When they reached the ground level, Aralt found Alira bent over the dead Shirahnyn, eyes wide, her hands clasped over her mouth, her weapon laying at her feet. Courageous, she was. A warrior, she was not. He wasn’t sure if her shock was because she had seen what happened or because it had happened in a kirke. He didn’t have time to ask her, and he wasn’t about to ask for forgiveness. He took her by the hand and wrapped her fingers around the hilt. From outside came the sound of siege weapons on the doors.

“Are you good?”

She blanched. “I can’t do this.” The unspoken question on her face was: How can you?

“Tel-ta!” he yelled, voice rising. “Get the rest of our people off the roof before another tremor hits. Grey, if we’re pinned down in here, we need a more defensible position.”

“The night chapel,” Alira said.

“Aye,” Scanlin agreed. “’Tis the oldest part o’ the kirke. Solid walls. One way in.”

“What about a way out?”

Scanlin’s lip twisted. “Ye said defensible.” He extended a hand toward Alira. “If ye will, m’lady…”

“Go,” Aralt told her, signaling Shepherd Alinn to round up the civilians and move them to the north end of the building. He took it upon himself to lift Lian gingerly to unsteady legs. The boy’s black eyes snapped open. Gold flecks sparkled when light struck them—a good sign, surely. “Time to move, lad-o.”

“Don’t be a fool. It is too soon for him,” Tycho chided, catching hold of Lian’s other elbow. The boy sagged between them like a rag doll. “You’ve already nearly cost him his life by sending me away, syr Tremayne. He must rest. What he did out there…it is something he should not have—not ever, for any reason. The shock could kill him, and I can only guess at the cost to his soul.”

Tycho’s air of profound insight piqued his nerves. “He can’t rest here. No one,”—he raised his voice that everyone might hear him— “can rest here. It isn’t safe, no matter how much you all pray it is. Follow Shepherd Alinn. Let’s go, people!”

“Let me tend to him,” Tycho insisted, hefting his medical kit and travel gear from where he had dropped them earlier. “At least let me do that.”

Aralt nailed him with his gaze. “Maybe when I’m dead.”

Once more he lifted the bedraggled future kavistra into his arms, enduring the crawling fire that ran up into the base of his skull. Lian’s thoughts spun like a tornado: regret, remorse, revulsion, tearing themselves from his mind in random threads, weaving into an unrecognizable pattern. He plodded on, following the miserable throng, wondering how many of them knew how fortunate they had been that night. Lian roused slightly at the jostling, his shaggy head lolling.

“Did it again, didn’t I?” the boy muttered, eyes lidded. Any glimmer of light Aralt had seen earlier was gone.

“More than you know.”

“Bad headache.”

“Get used to it.”

“I thought if I could tell for sure, I could warn you sooner.”

“Might have thought to bring me with you,” Aralt told him. “One of these days, I’m not going to be able to come after you.”

Lian’s eyes flicked open for only a moment. “You’ll send someone.”

Aralt shook his head. All he could think was: You better hope I can.

He would carry Lian again, he realized as he stepped into the chapel. Not there, not soon, but he would do it again. Knowing gave him no joy.

The closing doors echoed like thunder rolling across the northern tundra. A second and third set of doors followed, thrown bolts crashing into place with finality. He left Lian in the care of the local priests and healers as he paced the perimeter of the room. No windows graced the vaulted tower, only a mosaic of a night sky lit by a single moon. Like the chapel behind the waterfall. Like the kavistra’s chapel in Kyrrimar. One moon. He had long wondered about its significance. Not even Endru Kynsei could tell him for sure. Or chose not to. Gaslights guttered and people froze in place so as not to collide with their neighbors. Even small dogs fell silent in their owners’ arms. He waited, counting the seconds until the room was plunged into darkness. It had taken the invaders longer than he had anticipated to rob Faerkirke of light, but it had been inevitable. The Shirahnyn would have ignited the gas given the opportunity, but what did the Naharasii know of such things? The only remaining light emanated from the crystal bowl on the altar. Within, a blue wisp danced on the surface of the water. He made his way to the light and lifted the receptacle.

“Who has a lantern? Are there candles? We need more light.”

Shepherd Alinn climbed the steps to the altar. “Syr Tremayne, that’s a relic! It’s a remnant of the kyrrith anim left to us by one of the early kavistras.”

“I don’t care if St. Alvis himself lit it. Are there candles?”

“Syr Tremayne…”

“It’s a flame, shepherd. It’ll keep burning, you ken? Candles. Lanterns. Or do you want to be sitting here in the dark with crying children?”

The khiyerey looked in Lian’s direction, then back at Aralt. “Very well.”

Soon, the room was warmly lit, children stopped crying, and Scanlin and Shepherd Alinn were conferring, Aralt assumed, about the damnation of his soul. At last, they approached him.

