorable meant he was almost always appreciated but also underestimated. Being unnoticed was a skill all fluffins possessed. It wasn’t invisibility, more a way of blending in with the world, like how a shadow is taken for granted.

Neville padded through the passages beneath the castle. The air grew cooler as he carefully selected the archway that bore the engraving of a crescent moon and entered the tomb of bones. He was following a target, one who was quite skilled in stealth, though perhaps not quite as skillful as she believed. At least, not when it came to detection by fluffin noses.

Enormous skulls filled alcoves along the sides of the chamber as Neville walked, each belonging to an ancient Duskdrake, their horns twisted in elegant, ivory spirals. Once those horns had inspired terror. The dragons’ teeth were longer than some swords. Some of the skulls were so large the fluffin could have comfortably curled up within a single eye socket. But there was nothing terrible about them to the fluffin. Dragons and fluffins had long been in harmony. Fluffins enhanced dragons. If one were to dig back in the history books, they might find studies in which scholars were hard pressed to understand what fluffins were gaining from the bargain. Some had speculated that fluffins were naturally compassionate creatures. They recognized a need in dragons and filled it. In turn, they gained protection and respect from an apex predator. This may have explained why, when dragons ceased to thrive, so too did fluffins. Few knew the truth. That, in fact, it had been the other way around.

Neville reached the last passage of bones. There was an opening at the end, leading to a staircase that led down into darkness. Someone was already on the stairs. Neville padded silently after her, waiting until he was on the stairs and just a step behind. “Woof!”

The woman yelped, jumping nearly a foot into the air, and spinning around with a speed that was impressive for someone of her age. “Bloody, blasted beards!”

Neville’s tongue lolled with pleasure. He thumped his tail once against the steps, then sat to show he meant no harm.

Magda Stonefist stared down at him, her fist still clenched around the hilt of the dagger on her belt. “Little furry bastard.” But there was admiration in the dwarf’s dark blue eyes.

Neville gave an enthusiastic yelp.

“Oh, you think so, do you? And what makes you think I’ll allow it?” She scratched her beard. The dwarven woman was powerfully built, broad-shouldered and thick through the arms. She possessed the sort of strength that came from years of hard work and practice. Her neatly trimmed beard framed her jaw, threaded with silver and carefully groomed. “Dragon’s breath! Sneaking up like that. Nearly knocked ten years off my life.”

The fluffin bounced in place.

“Doesn’t bother you a bit, does it?” She sighed. “Fine, come along. I expect you already know where we’re headed.”

Neville gave a happy bark. He padded alongside Magda Stone-fist as they descended the last stretch of stairs, tail held at a jaunty angle. The tunnel opened up and before them stretched a vast, hollow space—an underground city carved into the deep. The remnants of once-grand buildings surrounded them, breathtaking even in ruin. Stone facades rose twenty or thirty feet or more, covered with delicate panels of gold and carved from glittering stone in shades of white stone or gray marble flecked with green. Reliefs had been carved across many buildings, depicting ancient kings and queens and long forgotten beasts and battles, the stones worn soft by time. The city had clearly been abandoned for many years. And yet the lights were eternally lit. High pillars held hanging lanterns, burning with a gold light that was not fueled by any oil or candle known to those on the surface.

Magda’s pace sped up. Neville trotted behind her, stopping to sniff a fallen block of green-veined stone. He bounced up onto it, as if checking for danger, then hopped down again with a yap. Magda paused to watch him. “You know, for something so small, you are an astonishingly valuable little creature.”

Neville’s ears twitched as if he already had heard this before.

She frowned down at him, as if he were a student in her class who was not paying quite enough attention. “That means that you might want to watch your back.”

Neville stopped short, spun in place, and then let out a sharp bark that echoed off the stones.

Magda snorted. “Blood and stone, you’re a cocky little thing. Fine, I’ll mind my own business.” She shook her head. “Perhaps you’ll even teach me a thing or two, little scout.”

They picked their way down crumbling streets, the older woman always sure-footed, regardless of the rubble. As they walked, the silence was constant. No voices, no rumbling forges, no footsteps besides their own. At the end of an avenue, the dwarven woman stopped before a grand triumphant arch. Runes and carvings had been etched along its inner curve. Magda strode up to it, pressing her palm flat against a rune on one side. Instantly, the arch flared with a green-gold light. She moved into the arch, Neville at her heels, and passed through.

On the other side, the air was suddenly full of voices. Children laughing. Sellers in a market shouted, hawking their wares. In the distance came the hiss of steam and the thud of engines turning somewhere below. The city here was not ruined. It thrived. Buildings soared around them, replete with flawless stonework and decorated with precious gems. Banners covered with dwarven script and runic symbols hung from balconies. The air smelled of fresh baking, the dust of freshly cut stone, and the heat of iron.

Magda marched on, ignoring the market and the crowds, the fluffin unnoticed at her heels. She finally halted at the end of a broad avenue. An immense hall lay in front of them, carved right into the rock face. Massive pillars flanked the entrance. She paused a few paces short of the large, gold-paneled doors and looked down at the fluffin. “This is where I head in. You probably know why I’m here.”

Neville cocked his head.

She gestured at the hall with her chin. “Official business.” She glanced around. “If they see you, they’ll want you to stay. Make sure you’re using that little trick of yours.”

Neville’s eyes gleamed.

She chuckled softly. “That so? Already doing it, are you?” She shook her head. “Fascinating little creatures,” she muttered to herself. “Ought to have him give a demonstration to my class.” She turned and walked up to the great doors. “Come along then, little scout.”