To Felitïa's surprise, the guards were gone. They must have followed the other Volgs. Still, she could sense other presences nearby, but there was no sign of anyone in the hall. The others must be in nearby rooms.

There was no way of knowing which way Agranim and the other Volgs had gone, so she decided to continue along the main hall in the same direction they had been going before. With no one to follow this time, the best option was to open doors and see what was on the other side. She went to the closest one, waited for Garet to get in position, and opened it. They did the same with the next. And the next. At first, Felitïa moved back and forth across the hall, trying the doors on both sides, but after the first couple, she decided to stick entirely to the doors on the right hand side, reasoning that if they didn’t find anything in any of them—or the side passages going off it—by the time they’d made a complete rotation, they could switch to the other side then.

Most of what they found were small bed chambers. None were occupied or had anything of interest in them. In the first one, Garet gazed at the bed for several seconds before commenting, “Ever wonder how a Volg sleeps with those wings?”

Felitïa decided not to shush him this time. The bed was plain and simple, like the bed she had in her own apartment and like all the beds she’d seen in any of the apartments here. “I know Jorvan sleeps on his stomach. I’d guess Volgs probably do the same.”

“I always figured they’d hang upside down like bats,” Garet said. “Don’t know why. It just made sense to me.”

“Well, if they do, there’s nothing in here for them to hang from. Come on, let’s keep moving. And keep quiet.”

One of the doors led to a mess hall. It was thin and long—long enough that it curved with the outer walls of the Nabrinja. Numerous long tables were spread along its length, some of which had Volgs seated at them, eating, drinking, talking. They seemed almost human in their movements and activities. The hall wasn’t packed, but there were enough of them to put some strain on the spell, so Felitïa decided to retreat back into the main hall right away.

She motioned Garet back out, but paused. On the near wall, hung a portrait showing two Volgs. One was clearly Prince Castroff, although the artist had been a little too flattering of Castroff’s appearance, making him more muscular than Felitïa recalled him being. The other was a shorter, older Volg with frail limbs, withered wings, and a crown on his head. The Volg king perhaps? An interesting choice to make the king appear so weak and the prince so powerful. Interesting, too, that the Volg king had not come to Scovese.

She ushered Garet back into the main hall, and they continued on their way. A little farther down, one of the doors on the other side of the hall had two Volg guards. Thinking that might indicate something important, Felitïa decided to change tactics again and went towards it. She took hold of the door handle and turned. It clicked. Much more loudly than she had expected.

One of the guards began to turn his head.

Heart thumping, Felitïa tossed off another spell. It was rushed. She didn’t cross her thumb and index finger properly or put enough force behind the breath of air she blew, but it was enough to create a sensation of another sound down the hall in both Volgs—enough to distract their attention away from the door. One of them took a step forward to look down the hall, while Felitïa doubled her focus on the invisibility spell. Now they were actively looking for something, the strain was greater. She pushed at the door, fighting the urge to rush through, instead keeping her movements slow and precise. She didn’t look at what Garet was doing, only knew he was adding some extra strain, though it wasn’t extreme, so he must have been behaving himself.

Once the door was open, she stepped in and to the side. Garet followed—too fast. For a moment, the strain was unbearable. She felt as though her insides would be ripped out. But she held on to the spell. After another moment, she closed the door closed and relaxed.

They were in another bedchamber, this one a little larger than the others they’d seen, though still small. It had more furnishings as well. In addition to the bed, which was also larger, there were several chests, a wardrobe, and two high stools. A portrait of Prince Castroff hung on the wall over the bed. Like the one in the mess hall, it exaggerated his musculature. It wasn’t even that good a painting. Still, it meant that this room stood a good chance of being his.

Felitïa motioned Garet to stay by the door and moved across the room to the wardrobe.

“Is that him?” Garet said.

Felitïa looked back with the intent of shushing him, but saw he was pointing to the portrait. “That’s Castroff, yes. He’s got quite the high opinion of himself. He’s not that muscular in real life.”

“Good,” Garet said. “’Cause I intend to bash his head in one day.”

“Just not today, please.”

“He’s probably at the meeting, anyway,” Garet said.

The wardrobe contained Volg size robes and other clothing. Felitïa leafed through it, but found nothing interesting. She closed the wardrobe and went over to the row of chests near the bed. Opening the first, she found more clothes—mostly underclothes—as well as some linens. The second contained mostly personal effects, including a couple books, some candles, and a bar of soap. She pondered taking the books. They might have something useful in them.

