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My flesh, my heart, my very bones are freezing.

‘Wake up! Wake up now, or I'll leave you to die!'

Twiss's face fades in and out of view, scowling down at me.

‘C-c-cold  … ' I can hardly get the word out. I'm lying on a stone floor and my body is shaking uncontrollably.

‘Get up!' No sympathy in her face – Twiss's expression is the one kine always wear when you catch them unaware. Hatred carved into the flesh, as if their faces are made of centuries-old olive wood, smooth and polished.

‘If you don't get moving, you'll die.' Twiss grabs my shoulders and tugs me up to sitting. ‘Get on your feet! Come on. I ain't staying here to get caught. Not with him.'

Him  …  Aluid. I can't spare the breath to ask. I hold onto Twiss and try to rise to my knees but I can't. I'm sinking into a sea of ice, the cold crushing my will. This is too hard; I'm so tired. Why have I left the darkness where nothing matters? Not my father, not the mages, not Swift  …  I shut my eyes.

Pain burns the top of my head and jerks me back to life. Twiss has grabbed my hair with both fists and is doing her best to pull it out.

‘Stop it!' My lips are so numb I can barely form the words but pain gives me strength. ‘Let go!'

Twiss climbs to her feet, still holding on. I have no option but to stagger up as well. The thief grunts with effort, but she's strong. She tows me from one side of the room to the other, back and forth, like a farmer leading an ox. I stumble behind, bent over, shouting at her to stop.

‘Shut up! Do you want them to hear? And come and find him?'

Him. Aluid's face fills my mind. Then Benedict's, his cold control dissolving to fury. The thought of what he will do to me makes my stomach turn over. I stop shouting. Twiss lets go at last and I straighten up, rubbing my scalp, blinking back tears of pain.

‘Stay on your feet and keep moving.' She watches me with narrowed eyes, ready to pounce. ‘You used up too much of yourself. I've saved your skin three times now.' The girl jerks her head towards the centre of the room and I look at last.

The sight makes me shudder harder than ever. Aluid clawed halfway out of the stone before he died. His eyes are open, his blood-stained face purple with rage. Beside him, in a puddle of wine that looks horribly like blood, lies a plank of wood from the demolished door. I swallow my nausea, shocked to find that my only emotion is relief. The cold seems to have lodged in my heart.

‘You may have saved my life  … ' I drag my gaze from the dead man to confront Twiss. ‘ …  but I've saved yours too. You couldn't have killed him on your own.'

‘Nor could you.' The thief's lip curls in contempt. ‘But you're the only mage we got. Come on, we have to get out of here.'

‘And just leave him to be found? It's obvious a magic user killed him.'

‘
I
killed him!'

I ignore the remark and close my eyes for a moment, preparing. Do I have enough strength to do this? I'm still shivering from cold and exhaustion. But there isn't any choice. If Aluid's body is found, Benedict will realise who helped kill him, and he won't stop until he finds me. I sit down to conserve energy and focus my mind. Precision is important.

I steady my breathing and set about transforming the stone surrounding my tutor's body once more to slurry, drawing water from the air and pushing it into the stone. Slowly, Aluid settles and begins to sink. I'm shaking with the effort when his glaring face finally disappears from sight and the floor closes over him with a soft, sucking sound.

I pause, dizzy. But my work is only half done. I try to ignore the chill creeping through me as I struggle to return the water to the air. Slowly, the floor hardens. As it does so, I force the stone to reform in quarried chunks, painstakingly realigning seams of mortar. It takes all my concentration. I taste stone, smell it, hear particles of limestone grinding together. Afterwards, it's a quick business to tidy away the remaining broken glass and spilled wine before covering the floor with a layer of dust and grime.

I sit, shaking, out of breath, staring at the empty floor. It's hard to believe that Aluid is dead, that his body is entombed in this small, dirty cellar. I crave warmth; desperately need sleep and food.

Hands grab me under each arm and pull me to my feet. Twiss slings my arm over her shoulder and lugs me across the room. We stumble over the remains of the door and through the opening into a narrow corridor. It is darker than midnight here, a clammy dark that presses on my eyes and heart. I long to conjure a finger of mage light to push away the darkness, but I haven't even the strength for that.

Twiss seems to find her way by instinct, like a mole. She's half carrying me, but the child is so strong she might be made of bog oak. The thief's breathing hardly quickens at all as she leads us through the twisting and turning corridors, pausing to open doors, stopping only to push me through low doorways before dragging me through the dark, on and on.

