The wall is cold, rough under my outstretched fingers. The darkness presses in on all sides, but through the gloom I can make out a weak, flickering light. I keep my eyes trained straight ahead as I cautiously force one foot in front of another, placing them gingerly on the stairs and trying to keep my unsteady steps as silent as possible. With one hand I clutch my dagger against an aching rib and with the other I lean on the wall, trailing my fingers against it for balance.

The battle fades behind me as I sink deeper and deeper below the Palace. I attempt to orient myself as I descend, trying and failing to gauge the distance. I should have guessed that the King would have an alternate escape plan in case of uprisings; likely, this tunnel has been in place for more than a hundred years. I kick myself for not having thought to seek it out beforehand. This is exactly the type of information I should have brought back to Will.

At the thought, I suddenly startle; I just left Will and Marc completely in the lurch. When they come back and find me missing, what will they think? I didn't even take a moment to leave a trail. Stupid, Kay. I stop in my tracks, for the briefest of moments considering going back up. What madness is this, voluntarily returning belowground after finally making it back up to the surface?

If the past days have taught me anything, it's that my madness knows no limits.

As if acting of their own accord, my legs awaken and continue to lead me down the stairs. My fingers furl more securely around the hilt of my dagger, but I am all too aware that I am hardly in any shape for hand-to-hand combat. My left knee trembles uncontrollably, my back is freshly torn from the fight up above, and the time spent with limited food and water has caused my vision to swim and my breath to hitch in my throat. It was blind chance that I defeated Harmen but I would be a fool to think I could be so lucky a second time.

I utter a silent prayer to the gods of fortune and combat, then offer up a plea to the protector of the underworld as an afterthought. Tonight, the King will pay.

Finally, my foot hits the bottom of the stairs and I find myself in a low-ceilinged hallway. The stone walls cast eerie shadows, their bumpy surfaces appearing razor-sharp in the weak torchlight. I pause momentarily, listening intently before I take a step forward, still trailing my fingers for balance. The tunnel seems to curve gradually to my right and I hug the wall as I sidle along, fighting to keep my breaths shallow and my footsteps light.

The faint glow up ahead intensifies as I move down the path. My heart is thumping so loudly I can almost hear it echoing off the stone walls surrounding me. After what seems like an eternity of breathless silence, I finally reach the end of the tunnel and a room comes into view. I press myself against the wall and wait, ears perked for any sounds coming from within. Hearing nothing, I lean cautiously around the arched entranceway, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of the space beyond.

When I spy no movement, I wipe my sweaty and bloodstained palms on my thighs and adjust my grip on the hilt of my dagger. Steeling my breath, I hold my weapon upright and slowly ease around the corner.

The room is dim, lit only by a few scattered torches. It is completely bare but for a couple of low beds pushed against one wall and an assortment of wooden trunks resting opposite. I'd wager this bunker has been set up in preparation for a lengthy stay.

At the furthest end of the room, I can dimly make out the continuation of the tunnel. Feeling exposed, I creep across the bunker toward the gaping maw. The unwavering darkness up ahead ebbs ever closer and I feel all of my senses on high alert for any disturbances.

Finally reaching the lip of the tunnel, I place one hand on the archway and peer into the gloom. There is nothing: not the faint glow of torchlight, nor the echo of a footstep retreating down the passage. Holding my breath, I cautiously take a step inside.

At once, a gasp of pain escapes my lips and I stagger back.

The point of a sword is lodged in my shoulder. As I watch, it is slowly withdrawn and I marvel in wide-eyed fascination at the patch of blood that forms. I look up, taking another step back as the King emerges from the shadows. His broad form slips free of the passage, trapping me in the bunker.

I lurch backward, clutching my injured arm. My fingers come away covered in blood. I stare past my blood-soaked hand and up at the King, tall and imposing as he moves purposely toward me, the red-tipped sword grasped tightly in his fist.

"I might have known you would find me down here." His pupil-less eyes are cold, bulging wide and filled with fury. "You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?"

I stumble on my weak leg and my back smacks hard against a wall. I stretch out my arm and grapple madly for the entrance, wincing when I find it out of reach. The King glances over at the rust-coloured stain my blood-drenched fingers leave on the stone, licking his fleshy lips.

