However dour the exterior of the manse was, the interior was full of life and love and family.

If this war went forward, where he was in his mourning, this terrible stretch of pain, was going to rain down upon this house and the people in it.

He would not put someone he hated in his shoes, living with this loneliness and heartache.

He could not put those he loved where he was.

Not if there were a way to stop it.

At the very moment he made his decision, a ray of sunlight broke across the rooftop, that incredible light spilling down over the orderly rows of slate.

Selena had made him swear he would live without her, and he had given her that vow, but only because she’d forced him to.

It wasn’t as if he’d believed what he’d told her.

Now, though, as he imagined all the lives he could save, how he could protect these males and females and their young?

“This is as close as I can come, my queen,” he said to the sky.

SEVENTY-EIGHT

It took them forever to get to the sacred astrology chamber.

Or at least it seemed that way to Catra. Then again, with every corner they turned, and each straightaway traveled down, she expected to get jumped, arrested, sent to a prison cell.

Along the way, s’Ex revealed to her hidden rooms and passageways she’d had no clue about—and proved himself to be capable beyond measure: sure of foot, fleet of mind, both careful and aggressive.

Finally, however, they not only gained access to the palace and its grounds, but the innermost restricted areas of her mother’s compound where few were allowed and security was at its highest. They had one advantage, at least: The guards who were in search of her were preoccupied with looking on the exterior, convinced they had searched the Queen’s domain sufficiently—and the rest of s’Ex’s males were gathering in the center courtyard and preparing to fight.

It was a grim affair. The lot of it.

But they were able to move faster and with, thus far, no notice.

Part of her wanted to check to make sure her mother was following the rituals so that they would not be chanced upon in the astrology chamber, but there could be no risking a reveal of her presence.

They had one and only one chance to get to the records.

“Here,” s’Ex whispered as he stopped abruptly.

She frowned under her hood. “The entrance to the chamber is up farther ahead, is it not.”

“No, our entry is here.”

Freeing his hand from his robing’s voluminous sleeve, he placed his palm against the wall. Instantaneously, a pocket door slid open, disappearing into its slot.

The moment she smelled the incense, she knew they were close, and yet the space revealed was pitch-black.

She stepped in without hesitation, and felt s’Ex’s looming weight come in behind her. When the door shut itself, she might as well have been blindfolded.

Keeping his voice down, s’Ex said, “Reach out ahead of you.”

As she followed the command, she felt something rough.

“Walk to the left,” he commanded. “Keep your hand on the wall to guide you.”

When she did, she slammed right into his chest. “Sorry.”

He turned her around. “Your other left.”

Shuffling along, she could barely breathe. They must be going parallel to the corridor outside, she thought, this inner space a shadow of the outer, public one.

“I built these passages,” he whispered. “I know them by heart.”

“Very smart of you—”

“Stop.”

Obeying him, she dropped her hand. “Now what.”

“Look to your right.”

At first, when she did, she saw nothing save more blackness. Except . . . no. There were tiny fissures of glowing red in the wall, as if some ghostly hand had drawn a pattern of dots with a mystical pen.

Tiles, she thought with awe. They were on the opposite side of a tiled partition.

Reaching her hand back out, she touched them.

“Let me go first,” he said. “And do not come out until I say so.”

Stepping aside so that he could trade places with her, she watched as his tremendous palm cut a swath into the subtle cubic pattern. . . .

When he pushed, the tiles broke apart on a seam that was uneven. Except nothing cracked or crumbled; there was no structural damage. It had been built to accommodate such access.

And beyond was a strange, overwhelming light source.

s’Ex walked forward into the circular chamber beyond with that serrated blade up in front of him, ready to attack.

“Clear,” he hissed.

Taking a deep breath, she left the darkness for that amazing light.

Except it wasn’t anything magical. It was normal candlelight, housed in a room of magnificent red marble.

Wait, no, the illumination wasn’t from wicks. It was the sun, pouring through an immense, curved sheet of glass in the ceiling. And when it was nighttime, she reflected, one would be able to keenly observe and monitor the stars from the transparent oculus.

They moved in silence across the space, their soft-soled shoes lending themselves to muffled footfalls over the red marble flooring. In the center of the room, there was a circle cut in the floor, perhaps for a dais that lifted up like the one in the reception area at the palace? There was no furniture, no wall hangings, nothing that would impede one’s devoted concentration.

More importantly, there was nobody else around.

Three doors. There were three doors . . . one that opened to the concourse. One that was probably the private residence of the Chief Astrologer. And the other . . .

“The record room is through there,” s’Ex said, pointing at that third door.

Denoted by its gold jamb, and the inscribed words above it, the sacred place could not be mistaken, and she felt a shimmer of awe even with the pressures of time and circumstance dampening all her emotions.

Striding forward, she put her hand out—

“No. Your palm won’t work.”

s’Ex placed his on the correct spot on the smooth, unmarked panel and . . .

Nothing happened.

He tried again. “They’ve removed me from the computer. And chances are I’ve just set off an alarm.” Turning to her, he said, “We have to get out of here. Now.”

“No! I need to see—”

“We don’t have time to argue.” Grabbing her hand, he began to drag her back across to the secret passageway. “I don’t want your death on my conscience.”

Yanking against his far superior strength, she blurted, “I think my mother has engineered the birth records!”

s’Ex froze. “What?”

Catra kept pulling against his hold and got nowhere. She might as well have been tied to a tree. “I can’t be certain until I get in there. But I believe she may have deliberately altered birthing records to her own ends. I need to get in there to be sure. Please.”

s’Ex reached up and removed his headdress, and as he let it fall to the smooth red floor, his eyes narrowed and flashed peridot.

“How sure,” he demanded.

“Willing to put my life on it. And yours.”

His decision was announced as he looked at the locked door—and then, without making any fuss, he took two leaps toward it . . . and buried that serrated blade right into what turned out to be a seam.

Either that, or he simply made one.

Placing both hands on the knife’s hilt, he put his tremendous weight to the side and crack! He made an entry into the small gold room.

“Make it fast,” he said grimly.

Catra wasted no time. Running over the chips of stones, she jumped inside and slid on the gold floor, throwing her arms out to balance herself.

Numbers. She saw a thousand gold drawers marked by numbers.

It was all arranged by birth date, not name.

Closing her eyes, she cursed. She had no idea when Trez had been born.

Except, wait—up high on the right, there were two drawers that were not gold. They were white.