"That last part was cheating," said a voice, "but I'll allow it."

Jack opened his eyes. He knew the voice, of course, but not what its owner planned to do with him. It seemed safer to stay awake.

The Queen was standing above him, her skin glinting under the lace dress like not-very-well-buried treasure. And, tired as he was, the sight of her from this angle couldn't fail to remind him that he was still alive.

She was breathing heavily, just as she had when she'd been listening to Sita solving riddles by Vassago's canyon. When she tried to give that characteristic, lazy wave of her hand, her arm shook.

Had she been excited? Had she been biting her nails? She certainly didn't seem angry that they'd successfully passed through the gauntlet. If he could trust his instincts around her – and he certainly couldn't – he would have said she looked satisfied.

"You did well, interloper," she went on. "You wouldn't have got very far without Sita, but then the torments were specifically designed for you, so it stands to reason that an outsider would keep a clearer head."

"Are you being nice to me?" said Jack. "I can't tell."

Gingerly, he tried to uncoil his arms. He'd been hugging the axe to his chest so tightly that it had sliced through his shirt. There was a raised red line where it had pressed against his skin, but no blood.

He reached out an arm for Sita, without letting go of the axe. She was kneeling on the floor beside him, black sand plastered to her neck and cheek. It looked as though she had got half-way to a standing position and then lost heart – as if she was putting off the moment when she had to put her weight on her injured leg.

They were back in the throne room. He could see the tall black braziers, and the scorch-marks they made on the ceiling. The king was there too, sitting on his throne, looking downcast that the excitement was over. Who knew how long he would have to wait for another interloper to run the gauntlet? Probably the next exciting event on his calendar was the gryphon's one thousandth birthday party, in twenty-eight years' time.

"It would have been quicker if you'd played for us," said the Queen. "Orpheus could move our hearts to pity with a three-minute song. You took the best part of an hour, and were nowhere near so tuneful. But you did move our hearts to pity, in the end."

Jack stared serenely up at her. "I have passed your tests, and beaten your monsters, and your pity has nothing to do with it," he said.

There was still shrapnel in his heart. He was still angry that he'd been tricked. But mostly he was dazed with astonishment. In this place – and even after his mother had spat at him – they'd managed to make him hopeful. He had been terrified and exhausted, and they had managed to make him want something more than a lie down. Did that make him resilient, or just stupid?

And it hadn't been about saving Ellini from her past. It hadn't been a selfless kind of excitement, if there was such a thing. It had been a crazed, romantic, storybook optimism. She had said she would marry whoever found that ring. Yes, she had said it in desperation – to make a point – to put an end to all their hopes – but she had still said it.

It looked as though having a working knowledge of stories both helped and hindered you in this place.

The Queen smiled back at him. "But you have our pity, all the same, interloper. Perhaps one day you'll find a use for it. For example, we will permit you to return. You'll want to, I think."

Jack just blinked. He was too exhausted for laughter. But the Queen probably sensed his derision, because she waved a hand at the doorway they had just passed through, and the slab of stone rose up, with that grinding sound he had hoped never to hear again.

Jack's stomach muscles tightened and dragged him upright. He could see the lake of black water; the orange-capped mountains behind it, curling round the shore like some kind of ridge-backed reptile.

"This place you seemed to find so fascinating was not designed to tempt you," said the Queen. "I was quite dismayed to see you lingering so long by its shore. I haven't been dismayed for a long time, interloper, so perhaps you'll understand my interest in this matter. It meant something to you, I believe? Whether it did or not, it will draw you back now, because you've touched the water."

Jack thought back to the moment when he'd first plunged his hands in there and realized that the liquid was too viscous to be water. He half-remembered – or half-imagined – that the stuff had gone crawling up his sleeves.

The Queen smiled at him again, as if she knew what he was thinking. "I permit you to come back and visit it, as soon as you've taken care of Sita."

Jack raised his eyebrows at this. If she hadn't resurrected his mother and forced her to spit in his face, he might almost have called this woman considerate.