My legs move by themselves, now. It feels like being out of body again, watching myself stumble and crawl through the darkness. I'm still cold, but I've stopped shivering. I feel drugged with exhaustion, but part of my mind chatters with the irritating persistence of a magpie.

We can't be beneath the palazzo any more. These must be the catacombs. I can smell the earth, the age, the dust of dead bodies. There will be bones  …  and skulls neatly stacked on earthen shelves, grinning at us in the dark. We're under the city. Where is she taking me? She hates me. How can she see in this dark? Even a mage cannot see in the dark. She hates me  …  she saved you. Perhaps she will kill me  …  she didn't save you in order to kill you. Where are we going? I hate this place – the dark, the smell of death. Are there any Knowledge Seekers left?

Without warning, Twiss stops, dragging me to a halt. There is a solid wall in front of us; I can feel the deadness of it inches from my face. Twiss fumbles at the wall; metal clicks; hinges groan. The darkness opens and she pushes me through a narrow opening into blinding light.

I fall on my hands and knees onto an earthen floor. Before I can coax my eyes to work or get any sense of where I am, different hands grab me, fling me to the ground. A thin strip of sharp metal presses against my neck and I feel something trickle down my neck.
Blood! A knife!

My reflexes take over. I harden a fist of air and crash it into the person holding me. A cry, and the knife drops away with a clatter. Still half blinded, I find the blade with my mind and destroy it, shattering the iron into infinitely small particles. Quickly I form an air-shield. Sheer terror has given me energy, but I'm exhausted now and maintaining the shield takes all my strength. I lever myself up onto one knee and crouch, panting with effort.

The oily light is coming from smoking lamps hanging from the walls of a small, cave-like room. Of course! It's so obvious that I feel a crazy desire to laugh. The thieves have their headquarters in the catacombs! It's perfect, and explains why my father has never been able to root them out – and why Twiss dared not tell even her beloved Bruin.

This room has been made semi-habitable: a few rough benches and a table. A door stands opposite, fitted with bolts and locks. Some sort of stronghold, or guardroom perhaps? A boy in his teens is helping a young woman to her feet. She wears a leather belt with an empty knife-shaped holder. Anyone would recognise them as thieves: the woman is tall, the boy short, but they are both slender and muscular with close-cropped hair, their clothing tight-fitting and dark. And they are shouting at Twiss.

‘She's a mage!' The woman shoots me a venomous look, wiping away blood dripping from her nose. The air punch was a facer. I feel considerable pleasure at the fact and am immediately horrified. What's wrong with me? It's like my response to Aluid's death. I frown, trying to clear my head, to think, while the woman shouts: ‘You brought a mage here? Are you mad?'

The boy carries a long wooden stick with a sharp, pointed end. He keeps jabbing it towards me, his eyes averted. He shouts: ‘We need to kill her! Quick, while she's weak!'

I reinforce my air-shield as much as I can but it feels patchy. My heart beats faster and I try to calm myself, concentrating on the deep, slow breathing that gathers strength from the air itself. I can defend myself for a while longer, but if I don't rest soon, find something to eat, I'll collapse. Was this the sanctuary Twiss promised?

Twiss grabs the boy's arm. ‘
No!
She's working with us. Touch her and I'll skin you. And so will Floster.'

‘“Mistress Floster” to you, middling!' The woman's hand keeps straying to her empty knife holder. She watches my every movement with a predator's gaze, the desire to kill shining in her eyes. Unveiled hatred of such intensity is terrifying. My breath control breaks. I begin to pant and shiver with fear. I want to shout:
I hate them too! I'm not like them!
But I can't waste strength speaking. And is it even true? I am a mage.

‘Go fetch the Mistress, you rattle-skull.' Twiss looks furious. ‘You know I work with the Knowledge Seekers. So does this mage. They know all about her.'

The woman shakes her head in disbelief. ‘She's mind-controlling you!' She grabs Twiss's arm and starts to twist it behind her. Quick as a ferret, the child slides out of the arm lock. A vicious elbow to the woman's stomach sends her gasping to her knees. The boy looks on, open-mouthed, rotating his stick from me to Twiss and back again.

‘No one has ever got in my head, Ferring,' Twiss spits, narrowing her eyes in disgust. ‘No one ever will; I'll take my spirit into death before I let a filthy mage touch my mind!' She pauses, gasping for air as though drowning, then shouts: ‘
Bruin is dead!
'

Twiss's cry is swallowed by the earthen walls without even the faintest echo. But the pain in the girl's voice penetrates my exhaustion and fear, and I wince. Twiss stands silently, fists clenching and unclenching, mouth convulsing. Then: ‘I'd kill her myself if she weren't of use.'

