The moon had climbed by the time they reached the lower east wall.
No torches. No voices. Just damp stone, river-mud, and the low hiss of water moving somewhere below the foundations of Vale House.
Kade knelt first, fingers sliding into the seam between two warped iron grates. "Help me."
Elma crouched beside him. Together they pulled. Rust snapped. The grate came loose with a wet scrape, opening into a black throat in the wall.
Calista stood above them, hood drawn, one hand tight around the dagger at her side. "You still have time to choose a different plan."
Elma looked up at her. "You mean a safer one."
"I mean one that doesn't end with him putting your head on a stake because you thought honesty with a monster was strategy."
Kade dropped into the culvert first. "If we argue any longer, the boy dies on schedule."
That silenced them.
Elma turned back to Calista and caught her wrist before she could pull away.
"I come back," Elma said.
Calista's jaw tightened. "Fight to."
Elma nodded once. "Fight to."
It wasn't enough. They both knew it.
Then Kade hissed from below, "Now."
Elma slipped into the culvert.
The darkness swallowed her whole.
Cold water soaked her boots immediately. The tunnel was narrow, brick-lined, and old enough that the mortar had begun to melt back into the earth. Kade moved ahead in silence, one hand on the wall, the other on his blade. Behind Elma came Sera, the scarred guard from the courtyard, bow strapped across her back and a short knife in her teeth.
Above them, the valley held its breath.
The shard pulsed once under Elma's ribs.
Close, it whispered.
"I know," she breathed.
Kade glanced back. "Problem?"
"Not yet."
They moved forward.
At the first bend, moonlight bled through a grate overhead in narrow silver bars. Elma heard voices above—two soldiers, bored, arguing over whether the Warlord would actually kill the boy or just use him until dawn. One laughed. The other didn't.
Sera touched Elma's shoulder and pointed.
Ahead, the culvert split.
Kade went left.
"No," Elma whispered.
He stopped. "Why?"
The shard burned, sudden and sharp.
Right.
Elma turned toward the darkness on the right branch. "He moved him."
Kade's expression tightened. "You're trusting that thing?"
"No," Elma said. "I'm trusting that he likes changing the board after he sets the trap."
A beat.
Then Kade nodded. "Right, then."
The branch narrowed further until they had to move single file. Water rose to Elma's calves. The air smelled like wet iron and old smoke. Somewhere ahead, a chain clinked once.
Then twice.
They froze.
A low lantern-glow appeared through the bars of a drainage arch up ahead. Voices again. Closer.
"…said moonrise."
"Maybe he wants the house to listen to the screaming first."
Laughter.
Jer.
Elma felt the shard flare with violent approval.
Now, it whispered.
Kade held up three fingers.
Two.
One.
Sera rose first, driving both hands up through the rusted grate. Iron bent with a scream. Kade lunged through the opening and buried his blade under the first guard's jaw before the man could breathe in. Elma came after him, hand over the second guard's mouth, shard-light flashing hot through her palm.
The man convulsed once and went limp without a sound.
For one heartbeat, the camp beyond stayed asleep.
Then Jer lifted his head from where he was tied to a wagon wheel and stared.
"Elma?"
"Quiet," she said, already cutting through the ropes at his wrists.
He tried to stand and nearly collapsed. Sera caught him under one arm.
"We're not clear," Kade murmured.
He was right.
The camp was wrong.
Too still.
No snoring from nearby tents. No stumbling soldiers half-awake with drink. No horses shifting at their lines.
The shard went cold.
Trap, it said.
A voice rose from the darkness beyond the wagons.
"Better."
The Warlord of Glass stepped into the lantern-light, cloak unfastened, no helmet, no hurry. Two men stood behind him with drawn blades, but they barely mattered. His eyes were on Elma alone.
"You came yourself," he said softly. "I was beginning to think the house would choose cowardice."
Kade stepped in front of Jer. Sera lifted her bow.
Elma straightened. "You wanted me. You've got me."
The Warlord's mouth curved. "Not yet."
Around them, mirrors flashed.
Not glass in windows. Not ornaments.
Shield-faces.
A ring of soldiers rose from behind the wagons, polished round shields catching moonlight and throwing it back fractured. Twenty at least. Maybe more.
Kade swore under his breath.
The Warlord tilted his head. "You rescue beautifully. Predictably. That is rare."
The shard pulsed hard enough to hurt.
Break him, it whispered. Before he speaks again.
Elma took one step forward.
"No," Kade snapped. "We came for the boy."
The Warlord smiled at that. "And now you leave with a choice."
His hand lifted.
The soldiers tightened the ring.
"Jer walks free," the Warlord said, "if the Vessel remains."
Silence hit like a blade.
Sera's grip tightened on her bowstring. Kade's sword lowered half an inch, not surrender, just calculation. Jer went white.
"Elma—" he started.
She cut him off without looking at him.
"No."
The Warlord's eyes sharpened, pleased.
"Good," he said. "I was afraid freedom had made you sentimental."
Then the mirrored shields turned as one, and moonlight struck them full.
The valley exploded white.