“Listen, I don’t have time for a lecture. Sooner or later even those doors aren’t going to hold. And if they do, we’ll either have to risk opening them or starving. There must be a way out of here. This chapel predates the rest of Mar Alvis by at least a hundred years, doesn’t it? I practically grew up at Kyrrimar. I know every kirke has an escape route.”

“Tales from the dark times,” Scanlin scoffed. “Just because the kavistra’s chapel had—”

“Actually, there is a way out,” Shepherd Alinn admitted. “And this chapel is far more than a hundred years older than the rest of the kirke, but I don’t suppose we have time for a history lesson. We’re standing over the tomb of St. Alvis. It leads to the crypt from the days of the Patriarchs. I’m sorry, old friend,” Alinn told Scanlin, “it isn’t just tales from the dark times. You should have stayed another season with Kavistra Endru.”

Not the escape route Aralt had in mind. “The crypt. That’s made for the dead, not the living. There are a lot of people here. The elderly, children, at least two women with child. Not all of them are going to want to go down there.” He glanced at Tycho. The Shirahnyn wasn’t the only one disinclined to take refuge among the dead.

“They’ll have to.” Alira was at his side then, her hands folding around his arm. Her braided hair, windswept from their time on the roof, had unfurled into a tangle. She had given her cloak to someone, leaving her with her cotton nightshirt tucked into the breeks she had taken from the esri byre. The sword belt rode crookedly on her hips. “If the crypt runs under the chapter house, we should be able to find one of the tunnels leading to the vault under the central plaza. There will be hundreds of people there by now. Tunnels lead from all points in the city.”

“More secrets from the dark times that you don’t tell the neighbors?”

She almost smiled at him. “Only the ones we like. They’re from ages ago, when the Naharasii last tried to take the city from below. The whole valley is riddled with them. Most are for maintenance now, conduits for water and gas pipes. What they constructed for evil, we reclaimed and made our own. Each generation has put its stamp on the project. There are several vaults, enough to shelter the entire population of the city.”

“Remarkable,” Scanlin said.

Aralt wanted to know how long they could wait out the enemy.

“They’re kept well stocked. As long as it takes.”

He thought her faith in Alwynn ingenuity might be overblown, but who was he to argue? He for one had no intention of sealing himself off with the city under siege. They needed to reconnect with Veryl’s forces and get topside to determine the best course of action. He had no doubt Scanlin would be with him on that. “Will Veryl be in one of these vaults?”

“If he followed the evacuation plan, yes. He and Camryn and everyone at the house. He must be so confused at this hour, but his aides will have assisted him. They’ve been with him for years. He trusts them.”

“Can we get to where they are?”

“I don’t know. That’s the other side of the river. We could try going through the storm drains, but if we don’t get there before dawn we might be trapped. In the case of a siege, the vaults are supposed to be sealed and the passages flooded.” She pressed her hands to her face. “Oh, Gareth. What if they didn’t follow the plan?”

“We’ll get to them.” He consulted his pocket watch. He did not want to tell her how little time they had left before sunrise. “If we’re going to get to this vault of yours, we need to be about it.”

“They could hold back the water from the passage to the house if they knew you needed to access it,” Shepherd Alinn said. “But you’ll have to get to the waterworks.”

“By the brigg?” Aralt asked, calculating the time it would take to get there on foot. “That isn’t too far.”

Alira gaped at him. “In broad daylight, without…without…impediments…yes.”

“Another way, then? Below ground?”

“It would take twice as long,” Shepherd Alinn told him. “I have the schematics linking the kirke to other points in the city…in my office. I didn’t think to grab them. I feel like a fool.”

“I’ll go,” Alira said. “There’s an access under the pump house behind the chapter house. Surely I can get that far.”

Aralt shook his head. “No.”

“But it’s the fastest way.”

“Draw me a map.”

“There’s no time for that. I know how to get there, and I’ll know what to do if…if no one else can. I’m the one that redesigned this system. Shepherd Alinn can show you where to go. There’s a junction where multiple tunnels join, a vault about the size of this chapel. You’ll see the access panel. I’ll divert the water, but it will take time. When the gauge registers zero, you’ll be safe if you move quickly. All that diverted water has got to go somewhere, so don’t leave anyone behind. I’ll find you further along the line.”

“No,” he told her emphatically. He wanted to tell her what he had seen in Kyrrimar after the Shirahnyn came. He wanted to warn her about their butchery, but they were surrounded by civilians, people seeking refuge. People who no doubt still had loved ones elsewhere in the city. As much as it vexed him, he knew they needed to stay together, even if that meant hunkering down and barricading themselves against an unseen enemy.

“If it’s to be done, better I should go,” Scanlin told them. “If the waterworks has been overrun, I’ll stand a better chance o’ gettin’ in.”

But Alira was having none of it. She gripped Aralt’s arm. “Don’t even think about sending someone else—including yourself. You need to stay with the kavistra. You and your First Sword, both. Keeping Lian Kynsei safe is all that matters.” Her lips spoke the words, but her eyes spoke another truth. She was afraid for her family. For him.

