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“Opeth,” Trysta says, calmly, calm as Damon ordered her to be. “Take your blade away. She had no choice.”

“No choice?” Opeth growls. “That was an empty threat. We were gone. Atticul had no way of hurting us until she turned traitor. She should have kept quiet. She should die for this.”

“No,” says Trysta. Her hand is on her sword hilt and Damon doesn’t have the will to make her stand down again.

“Then what?” says Opeth. “We take her with us and she betrays us the first chance we get? Or we leave her and she runs to warn Atticul and his bodymen?”

“I wouldn’t,” Razelii says. “I swear. Trysta, please. I love you.”

“Put your knife down, Opeth,” says Trysta. “Please. It’s safe. She’s safe.”

Opeth obeys with a dark look at Trysta. She moves her knife from Razelii’s throat and as she does, Razelii moves. She snatches the knife Opeth holds and barrels forward, sinking the blade into Trysta’s shoulder as she races past. Trysta cries out in pain and rage, stumbling back. Damon catches her in his arms.

“Fuck,” Trysta groans, pulling the dagger from her shoulder. Damon claps a hand over the wound.

“I’ll get her,” Opeth says.

But Damon grabs her wrist. “No. I need you.” He looks her in the eyes. Her eyes are dark grey, mesmerising. “Lyr needs you.”

Damon lifts his hand and checks Trysta’s wound. It doesn’t look bad. Not as deep as it could have been. He looks at Trysta. “You go. Find her.”

Trysta nods. “Sire.”

Opeth looks warily at Damon, but he says, “And you, come with me.”

Damon watches Trysta race off along the passage after Razelii, then leads Opeth back to the statue that hides the spiral staircase. Most of the Rose Palace is still deserted in the early hours long before dawn.

As they begin to descend the staircase, Opeth says, “Why did you want me with you and not your soldier?”

“I wanted to ask you something,” Damon says simply.

“What?”

“Promise me you are certain Jareleezi did not curse me?”

From above him, Opeth says, “Curse you?”

“Those runes on Lyr’s chest? You are certain they were not some magic meant to bewitch me into wanting him.”

“Damon, I am from Voluptue,” Opeth says. “An island where sex and magic intertwine. And where we know no magic can truly change a man’s heart. The brands could have some lust magic in them. Perhaps something that enhances things when you couple, but anything else you feel is real. It couldn’t be anything else. A magic that powerful could never exist.”

“Then why do I feel the way I do? Why did I do such things for him?”

“For the oldest and simplest of reasons, Damon Darekul. For love. Did Jareleezi use magic to make you feel so? No. Such a thing would be impossible. Did she select Lyr because her dark Gods knew you would fall for him and it would change the course of your life? Yes. Perhaps. It cannot be denied that it has.”

“Changed my life in a way that would lead me to her? For her dark ends?”

“Who can say?” Opeth says lightly. “I will tell you what I told Lyr. The future is not written.”

Damon reaches the bottom of the staircase. He feels strange. His throat aches like he is holding back a wave of emotion that would drown him. “And I forsook him. I let Atticul take him to what I was sure meant his death and lost myself in sofi.”

“Damon.” Opeth reaches the bottom of the staircase herself and faces him. She puts her palm on his face. “You are here now. He lives and you will be with him.”

“He should spit in my face,” Damon says.

Opeth says nothing. They walk along the damp tunnel, eventually reaching a wider, candlelit passage. The route to the dungeons. They have not gone far when the passage brings them to a small room. A doorway from it leads into a larger space, light spills from the doorway and sounds of good-natured argument.

“The guards’ room,” Opeth whispers. “The Hare said we would need to get past it.”