The Tower of Regret, once called the Royal Treasury Tower before Revas melted all the gold, stood as a lonely spire on the eastern edge of the palace complex.
It had no windows. It had one door. And it was damp.
Mirabelle stood at the base of the spiral staircase, holding a lantern. The light made long shadows move across the mossy stones. She wore her black riding leathers again because the silk of the court felt too delicate for this place.
"You are visiting the pet?" Revas asked, leaning against the archway. He was tossing an apple up and down. "He's been in there for three days. He probably smells like regret. And unwashed linens."
"I need to make sure he understands," Mirabelle said. "Before we leave for war."
"War?" Revas caught the apple. "Are we going to war again? I haven't even packed my travel bag."