"Why won't you just die already?" he snarls. "I can't understand it. How is it that an ignorant commoner has come to be the greatest bane of my existence?" He adjusts the sword in his hand, levelling the deadly tip at me. "Tell me, Runner. What do I have to do in order to finally be rid of you?"

My eyes flick down and up again. "My family is dead because of you."

His nostrils flare, the ends of his grey moustache pulling tight across his cheeks. "You will join them."

"It doesn't matter," I tell him. "You can kill me, but I promise you that it won't make a bit of difference. The people have revolted; they don't want you anymore. Get used to this tomb, Francis. It is the only place you are welcome." Behind my back, I grip my dagger in a trembling hand.

The point of the sword rotates at my throat but I keep my eyes trained on his, directing every ounce of hate and pain within me into his soulless eyes.

"Insolent peasant," he rasps.

I note with satisfaction that some of the colour has drained from his face.

"You don't realize what it is you have done." His deep voice is strained. "You are ignorant of this world. The people need a leader. Without me, they are nothing. You have unleashed a roving pack of mindless drones on this city, and sooner or later they will turn on each other; it is only a matter of time."

"You misunderstand me." I grimace and clutch more tightly at my shoulder, ignoring the sensation of something running between my fingers. "They will have a leader—it just won't be you." I draw a breath, gathering my strength. "You have been revealed for who you truly are: a failure. You're a heartless coward, hiding in the cellar of a ruined Palace. Your own people have cast you out and will kill you on sight. This is what your cruelty and selfishness has wrought. You have no one to blame for your downfall but yourself."

An inhuman cry escapes his lips and he lunges at me, arcing the sword toward my heart. I bring my dagger up and parry his blade, sidestepping him and diving to the ground. He stumbles, tripping over my flayed legs before he rights himself and stabs downward madly.

I turn onto my back and parry again, bringing my elbow up and smashing it into his cheekbone. My shoulder tears painfully at the movement and I roll away, desperately trying to scramble out from under him.

"You bitch." He staggers back, recovers quickly and swipes again, raking the sword across my side.

I kick out, connecting with something solid as I fight to get back on my feet. My hands lose purchase on the slick stone and I switch tactics, trying to use my back as leverage against the wall in order to rise. I look up to see the King limping back in my direction, his sword raised and glinting in the dim light.

I barely manage to duck out of the way before he lashes out; dodging, I feel an unmistakable rush of air against my bare arm. Bringing my weapon across the floor, I summon every last ounce of strength I have left and thrust the pointed end of the dagger into the King's ankle.

He howls in pain, clutching his foot in one hand and hobbling a couple of steps away from me. Now weaponless, I scrabble against the floor, using my one uninjured arm to try and push up onto my feet.

Across the room, I see him grasp the hilt of my dagger and wrench it from his leg, a savage yell tearing from his throat. There is the sound of metal striking stone as he hurls my paltry weapon away from him and whirls back to face me. He takes a shuddering step forward, a river of blood dripping freely from his ankle as he drags the useless foot across the floor.

I feel my back press against the unforgiving stone wall and will myself to stand, fighting a surge of panic as the energy ebbs from my body. I begin to feel lightheaded from the loss of blood and shake my head to clear it, managing to register the image of the King, hunched, his fine ceremonial robes torn and stained, stalking heavily toward me. His face is twisted, the blood-covered sword poised and ready.

This time, I truly am out of luck.

"Die, Runner." The sword levels with my throat and I shut my eyes, awaiting the final blow.

"Wait."

Time freezes. I ease my eyes open, first noticing the point of the sword inches from my neck, and then a stranger standing behind the King. A tall, shadowy figure has just emerged from the far tunnel.

No one moves. My heart thuds heavily in my chest and I have the clarity to realize each beat is leaking more of my life force out of my wounds.

"Megra?" The King is the first to break the silence. His sword stays trained on me as he rotates slightly, stumbling on his injured leg. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come for you, Father," she says calmly, moving further into the room. Torchlight drenches her, illuminating her slim frame so that she appears almost otherworldly.

I clutch my shoulder, drawing shallow breaths.

Meg is dressed in pants and a tunic, her coal-black hair pulled back from her face and woven into a tight braid. In her hand she clutches a sword, long and elegant and gleaming brilliantly in the flickering light. Her eyes dart to me momentarily before they come back to rest on the King.