“That is not all that matters,” he assured her. “And I refuse to choose between you.”

“I won’t let you,” Alira told him bluntly.

Tycho spoke next. “By your leave, Lady of the House, instruct me, give me a token to prove myself an ally, and I will go.” In the sudden silence that followed his words, the sound of a single shard of dropped crystal might have echoed to the moons. “Your knowledge is required to guide syr Tremayne that he might get Lian to safety. Scanlin Ross is the sword to defend you. This shepherd has a responsibility to these, his people. Please. Let me go. If Shirahnyn walk the streets, I will pass more easily than any here. I took note of the place you speak of when we crossed the bridge. I can find my way back.”

“But you can’t go through the city,” she said. “The tunnels will be faster.”

“The womb of the earth is…no place for me, but neither is it a place for Laracae or any that follow him.”

“That didn’t stop the j’thirrin.” Aralt said.

“The j’thirrin do not follow Laracae. They only take advantage of the situation. Even so, they have their limits, and none will have been aboard his ship. I ask only one thing. Do not tell Lian what I have done until you are well away from this place. Only then tell him ‘jharna ’shim serna.’ He will understand.”

“Tell him yourself, if you live long enough,” Aralt growled, turning away. He had more important things occupying his mind just then—not the least of which was the boy currently under Telta’s watch. The hunting cats had taken up positions to either side of him. That he had not even tried to get up since being carried into the chapel concerned Aralt more than the situation in the streets. Tycho seemed to follow his train of thought.

“He needs to rest. He will find healing in sleep.”

He felt obliged to accept the statement as truth. He had seen it himself. But rest? How were they to rest when they were under siege? It would be like sleeping through a storm in a fishing boat. “He won’t find rest until we’re out of here, and you’re slowing us down. Stay or go if you think you can avoid whoever is out there. You might get past your own people, I’ll give you that, but the Horror?”

A sly smile creased Tycho’s face. “We have evaded the Soulless, syr Tremayne. I have no fear of cannibals. The wrath of the one Lian serves? That I fear—and I will have to answer already for what ill I’ve taught to one that will now be charged with the care of other souls. What happened this night, what he did, is my fault.”

“Grey,” the resident shepherd implored, “talk some sense into them. We need to make haste and seal this place behind us lest we’re followed by…anyone.”

As the debate continued, Aralt steered Alira to an alcove, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the others—Lian in particular. He sensed the boy’s vague awareness of their scheme mingling with unmitigated fatigue.

“Gareth, you can’t send Tycho out there alone,” Alira said. “I’ll go with him.”

“I’m not ‘sending’ him anywhere. That will be his decision, and the less that’s said—or even thought about—the better.”

She looked over her shoulder, comprehension washing over her face. “You’re afraid Lian will try to stop him.”

“I know he will. Or he’ll want to go. Can you explain what needs be done?”

“But I need to—”

“Remain with us. For Lian.” For me.

“I can be brave,” she told him, her voice catching just slightly.

“You already have been. And this isn’t over yet.”

Alira found one of her city engineers in the crowd and disseminated the plan with all due haste. A veteran of the last Horror, he understood their dilemma. She took the star pendant from around her neck and pressed it into Tycho’s hand. “In case you’re separated, show them this. You honor your mother’s House with your courage. Deep peace to you.”

Tycho hesitated, then bowed his head. “And also to you, Alira of Alwynn-Muir.”

“Shepherd, if you will, see this man safely outside. And forgive them for bearing weapons in this holy place. And…the rest.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” the priest muttered. “Come with me. Quickly.”

“No, Brother,” one of the younger clerics said. He had been one of those attending Lian since Aralt had carried him down from the roof. He was of an age with Tycho, Aralt supposed, equal in height, as swarthy as the Shirahnyn was pale. “Let me. I know the way, and you will be needed to guide these good people below.”

“I can’t ask you to do this, Mattias.”

“No. But I can ask you for the honor to serve the kavistra.” He looked at Tycho. “We can pass between the walls and pray they haven’t found those passages. If you will go that way?”

Tycho nodded. “I will depend on you, Believer. And when I have left you, pray the Redeemer of whom Lian has spoken has mercy on me.”

“Tycho,” Alira said gently, “my father gave that necklace to me. It belonged to my mother. I expect to get it back. Be careful—”

“I will not fail you, Lady. Syr Tremayne? I am not your enemy, sir. I will seal it with my blood when we meet again. Jharna ’shim serna. Please tell him.”

“I should gae with him,” Scanlin said as the three men disappeared through a door at the back of a cabinet. “We would stand a better chance—”

“No.”

“Would ye send him sae surely to his death? And Mattias besides?”

Aralt avoided his gaze. The young cleric had chosen his path. If Tycho completed his task in time, he would not lose sleep over their decision.