There was also a jewellery box. Inside, it was mostly empty. He was probably wearing a selection of jewellery right now. What remained were a couple thick, heavy rings, several gold necklaces, and a heart-shaped locket. That seemed a rather sentimental item, so she picked it up. It probably wouldn’t help with finding Corvinian, but it might reveal some details about Castroff himself.

The locket was large—almost as big as her hand—and heavy. It had a small latch, which Felitïa opened. Inside was another portrait, though just heads rather than full bodies. This one was much more true-to-life than the one on the wall or the one in the mess hall. Like the one in the mess hall, it had two people in it. One was Castroff. The other was a human woman with the coppery skin of a Ninifin. Like the woman in yellow with Queen Nin-Xoco, this woman had a tattoo of an eye on her forehead. Not the same woman, though. This one was older, with greying black hair. Her head leaned against Castroff’s.

Felitïa walked over to Garet and showed him the picture. “Look at this.”

Garet looked at the picture and then at Felitïa. “He’s into human women? I guess that explains why he kidnaps them.” He shuddered.

“There’s a portrait in the library of a Volg and a human woman. Have you seen it?”

Garet shrugged. “Might have. Guess Volg men just have a kink for human women.”

“I’m not so sure of that. Have you ever heard the stories of Volg shapeshifters?”

“Don’t pay much attention to stories.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Agernon always scoffed at those stories—Agernon scoffed at anything about Volgs—but Drummor used to talk about them all the time. What if they’re not just stories?”

“You think Volgs are shapechanging into human women to pose for portraits?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Why are there no Volg women here? At all. Previously, I figured Volgs were just male dominated chauvinists, but what if it’s something different?”

“Like?”

Felitïa shrugged. “Just some thoughts.”

Oh gods, Zandrue. I think I’m starting to understand. No wonder you didn’t want to come.

Felitïa headed back over to the chests. “This locket could be useful. Nin-Akna or Nin-Xoco might recognise the woman.” She placed the locket in her bag.

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“You think they’re likely to?”

Felitïa shrugged. “Nin-Xoco’s afraid someone’s going to kill her and that it might come from within her own people. It’s a long shot that it’s this particular woman. There aren’t many older people with the Ninifins. But you never know.” She bent down to continue examining the chest.

“Sound outside!” Garet hissed.

Felitïa closed the chest and motioned Garet to move closer to her. As he did, she recast the invisibility spell and prepared to wrap it around anyone at the door.

Agranim stepped into the room, followed by two other warriors and then the two guards who had been at the door. His gaze swept the room.

Felitïa breathed deeply and wrapped the spell over them.

“It’s all right, Will-Breaker,” Agranim said. “I know you’re in here.”

Felitïa’s heart dropped.

“You don’t get by the Prince’s guards that easily. He has them well trained for your trickery. They summoned me as soon as you entered.”

“Oh well, game’s up!” Garet announced and launched himself at Agranim.

As soon as the strain hit her, Felitïa let the spell go. There was no point. Sorry Cerus.

Garet swung at Agranim, but one of the other Volgs knocked him aside. He stumbled at the edge of the bed, tried to regain his footing.

Felitïa bit her lower lip, focused on the Volg bearing down on Garet, let loose a spell to cloud the Volg’s mind. The Volg paused, just a moment to regain his bearings, but just long enough for Garet to run him through with his sword.

“Use the close quarters to our advantage!” Garet yelled. “They can’t manoeuvre with those wings!”

He was right. They didn’t have much space. She bit down harder, drawing blood, and spread the spell across them all with a slight crook of her index finger. The other Volg warrior stumbled and collided with Agranim. But the two guards seemed unaffected by the spell.

That wasn’t right. They should have been.

She didn’t have time to think about it. Agranim leapt over the bed and at her. He grabbed her by the neck and shoved her against the wall, his fingers pressing into her throat. She gasped, tried to get air.

“I was so hoping you’d try something like this,” Agranim growled. “They wouldn’t let me go after you, but defending his Highness’s chambers? I’ll be a hero.”

Garet yelled something, but Felitïa couldn’t make out the words. The sound of Agranim’s rasping breath and her own crackling attempts to grasp at air were too loud right now. There were other shouts, too. More Volgs, perhaps. There would certainly be more Volgs coming soon. There was no chance of getting out of this alive. Agranim would crush her throat well before the asphyxiation took her.

