The air inside the subterranean levels of the Great Keep did not smell of damp granite; it reeked of ozone, burnt copper, and the sickeningly sweet stench of dark magic.
Draven moved through the narrow corridor like a shadow given lethal form. His high-collared black coat snapped behind him with every heavy step, his hand resting tightly on the hilt of his broadsword. I walked half a step behind him, the skirt of my crimson velvet gown pulled up slightly in one hand to avoid the puddles slicking the stones. Behind us, Malaki led a squad of twelve elite Southern Enforcers, their iron boots creating a rhythmic, ominous clatter against the walls.
