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"I knew you’d say that" The slightest sarden is so to do"

He sighs, resigned "Times like this, I miss Alejandro He was h

"Hold on to o"

I glance over at Xi her to protest, but she just stares at Hector, her face unreadable

Fernando steps into the hole first, holding the torch aloft, and Hector follows When my turn comes, I’m careful to land squarely on the balls of reen sli strands of hair from my temples We are sure to encounter water on this expedition, for the underground river is nearby, its rushing steady and monstrous, so ever-present that it is alht and steep The close-in walls are covered with the slime, and I’m reluctant to touch them, even for balance I find it’s easier to leave my hand at the crook of Hector’s shoulder and trust hiht

"There are scuffs in the slime," Fernando says, and his voice echoes around us "Someone passed this way"

"There were no footprints in the tomb," Hector asks

"Did the floor look too clean, by chance?" I ask "Who was first to investigate?"

Hector pauses on the step, and hs But he continues without answering Maybe he doesn’t want to na of his men

My wounded abdomen throbs with strain by the time the stair ends at a low tunnel The sand floor is smoothly rippled, like a beach after the waves have retreated

"It’s flooded at high tide," Hector says as I’ the same conclusion "There’s the water line" He points to the wall, where a wainscoting of barnacles reaches knee-high

I s against disappointment All trace of those who passed before will have washed away, and we are unlikely to find a clue here about my would-be assassin

Fernando squeals, and we all julad for my desert boots, which are i creatures

So on the wall catches my eye--a carved rivulet in the stone "What’s that?" I point

Fernando lifts his torch to reveal a line of script, each letter the height of nition

"It’s in the Lengua Classica," Ximena says, her voice breathy onder "Froate that leads to life is narrow and small so that few find it"

Xiers She was a scribe at the Monastery-at-Amalur before she became my nurse, and like me, she has a reverent interest in ancient texts and holy writings

"Look at this loop here," she says "And the flip at the end of the accent mark This style of script hasn’t been used for centuries"

"But is it ?" I muse "Which direction ‘leads to life’?"

"Only one way to find out," Hector says, and it warms me to hear the anticipation in his voice

The lihter until the corridor is barely wide enough for the guards’ arh it’s cool and breezy, I’e, so heavy A whole city goes about its business up there I’ very nervous when Fernando announces, "Another stair"

This one leads upward, straight instead of spiraled, and rough-hewn as if carved by a giant clulad to note dry, mold-free steps

"Fernando," says Hector "Aiuard puts the torch behind his back Ximena does the salow, faint but true, illuminates the stairway

"Do you think it leads outside?" I ask

"We’ve descended too far," Hector says "Unless I’ve gotten turned around, I think we’re beneath the Wallows"

The Wallows The erous quarter of my city, where I’m not to travel even with an armed escort The place each monarch before me has vowed to improve, with ars and black-ether to form a society within a society, outside of aze fierce "Majesty, if I sense danger, I’ll hustle you away, against your will if necessary"

"And if that happens, I proed" It comes out more sharply than I intend,yanks at e is so tight and steep that hanging on to Hector is ets louder, and the glow brightens Soon we don’t need the torches at all I can’t iround

The stairway levels off Fernando gasps, and I’m about to ask hihtness

The stair has ended at a high ledge overlooking the ainst the sheer wall opposite our ledge The water is as s wind attests to rapids nearby To our left, the wall is riddled with s ladders and scalloping rope bridges On the floor of the cavern are several large huts, cobbled together frooing about their lives as if this were any ordinary place A woman sits fra soest hut, two bearded, wind-chapped roup of barefoot children plays a gah cracks in the ceiling These sunlit crevices are lush with plants: broad-leafed creepers, a few ferns, and hundreds of hanging vines that don’t quite brush the tops of the huts

"It’s a whole village," I whisper, "right beneath our feet all this time"

"I’ve not even heard of this place," Hector whispers back

But the peculiar nature of the cavern amplifies our voices, carries them to the huts below Everyone freezes and looks up I see my own shock mirrored in their faces

Hector’s hand flies to his scabbard He and Fernando step up to shield me from view But it is too late, for soasps of surprise, utensils clattering, running footsteps