For that matter, the riddle had gone on, telling her to seek it in the den of the three-faced reptile. Well, she was in Amberhill’s den, but she didn’t get the reference to three—

“Miss G’ladheon?” Dr. Silk glanced back at her in annoyance. A guard shoved her forward, and they were off once again.

“Rider G’ladheon,” Karigan muttered.

They did not enter the passage to the left of the fountain, as she had hoped, but they took the one right after it. Close, but not close enough. Some ways down the corridor, a guard unlocked a stout door and opened it for them. She followed Dr. Silk into a chamber quietly lit. At first all she made out were stacks of wooden crates, then tables and cabinets draped in sheets. Dusty, odd-shaped glassware and copper tubes glinted on shelves. In the very back of the chamber was a darkened cell.

“This is the emperor’s old laboratory where he once studied Eletians,” Dr. Silk explained. “As you can see, it has not been used in some time since there have been no specimens to study until now.”

Lhean.

“At my dinner party, you saw the one I captured. You knew him, didn’t you? He came with you through time. He was on the Blackveil expedition. It is the only explanation.”

Karigan had been peering into the distant darkness of the cell, but now she turned to Dr. Silk. “He didn’t tell you?”

“He won’t speak most of the time, and when he does, it is Eltish gibberish. I’d ask my father to pry information from him, but I want him to be pristine when I officially present him to the emperor.”

Karigan shuddered at the word “pristine.”

“So, was the Eletian you saw at my party one of your companions?”

“Yes.”

He looked jubilant. “Then let us reunite you. Perhaps he will deign to speak if he sees you.”

He led the way between crates and tables to the back of the room to the cell. He raised a lever in the wall and a ceiling fixture threw cold light into the cell. There, behind steel bars, on a scattering of straw strewn on the floor, sat Lhean, legs crossed, hands on his knees, eyes closed as though he slept in the awkward position. Nothing of his armor remained, just the black clothlike membrane clinging to his skin, stiff-looking with dried ichor. His face was thin and pale, the radiance she associated with Eletians faded or absent altogether. He appeared not to sense their arrival.

“He has spent most of his time in these trances to evade interacting with us,” Dr. Silk said.

More like he’s trying to preserve himself, Karigan thought. He appeared barely to breathe.

“Make him talk,” Dr. Silk ordered her.

“Make him?”

“Or our agreement is off, and I’ll find ways to make you reveal your ability.”

“I told you—”

“That it can’t be coerced. I grant it may make it more difficult, but I don’t believe you for one moment. I am humoring you, Miss G’ladheon, because it’s easier. Unless you humor me, your situation, and Mr. Harlowe’s, will only grow more difficult.”

So he would use Cade as leverage after all, to manipulate her. She could not say she was surprised. His honorable word was not worth much, and better she learn it now rather than later.

“Remember, if you please me,” Dr. Silk said, “I have the influence to make the coming days easier on Mr. Harlowe.”

His lack of honor did not defeat her. After all, she’d come to Gossham wanting to find Lhean, and here Dr. Silk had delivered her right to him. The rescuing part, however, was going to be harder, much harder, especially since the list now included Cade, Lorine, and Arhys. Not to mention herself. In the meantime, she must keep Dr. Silk happy.

She sighed. “I can guarantee nothing, but I will try.”

“That is all I ask.”

She pressed right up against the bars of the cage, her manacles ringing against the steel. “Lhean?” she said.

“Is that the creature’s name?” Dr. Silk asked, excitement behind his words.

She ignored him. “Lhean, it’s me, Karigan. Er, the Galadheon.”

Slowly his eyes opened, and they were the startling blue she remembered.

“A mien, Galadheon.” Then he rattled off a whole stream of words in Eletian.

“What did he say?” Dr. Silk asked.

“I—I don’t speak Eletian,” Karigan replied, but she had gotten the impression that Lhean had insulted the company she kept. “Lhean, could you speak in the common, please? Dr. Silk knows how we came to be here in his time.”

Lhean deigned to gaze at Dr. Silk with a baleful glare and then spat more Eletian at him. The language was always lyrical, more music than mere words that made the glassware on the shelves chime, but even Dr. Silk could not possibly mistake the strains of venom in Lhean’s speech. The effort appeared to tax him, and he struggled to remain sitting up.

“Lhean?”

“This place,” he said, finally speaking in the common, “is killing me.”

Karigan turned to Dr. Silk. “Have you not been caring for him? Have you been offering him any food and water?”

“We have, but he refuses food.” Dr. Silk shrugged. “He has taken some water.”

“Lhean,” Karigan said, “what can we do to help you?”

“Take me home.”

It was so plaintively said, and expressed all that Karigan felt as well. “I do not know the way.”

Dr. Silk chuckled. “We would not let you go even if you did.”