The blade at my throat lowers until it scrapes against the ground. "I don't understand," the King sputters. "I thought they kidnapped you. Did you escape?"

His voice trails off as realization slowly dawns.

"You're...with them?" he finally chokes out, visibly quaking with rage.

She shakes her head. "No, Father. They're with me."

The King whips back around, staring at me in disbelief. I loll my head against the wall to look up, shrugging my one good shoulder, apologetically. "I told you we had a leader."

Meg's face remains impassive as he turns to face her. "It's over, Father. The time has come for you to step aside. Your reign has ended."

His whole body begins to tremble with anger. From my position on the ground, I can see his knuckles flexing as he grips his sword even tighter.

"I don't have to kill you," Meg continues. There is the barest trace of emotion in her measured tone, but she straightens her slender shoulders and continues. "You can surrender, support the new policies that I will be instituting and live out the rest of your days in the Wastelands. I cannot pardon your crimes, Father, but as a daughter I wish to show you an act of mercy."

"You wish to show me mercy?" he snarls. "I am your father. You will do as I say. Now, stand down."

She shakes her head, slowly. "I am afraid I cannot let you leave. Lower your sword and you will still have a chance of redeeming yourself."

"I am the King," he shouts, his great, booming voice echoing off the walls of the stone bunker. "Do you understand me? This is my city and neither I, nor it, will be brought down by a couple of common...girls." He whirls on me and raises his sword in the air, arching it toward my throat.

"Father, don't!"

I gasp and jerk back against the wall, my shoulders slamming painfully into the rock behind me.

The King's eyes bulge and his mouth drops open in surprise. My gaze darts from his face to his raised sword, watching wide-eyed as it clatters to the ground.

The King glances down, touches his fingers lightly to his chest, then brings them up to look at the red coating. His dark eyes glaze over and come back up to look at me, indignation written across his face.

He slumps down to his knees on the floor, rocking once before he pitches face first onto the stone. A heavy coating of blood oozes from a wound in his back and drips onto the floor.

Eventually, I manage to tear my eyes away from the King and bring them back to Meg.

She stands a step behind him, her sword lowered impassively. She stares down at her father's body, a look of sadness and grim determination etched across her elegant features.

"Meg?" I rasp.

The spell is broken and she looks up, recognition dawning. She sheathes her sword and moves toward me, delicately stepping over the King's splayed legs before lowering herself into a crouch.

"Gods, Kay. Are you sure that you're alive?"

Relief ebbs through my body and I laugh, immediately regretting it when the action tugs at my shoulder wound.

"I can't believe you're here," I say, when I have recovered my breath.

"I figured he would try to come through this way," she says, anticipating my next question and relieving me of having to speak more than I have to. "I came alone because I thought I might have a chance of reasoning with him." She glances back toward his fallen figure. "I should have known better."

"You saved my life," I tell her.

A sad smile tugs at her lips. "I suppose that makes us even."

"I'm so sorry. About all of it."

She shakes her head furiously. "You don't have anything to apologize for. Will explained everything." One cool hand comes up to my cheek, feeling marvellous against the hot, flaming skin. "You went through so much in order to protect me. You believed in me when no one else would. I owe you everything."

I grin, feeling my bruises pull against the tender skin. "A true lady is loyal to her queen."

A sudden spasm of pain shudders through me and I clutch my shoulder, grimacing. Meg makes a low tutting noise in her throat and gently helps manoeuvre my uninjured arm around her neck, then eases me to my feet.

"We should get you somewhere safe," she says, looking to the tunnel she emerged from, back toward the City.

I shake my head. "No, we need to go up to the Palace. Will is still there. I need to find him."

She shakes her head but dutifully turns us toward the stairs. "Each of you is as impossible as the other. You should have seen Will when we received word about your arrest; I thought he would tear the entire city down brick by brick until he brought you back."

We move down the tunnel back toward the stairs, our progress slow as Meg helps my feet find purchase on each of the steps.

"What do you think we'll discover when we get up there?" I ask as we ascend, listening for the sounds of the battle above.

I can't see much in the darkness, but I imagine my friend's face scrunched up in serious thought. "I suppose we will find the new world."