He didn't believe her. He couldn't imagine ever wanting to come back here. The gauntlet had been like playing a concerto very badly and being unable to pass out. But something made him hesitate to reject her offer.

"We can go now, yes?" said Sita. She was still solid, but her strength was failing.

"I'm a woman of my word," said the Queen, closing the door with another wave of her hand. When it slammed into the ground, Jack felt the reverberations in his teeth.

"No more torturing him?" Sita persisted.

"Well, that depends on how sensible he is."

"What does that mean?" said Sita, trying to lift her chin. She couldn't manage it. Her head was too droopy.

"If he gives me the axe – which, let's remember, he no longer needs – the two of you can take the short way home, as opposed to the Orpheus Road."

"The obvious road?" said Sita uncertainly.

"Oh, I hope it isn't," said the Queen, who seemed to be enjoying herself now.

"Orpheus," said the king, making his one and only contribution to the conversation. "The Orpheus Road."

"And this Orpheus Road is longer?" Sita asked.

The Queen tilted her head. "No, I wouldn't say that. It feels longer, because it is–" She paused for effect. "–arduous. But it's only up the stairs and through the meadow you came in by."

She and Sita turned to Jack, but he couldn't look at them. He especially couldn't look at Sita, who was in no condition for an arduous road, but who would – he knew – leave the decision to him.

He looked down at the axe which had saved them so many times and helped to anchor him to sanity. "What do you want it for?" he said, to buy himself more time.

The Queen shrugged her lovely, bony shoulders. "He was forged here. He belongs to me."

Jack sighed. He wasn't sure what kind of answer would have been acceptable, but it wasn't that.

He told himself he wasn't being entirely sentimental. The axe had dropped its head as though it had been impatient to cleave through that dark water. It could prove useful, if he really was going to come back for the ring. But this thought didn't do much to cheer him.

"He's not mine to give away, your Majesty," he said, still avoiding Sita's eyes. "He belongs to a friend."

The Queen exhaled slowly. He wondered if she'd been holding her breath all that time. "Just as you like, interloper. It's your funeral."

There was no regal hand-waving this time. She headed for the huge double-doors at the end of the room and pushed them open herself. 

"It's this way," she said, motioning through the doors to the big black staircase he had descended with Joel and Alim. "You go first and Sita will follow you. Standard mythological rules apply. You mustn't touch her, you mustn't stop, and you mustn't look back. If you do any of these things, she is forfeit."

"Forfeit?" said Jack stupidly.

"She stays here," the Queen explained. "She may even be happier doing so. Have you told her what awaits her on the other side?"

"My sister," said Sita, jutting out her chin. "My sister awaits me, and I don't care what else."

Jack spent some moments – probably longer than was necessary – helping Sita to her feet and making sure she was comfortable. She whimpered and leaned on him heavily when she first put her weight on her injured leg, but the axe turned out to be just the right height for her to use as a crutch, if she stuck the head under her arm.

He tried not to look in her eyes as he fussed over her, but eventually he couldn't help mumbling, "Sorry, Sita. About the axe."

She shook her head. "It'd be a poor reward for all the times it'd saved our lives if we just left it to her." She shot a poisonous look at the Queen. "We'll get out, all three of us. We'll stick together." She lowered her voice and hissed, "By the way, who is Orpheus? She mentioned him before."

Jack looked at her in surprise. "Leeny never told you that story?"

But of course she hadn't. If she had refused to go into the sordid details of the Oedipus legend, she would have avoided Orpheus like the plague. It was too sad, even if you stopped at the loss of Eurydice, and overlooked the bit about him being torn apart by Maenads.

Jack fought the sense of gloom that accompanied this realization. He was in the middle of a story that Ellini, who lived and breathed stories, had considered too sad to tell.

But he wasn't Orpheus. For one thing, he couldn't play anymore. There had to be some advantages to that. This entire place – even before the gauntlet – had been punishing him for not being Orpheus, but he was now in a part of the story where it would be an advantage not to be Orpheus. Perhaps he didn't have a soul, but he had a brain. And in this situation – only this situation, mind – he knew which one he'd prefer.