The woman kneels, gaping at Twiss. ‘I didn't know.'

‘There's lots you don't know. Stop being a fool and go fetch the Mistress. She –' Twiss jerks her head towards me – ‘ain't going nowhere. I got news and the Mistress won't be pleased to be kept waiting.'

The woman jumps to her feet, shoots a last, hungry look at me, and runs from the room.

‘S-sorry about Bruin, Twiss.' The boy looks shocked.

Twiss doesn't answer him. She turns to face me. The child's eyes are dark and hard as obsidian. Whatever is going on behind them is hidden, but I can imagine it only too well. Twiss's pain has rekindled my own. I settle more comfortably on the floor and stare straight ahead, waiting for what will happen next and thinking of Swift and how I failed her. And of the Maker. I am forsworn. Unless I can find help soon – here in the city of the dead – I will have abandoned Aidan to whatever fate my father intends for him.

I stagger to my feet as a bone-thin, grey-haired thief enters the room. I don't need to be told that this is Floster, Mistress of Thieves. Hard eyes cut through me as though trying to slice open my head and heart to see what is inside.

She gives me a moment's consideration, then speaks: ‘If you want to live, mage, do what I tell you and stay where I put you. Poke so much as your nose outta your cell, the middlings'll tear you apart. I've no time to deal with you tonight. We'll decide what's to be done with you soon as may be.' Her eyes narrow to shining slits. ‘Benedict's own daughter.' She smiles and my stomach squirms at the sight. ‘A rare bounty he'd pay for you.'

She turns her back and strides out the door, grabbing her torch from the wall and holding it high over her head. The guards hustle me after her, poking me in the back with their wooden staves. I stumble through a maze of turnings and junctions. After several minutes, the Mistress's torchlight melts into a brighter glow and the tunnel opens into a large, echoing cavern. A frail cobweb of wooden beams and stone columns holds up the earth overhead.

The room boils with scurrying figures. Fear curls my stomach as I see them: leather-clad and countless as wood ants. Almost all are children. These must be the ‘middlings' Floster spoke of. A handful of adults stride in their midst. Where are the parents?

I glimpse small clumps of Knowledge Seekers scattered in dazed huddles, looking nearly as terrified as I am. Thank the gods – I'm not totally alone with the thieves; others have made it to safety from the city. The Seekers' confusion and fear fogs the air of the cave.
I'm like you!
I want to shout.
My enemy is your enemy. I've lost everything too.

My feet slow as I stare. A sharp poke in the middle of my back sends me stumbling after Mistress Floster. The next moment a young thief notices my mage marks, my grubby white robes, and a howl goes up. On every side, children gather, their eyes eating into me. They flinch from my gaze, fear battling hatred in their faces. And now they begin to hurl curses and taunts along with bits of wood and stone. Something hits me in the face.

I clap my hand over my cheek and my fingers come away wet. My blood is wine-dark in the smoky light. I stare at it in shock.
How dare they?
A surge of anger gives me the strength to heal my face. I refuse to die here, mauled to death by a pack of grubby brats! I can't die before I've avenged Swift and Gerontius, before I've rescued Aidan! As I search for the strength to fight back, another stone hits me in the forehead.

‘Leave her be!' With a growl of warning, Twiss launches herself at a boy who raises a stone-filled paw. She has him down in a moment, though he is twice her size. The Mistress strides to the the squirming, punching tangle and yanks Twiss off the boy.

‘
The mage is safe-sworn!
' Floster's voice rings out and all sound and movement in the cavern stops. Shock and disbelief rinse death-lust from dozens of dirty faces and I feel a mad desire to laugh as mouth after mouth gapes in surprise.

Groups of Knowledge Seekers turn to stare at me, curiosity diluting the hatred in their faces. I see Tabitha the silversmith, an island of calm in the bedlam. Her beautiful grey eyes are red and swollen, her face grief-stained. She must have lost someone she loved. For the first time since I've known her, she gazes at me without flinching and I see a flicker of something  …  sympathy?

Twiss squirms out of Floster's grip. Her nose is bleeding: the boy got in at least one punch. She swipes the blood away with the back of her hand and looks from Floster to me and back.

The Mistress speaks again, her eyes pressing the the mob to stillness: ‘The mage works for us. Touch her, any of you, and I'll skin you myself. Here's my mark: my safe-sworn.'

