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“Agnes,” my sister said through clenched teeth. “Look at him. Don’t you see?”

No, I didn’t see—I didn’t want to see. His Majesty stretched and rearranged himself in Valérie’s arms, looking more comfortable there than he ever had in mine, or anyone’s since Robin. Ordinarily the cat would deign to be held for only a brief time, but there he was, lounging upon Valérie as if she were a throne. I didn’t have the sense that he was ignoring me, particularly, as he eyed one of the spiders with the self-satisfaction of a predator that could catch anything he deemed worth his while; rather, he didn’t seem to care enough about my presence to be interested. And I realized that I wasn’t surprised, which somehow hurt worse than the betrayal itself.

“He showed her a way in,” Havelock said unnecessarily. He held Valérie’s gaze, but his focus seemed to be on something else: the string of pearls that Valérie had wrapped twice around her hand, the one she now lifted to scratch the cat’s chin. I remembered those pearls, the iridescent, undersea shine of them against my own hand as I recorded them in the catalogue, but I couldn’t remember what enchantment they contained. I only remembered being afraid when I found out, and replacing them hastily in the cabinet.

Panic pierced through the fog of misery that had settled over me. How long had Valérie been down here? How many of Havelock’s most dangerous Artefacts had she taken into her possession?

“Where did you get in?” Havelock said. His face was cold, but it didn’t seem genuine this time. I knew by now that Valérie wasn’t Havelock’s enemy, even if she’d declared him hers. She was only his sister.

I remembered then what the necklace did: a particularly nasty yet elegant weapon, each pearl transforming into a tiny crystalline arrowhead when the magic was unleashed, which would lodge deep beneath the skin and burrow until they reached the heart. Would Valérie truly use the enchantment on Havelock? I felt sick.

Valérie smiled. She seemed to be enjoying herself, oblivious to the turmoil in Havelock’s expression. “Would it be as much fun if I told you, Lock? Never mind. It doesn’t matter now, does it? I don’t know if I would have ever found a gap in your wards—you wove them together so tightly, and in so many layers, after last time. But do you know who could?”

She hoisted His Majesty onto her shoulders, where he dug in his claws—probably painfully, but Valérie gave no sign of minding. “I suspect he knows more than one way in and out of your lair. But one was all I needed.”

“Where,” Havelock repeated.

“The basement in the shop next door has collapsed,” Valérie said. “Long ago. Nothing a little magic couldn’t fix, of course. And between that basement and this one is the narrowest of passages—just wide enough for a cat. Well, it was—now it’s wide enough for, oh, a dozen magicians. You didn’t think to extend your wards to the basement, did you? Another oversight on your part.”

I had been so fixated on His Majesty that I hadn’t noticed anything besides the three of them. Now I began to hear them, shuffling about among the neatly organized cabinets. They came forward, each carrying several Artefacts: there was the sword that, I remembered, could blast a hole through solid stone; the golden hourglass that would immobilize one’s opponent for as long as it took the sand to fall (about four minutes); the satchel of coins that turned to molten gold, burning anything they touched; and the black-and-white umbrella that transformed into a flock of magpies when unfurled. This last had initially sounded innocuous, but Havelock had assured me that such spells created monsters bound to their master’s will, and were almost always put to violent purposes.

Valérie’s apprentices might have been furniture, for all Havelock reacted to their presence. His left hand, held loosely at his side, moved only slightly, his thumb sliding over his rings. Did he have upon his person any enchantments that could defeat this many magicians, bearing Artefacts from his own collection? It seemed unlikely.

“This was awfully helpful, by the way,” Valérie said, adjusting her hold on His Majesty so that she could turn to pluck something off Havelock’s worktable. It was my notebook, in which I’d been cataloguing the Artefacts in Havelock’s collection. “It would have taken us a long time to work out which of these Artefacts would best incapacitate you. Don’t you see how much easier it would have been for you if you had simply given me Vortigern’s book?”

“I wanted to give it to you,” Havelock said. I think he’d forgotten about all of us by that point. He never took his eyes off Valérie. “I’ve always wanted to. Ri—”

“Have you?” Valérie tilted her head to one side. “I don’t believe you, my dear. I think the only thing you’ve ever wanted is to sit down here with your hoard, hidden away from the world and everyone in it, like you used to do with your silly novels. What a waste! You have so much power, and what do you do with it?” A bitter note entered her voice. “You should have let me guide you, as I did when we were young. I would have shown you how to be a proper king—all you have now is an empty title that most use only to mock you. A throne made of twigs.”

“I don’t care who mocks me, provided they leave me alone,” Havelock said.

She made a frustrated sound. “You’re so childish, Lock. Never thinking of anyone but yourself.”

Havelock’s hand clenched and unclenched. “Someone should, don’t you think?”

“Petulant, too.” She paused abruptly, and the anger faded from her face, leaving behind a glimmer of confusion, as if its presence had surprised her. “Never mind.”

She removed the compass from around her neck and held it before her, then moved through the workshop, her gaze fixed upon the glass. I was trying to work out where all of Valérie’s apprentices were—at least two more were on the floor below us, judging by the muttered conversation I heard. How could Havelock overpower them all?

“Ri,” Havelock said quietly.

She ignored him. She came to a stop in the middle of the floor, away from the cabinets and some paces from Havelock’s desk, and frowned at the compass. The glass needle, which had directed her to that spot, now spun around and around in circles, seemingly aimless—the light flashed off it in tiny sparks as it moved.

“It’s below,” she said to the apprentice who’d come to stand behind her, a narrow-faced man with a ragged waterfall of a beard. “Directly below us—it must be.”

I went still with shock. Élise shot me a baffled look. The Artefact wasn’t below us—I’d catalogued everything on the second and third floors, and most of the fourth, as meticulously as I did anything, with the exception of the boxes stacked against the north wall, which was nowhere near the place Valérie’s compass was indicating. I had too much trust in my organizational skills to doubt it.

What did it mean? Was the Artefact in Havelock’s library after all? How could he have failed to notice it? Was there some sixth floor Havelock had never told me about? Yes, that seemed like him. Except that Havelock’s brow was furrowed in confusion.

Something brushed my ankles, and I looked down to find Banshee yowling silently up at me. She’d made her way down the stairs on quiet paws, as she often did these days, usually in search of Havelock. His Majesty’s ears pricked, and he turned his imperious gaze upon her.

And as I looked at His Majesty, still settled into Valérie’s arms, I took in where she was standing, and how it lined up. And I knew.

Vortigern’s Artefact wasn’t below us. It was above.

“Ri, I don’t want to fight you again,” Havelock said.

I looked from Havelock to Valérie, astonished. Didn’t he understand? The number of apprentices Valérie had brought with her; the deadly Artefact she was toying with, warming the pearls in her hand as if they were something alive. Valérie hadn’t come here to fight Havelock as they’d fought before, with claws sheathed. Perhaps she’d only ever held back in the hopes he’d relent and simply hand her the Artefact. But now she had the immeasurable power of it within her grasp, and there was no need to worry about anything else.