She closed her eyes, brought up the Room. Brought the walls in close, as close as she’d ever brought them, blocking even her own sensations. Blocking the pain. Blocking her desire for air. For a moment, it was as if nothing existed, not even herself.

She clenched her fist, opened her eyes and stared straight into Agranim’s, past the grey colour, through the pupils, into whatever lay within. And he stared back.

And screamed.

His hands fell away from her neck as he clutched at his own head and fell backwards against the bed. As he continued to scream, Felitïa placed a foot on his chest, pushing him against the bed, which shifted along the floor from the force. She wanted to cause as much discomfort in his wings as possible, anything to add to the pain and terror of the imaginary flames burning his face.

Then she took a grateful breath and extended the Room’s walls away from her again.

“Why wouldn’t they let you come after me, Agranim?” she said through clenched teeth. “Was it because they knew you were no match for me? I’m the Will-Breaker, and I will break your will to live.”

His only response was to continue screaming in terror. Then he stopped. She gave his lifeless body one last kick.

Garet was backed into a corner, the two guards bearing down on him. Blood dripped from a gash on his arm. The other Volg who had arrived with Agranim lay in a pool of blood on the floor.

Felitïa clenched both fists this time and placed the same spell on the two guards. Again, they seemed unaffected, but this time, she didn’t let go. She kept it going, intensified it, digging her fingernails into the palms of both her hands until she drew blood. One of the guards stumbled.

Oh, they felt it. They were just well trained to ignore it. She would see about that.

Garet brought Smasher down on the guard’s arm, cutting deep. With his elbow, he knocked the Volg’s sword out of his hand, then spun aside to avoid an attack from the other guard.

The disarmed guard began to scream, the spell becoming too much for him at last.

The strain was becoming unbearable. She couldn’t keep this up much longer, and there were more Volgs rushing into the room. It was only the lack of space that kept them from immediately overrunning both her and Garet.

Finally, the second guard joined the first and screamed. Garet wasted no time in running each one through before turning to face the next arriving Volgs.

“Garet, stop!” Felitïa yelled. Free of the strain of the spell, she felt like collapsing. Her throat hurt terribly and breath was still hard.

“What?” Garet said as he blocked a blow from a Volg. Two bore down on him again, pushing back against the wall. Another had his eyes on Felitïa, though couldn’t navigate past the other two.

“Just do it, damn it!”

She could sense the uncertainty from him, combined with a certainty that he would die if he listened to her.

“Trust me! Please!”

Garet stopped.

Felitïa rasped the word, tilted her head, flexed her fingers, and cast the spell.

The Volgs attacking Garet swung their swords down at him, and he ducked aside as she knew he would. It was a strain, but she could manage it for the moment. When their blades hit nothing, the Volgs began to look around in confusion, as did the others by the door.

“I’ve hidden us from them again,” Felitïa said. “Now we have to get out of here.”

Garet raised his sword. “I can take them.”

“No, you can’t! Now, run!”

Part of her didn’t want to wait for him, but she needed to keep him in sight if there was to be any chance of the strain not overwhelming her.

He hesitated only a moment longer, then ran, pushing aside and past the Volgs at the door. The Volgs reacted to his actions, but she kept him and herself hidden, refused to give into the strain.

She jumped over Agranim’s body and followed Garet. The strain was worse than the pain of being strangled had been, worse than having her neck nearly crushed. She was approaching the point of burn-out. She knew it.

In her head, she pounded at the Room’s other walls, the grey ones she’d only recently discovered, the ones that didn’t respond to her. If they weren’t there, she wouldn’t have this strain. She was sure of it. What else were they holding back?

But they still didn’t respond.

Garet reached the doors to the stairs, threw them open and ran through. Felitïa followed. The guards at the door stumbled about, looking for what had accosted them. Felitïa paid them no mind and hurried down the stairs. After they’d made it a couple of floors, she let go of the spell and fell over, crashing down several steps. Her shoulder wrenched in the wrong direction. One leg tangled with the other and pain shot through her. Step after step. Body part after body part. All colliding.

When at last it stopped, she looked up through blurry eyes. Someone leaned over her. Garet. She was sure it was Garet. Then she passed out.