Floster takes a pendant from around her neck and tosses its leather thong over my head. I flinch as a circle of green jade thuds onto Swift's letter. I feel like I've been marked as a possession – a thing. I want to tear it from my neck, but I don't dare. Hundreds of disbelieving eyes glare at the pendant. A hiss of frustration circles the cavern.

Floster stands stone still, her will beating them down. ‘You've all got jobs to do. Get on! And you  … ' She raises both eyebrows as she turns to Twiss. ‘You aren't in charge of the guild  …  yet.' Her mouth twitches. It's the first glimmer of warmth I've seen in her. ‘Behave yourself, my girl, or I'll serve you up a whipping you won't forget. You're in trouble already for fetching the mage here without permission. My room now, brat. I want a full report.'

She jerks her head and Twiss scowls but runs off. Floster turns to the guards surrounding me. ‘Put the mage in a hole,' she orders. ‘And make sure she stays in one piece.'

Her eyes flick over me, then Floster turns and stalks off after Twiss. Middlings duck out of her path. She strides from the chamber like a river boat ploughing through reeds. A man, one of the few adult thieves in the chamber, detaches himself from a group of Knowledge Seekers and follows the Mistress. The way he moves – with the muscular grace of a greyhound – catches my eye. He is black-haired, neither short nor tall, dressed in dark leather from head to foot. As he passes, he gives me a look of pure speculation.

Hours later, I wake to total darkness. My heart kicks like a frightened colt. I lurch upright and instinctively conjure mage light. I concentrate on the flickering blue flame, force myself to stop gasping for air. Gradually my heart slows and panic recedes.

I remember being pushed into a hole in a wall and collapsing with exhaustion. I'm sitting on a straw pallet in a space barely big enough to hold it. Earthen walls crowd in on all sides. I bite my lower lip, concentrating on the details of my prison, fighting another surge of panic. One arm's length above me hangs a dirt ceiling, roughly whitewashed. A low wooden door faces me. Air holes pierce randomly through its planks and a small, rectangular viewing slot sits two-thirds of the way up its length. This is blinkered shut, like a blinded eye.

A prisoner of the Thieves' Guild!

Thieves. It's ill-bred to talk of them. To repeat rumours of mages found dead with their throats cut or flint arrowheads in their backs; of leather-clad skulkers who walk unseen amongst us, whose minds resist our control. But we all know the stories: they follow us through the marketplace, rest beside us on our pillows and invade our dreams.

They won't kill me: I'm too useful.

I stare at the wooden door, squinting with pain. My head throbs; my mouth is sour and my body aches. I have nearly spent myself out with magic. It will take days to recover  …  if I live that long. Even if the thieves don't kill me, my father will be on the hunt now. He'll know of my heresy, my betrayal. I can't be certain my faked death will fool him. I think of the captured Knowledge Seekers and give thanks that the thieves kept their lair secret.

The silence is absolute. It's as though I am the only person left alive in this labyrinth. My stomach begins to churn. I could tear the door to splinters with a thought, but I know it isn't there to keep me in: it's to keep those wolf-children out.

I wrap my arms around my body and squeeze until the shivering eases enough for me to notice the slop bucket.
Praise be to Time!
I stagger up too quickly and crack my head on the low ceiling – perfect! – and hunch down again, swearing loudly, using every filthy word I know. Not nearly enough! And feel oddly cheered. When I use the bucket I find that someone has provided paper and a jug of water for washing and feel a stab of gratitude.

Gratitude?
This is what it's like to be a prisoner. The overwhelming vulnerability you feel when the most basic of your needs is no longer in your control. Suddenly, I understand Aidan's barely controlled anger.

Perched once more on the lumpy straw pallet, I try to ignore the stink of mildew and think. Is the Mistress friend or foe? What will she do with me? I remember the black-haired thief who followed Floster like a hound trailing at his mistress's heels. Something had been odd about him, but what? And then I realise: when he looked at me there was no fear in his eyes. Even the Mistress of the Thieves' Guild watches me as though I am a viper who might spit venom at any moment. But Floster's Hound isn't afraid of me. Like Bruin.

The blacksmith's strength, his desire for justice and strong will – I can't quite believe all of that is gone. When I was younger the thought of him was a source of comfort. Like Gerontius. Bruin barely tolerated me, but I didn't mind – not very much. I wish I could forget what I found in the prison's torture rooms. Gruesome images parade before my eyes.
Think of Aidan! Of his blue eyes and beguiling smile.
For a moment, I see him. But he isn't smiling. He stares at me reproachfully, then turns his back.

