When I reached to open the door, Remiel put his hand on my shoulder and shook his head. My arm dropped to my side as he pushed me behind him. It was shameful how relieved I was that he was going first, but I didn't have time to dwell on my cowardice as the door swung open with a keening groan.

Gripping his arm with both hands, I pushed up on my toes and peeked into the stairwell. Beyond a dank stench that made me want to rub my nose and darkness, there was nothing that suggested danger. I held my breath, straining to hear anything that might be lying in wait at the bottom, but I heard nothing. Honestly, it might have been a bit anticlimactic if Remiel's expression hadn't remained pinched with worry as he took the first step down.

"Perhaps you should stay up here," he suggested when I moved to follow him.

A part of me cheered at the thought, but it was a small, insignificant part, easily overwhelmed by the panic that speared through my chest at the thought of leaving Remiel to face whatever lurked below alone. If he was harmed to keep me safe, I would never recover. That was enough to banish all my fears.

"No. You need me," I replied, folding my arms over my chest as obstinance drew his brows into a straight line over his brown eyes. "You don't know what you're looking for."

"I'm not convinced you know either," he muttered. "I can at least go down and make sure there's nothing there."

"And how can you do that if you can't see?"

I held up my hand and let flames dance along my fingertips. The fire answered so much better now, leaping to my command with only a thought, and the fear that used to choke me whenever I saw fire so close to my skin was little more than a dull worry. Remiel watched the fire for a long moment, then sighed and nodded. I nudged ahead of him, holding my hand aloft and urging the flames to move to my palm.

Something close to a growl rumbled his chest, and he pulled me against his chest. "You don't need to be in front."

"I'm lighting the way."

"Morana–"

"Remiel," I said, infusing his name with the same amount of exasperation as he put into mine. "I'm not entirely without defenses. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

We were halfway down the stairs now. There was nothing but cobwebs and damp stone walls. But even with my light, the floor below wasn't visible.

"Unless this is more of an ego thing."

"Darling," he purred, hunching over so his mouth was near my ear. "I do believe you're confusing me with someone else. Someone who likes his women weak and dependent on him."

Tievel's name hung unspoken in the air. Remiel wasn't wrong. The prince had wanted to keep me weak because weak meant easily manipulated. Easily used. It had taken me a long time to realize that Tievel hadn't really been hurt by the discovery that I was a Deathsinger. Rather, he had disliked knowing I had power.

"And how do you like your women?" I asked breathlessly. The answer was obvious. He had always supported my attempts to empower myself, but I wanted to hear him say it.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Woman, Morana. There's only one for me, and I–"

I pitched forward, thrown off by the larger drop between the last step and the floor. Remiel caught me around the waist, steadying me before letting me go. Ribbons of shadow spooled around him, somehow blacker than the surrounding darkness. They didn't fade or dim when they neared my fire.

"Here," I said, spying a torch in a sconce on the wall. It caught fire easily and revealed four more torches spread about the circular room. I lit each one, flooding the space with welcome light.

"There's another door."

I spun around as soon as the last torch was lit, extinguishing the fire in my hand. Sure enough, there was a large door directly across from the stairs, but unlike the one upstairs, it was solid iron. Words were etched into the metal, and a chain stretched over the center.

Remiel pointed at the words, his finger hovering just above them without touching. "The Old Tongue. Is it another Song?"

"No. I'm not sure what it is...the words aren't quite right. It seems..." I hesitated, studying the language. "It seems older. Ancient."

"What's older than the Old Tongue?"

"Gods Tongue," I blurted out.

We backed away from the door, our eyes widening as we looked at each other. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.

"You said there was a gap in the memory. Do you remember this room?"

"No. It stopped before we went into the dungeons."

"Could we be in the wrong place? This looks more like a cellar than a dungeon."

"No, this is it. I recognized the door upstairs, and why would a cellar have a chained iron door with Gods Tongue inscribed on it? There is a word on the door that looks similar to a warning in the Old Tongue. I'm sure this door leads to the actual cells. It makes sense that there would be extra precautions taken since this connects to the living quarters in the palace. Even more so if there is a path to the portal beyond this door."

"Well, we're in trouble then. We have no key, and I don't think we will be breaking that door down anytime soon."

"What if I froze the chain, and you struck it with your scythe?"

"I don't think that's–"

But it was too late. I walked up to the door, called my ice magic forward, and gripped the chain. Frost feathered out over the metal, and for one glorious second, I thought it might work. Then the door shuddered, and bitterly cold magic surged back into me, throwing me across the room. Only Remiel's quick reflexes saved me from cracking my head open against the stone floors.

"Morana? Are you hurt?" He brushed back my hair and gasped. "You're freezing."

Ice clung to the tips of my lashes. They melted and dripped onto my cheeks as I struggled to sit upright. Remiel helped me but didn't let me go.

"It pushed my magic back into me. Turned it against me."

"Come on. Let's go back upstairs. We can search for a way in. Now that we're here, we have time. The fires can't get us in here."

Grinding my teeth together, I glared at the door. There had to be another way. The palace was too big to search, and what was the likelihood that anyone had written down its secrets? This was the kind of information that was passed down orally to reduce the risks of the wrong person stumbling across it.

"Morana."

"Wait," I shouted, spying a small hole in the wall. "Look."

"A mouse hole? What of it?"

The floor was cold against my stomach as I lowered myself to peer into the hole. There was only one way to know if it went all the way through to the other side.

"Unless you can turn yourself into a mouse, it's no use to us."

Mouth going dry, I looked back at Remiel. "See, that's the thing. I, um...I can turn into a mouse."

He went completely still. "A Puca."

Hating the censure in his tone, I stood and dusted off my hands. "It was me or him. I needed his power to escape."

For a heartbeat, I worried he was going to walk away, but he took my hand and kissed the knuckles. "I suppose this is the part where I try to talk you out of it, and you ignore me?"

A grin stretched across my face. "Exactly. So, let's just skip ahead, then."

I found that green knot of power that belonged to the Puca and drew on it. Bones snapped as I shrank. Remiel became a giant, and his features blurred as my vision faded. It took me three tries to find the mouse hole, and my tiny nose smarted where I had bumped into the wall.

"Be careful," Remiel said, his voice booming and vibrating my tiny body.

I shimmied inside of the hole, making adjustments to my form as I moved. The space grew smaller the farther back it went, but it kept going. On and on until I feared it actually stretched along the wall instead of through it, but just as I began to despair, I burst into the other side.

Making sure I was truly clear of the wall, I tugged on my magic again and returned to my Elven form. With my sharpened eyesight, I could see, even in the darkness, that this room was much bigger. What appeared to be metal bars ran from the ceiling to the floor.

Turning around, I stretched to my full height and smiled as I saw the iron door. I almost called out to Remiel, but as my mouth opened to form the words, a dry rattling sound behind me drew my attention. Fire flared from my fingertips as I spun around.

Two robed figures hovered in the air. Paper thin skin pulled tight over sharp cheekbones, and where their eyes should be, there was nothing but dark hollows. The one on the right opened its mouth, revealing pointed, rotting teeth.

"She did not come through the door. She is an intruder."

The other one let loose a low rattle. "But she smells right. She carries their blood."

"She did not speak the words."

"Morana!" His voice was faint, but the wall did not muffle the sound of his desperation.

"There is another. We are under attack."

"No!" I shouted, then lowered my voice. "No, we come in peace. I am Princess Moranthia."

There was a pause. Then the one on the right raised its bony fingers. "You did not speak the words, and we have not fed in a very long time."