The emptiness knotting my belly finally drives away these hauntings. And I realise I've never been hungry – really hungry – in my life. Last night I ate myself up with magic and now I'm starving.

Do I demolish the door before the last of my strength fades and I'm trapped? It isn't a real choice. If, despite everything, Benedict has discovered the thieves' den in the catacombs, he could have killed them all while I was lying unconscious. The thought of bodies, broken and twisted as Bruin's, makes me shudder.

Slowly, painfully, I gather water from the air, prepare to mix it with the iron of the hinges. Then the silence is broken at last by the scrape of the door's viewing slot sliding back. The rectangle fills with flickering light. The light is blotted out, replaced with a bloodshot eyeball. It looks at me. I stare back, transfixed: is it thief  …  or mage?

‘Well?' demands a familiar voice. I feel my body slump with relief. ‘Open up then, don't just stand there gawping at her. Here  …  shove over, let me do it.'

My legs don't seem to work. I manage to kneel as the door swings outwards. A figure stands outlined in the flood of torchlight: small, upright, dark. Our eyes are level. Her pointed cat's face is as fierce and solemn as ever. I suddenly want to laugh. I press my lips together but can't stop a half-smile. ‘Good morning, Twiss.'

The fear and panic flooding the catacombs last night is gone. Now all is purposeful. Individuals and groups pad through the tunnels and passages, faces calm, eyes intent. Disaster cannot be imminent. Fear of my father fades. He must think me dead. Will he care? Only that something he owned is lost.

Another striking change in the thieves' lair: all the middlings we pass avert their eyes or ignore me. Their faces show suspicion but not blood lust. Mistress Floster is indeed a woman to be reckoned with.

We pass through the main chamber into a different part of the catacombs. The passages are taller and wider. Oil lamps line the walls; they stink of rancid fat. The dingy yellow flames flicker constantly – the catacombs here must be well ventilated. My feet don't want to walk in a straight line and I'm staggering by the time Twiss finally stops beside one of the larger doors. Two guards have paced behind me the whole journey: a couple of the rare adult thieves. No one has spoken to or touched me.

Twiss raps on the door, pushes it open and enters. A guard jabs my back with her staff, prodding me so hard I nearly fall through the door. I'm in a meeting room of some sort: fairly large, with a rough-tiled floor and limewashed walls. After my cell it seems like a palace.

Candles are placed at intervals on a long table, casting a warm light over the seven people sitting behind it. In that moment, I plunge into cold despair. This is a Council Chamber, like the one in my father's palazzo. And I am on trial, as my mother was. All that is missing is a prisoner pit.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Twiss edge to one side and sit cross-legged against a wall. I swallow dryness and arrange my face in my best imitation of my father at his haughtiest. I gaze from face to face, assessing these people I had thought were my allies. It's as bad as I feared: I would be a fool to expect sympathy or kindness here.

Mistress Floster sits opposite me, her head with its sleek grey hair perfectly still, hazel eyes watching my every breath. I am reminded of the merlin I flew in another life. The thief and the six Knowledge Seekers remain silent, testing my nerve. One of them is Tabitha, but I gain no comfort from her closed, still face. A small fierce thrill of recklessness kindles in the back of my head. I have lost everything. Only my life is left and I'm not that fond of it. So. Let us play.

‘I need food,' I say, staring straight into Floster's chilly gaze. ‘And a chair. Or you can try to question me while I'm lying unconscious on the floor.'

Floster's eyes narrow with what might be amusement. ‘Get the mage a chair. And, Twiss, bring bread and meat.'

Twiss slips from the room. I hear the door softly open and shut. Then the wall behind Floster shifts and a man steps forward. A gasp of surprise escapes my mouth. It's the black-haired thief: Floster's Hound. How could I have missed seeing him before?

He moves soundlessly around the table, brings a rough wooden chair from a corner of the room and sets it on the floor beside me. As he does so he glances sideways and catches my eye, a half-smile on his face. He is gone before I can gather my wits. He lounges against the wall, watching me with amusement in his dark brown eyes. Though he's nearly my father's age, I feel my face grow hot. The thief is handsome and knows it.

I ease myself onto the chair, closing my eyes in relief. Sleep has saved my life, but I've worked more magic than I thought possible in the past twelve hours and my body is starved. Suddenly Twiss is beside me, shoving a bowl of steaming meat and vegetables into my hands. A wooden spoon and crust of bread are stabbed in the middle of the mess. I grab the bowl, then realise with horror that I'm going to have to eat this while Floster and the Knowledge Seekers watch. My dismay must be writ plain on my face because the Hound gives a snort of laughter.