“Um, yeah.” He sounded unsure. “Are you . . . Toby, are you okay?”

“You can’t be here.” I slumped back to the floor. “It’s death to be here.”

“Just relax, okay?” A barred window scraped open in my door, letting a dim glow into the room. Quentin’s face appeared in the opening. “Guys, she doesn’t look so good . . .”

“Move aside,” said Tybalt, stepping into view. The light brightened as he approached. I flinched away, closing my eyes. I’d been in the dark too long.

“Turn it down,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry,” said Tybalt, earnestly. The light receded. “Can you stand?”

“I can barely breathe.” I opened my eyes. “Are you real?”

“Real as I’ve ever been. Connor, we’ve found her.”

“Thank Maeve.” Connor’s face appeared next to Tybalt’s, looking as pale and worried as the rest. Some of the worry vanished when he saw me, replaced by relief. “Hang on, Toby. We’ll have you out in a second.” He ducked out of sight. A steady scraping noise began. “I told you teaching me how to pick locks wasn’t a waste of time.”

“Don’t touch the door!” I protested. “It’s iron!”

“I know,” he said, unperturbed. The scraping noises continued.

“Connor left his skin in my Court,” said Tybalt.

“What?” A skinshifter without his skin was essentially human. Connor wouldn’t even be able to see large portions of Faerie without the aid of faerie ointment. “Why—”

“Got it.” Connor stood, coming back into view. This time I was looking closely enough to see the faerie ointment ringing his eye. “Get back as far as you can.”

I had just enough time to roll to the edge of the clean zone before the door swung open, banging against the wall. The sound sent sympathetic vibrations through the iron in my blood, and I whimpered. Tybalt stepped into the room, letting out his breath in a low, angry hiss as he got his first good look at me.

“She’s chained,” he said, deceptively calm, “I can’t move her with iron on her.”

“Coming.” Connor pushed past him, ignoring the iron in the doorframe. Mortality has its advantages. Then he stopped, eyes widening. “Oh, Toby . . .”

“I look like hell,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. “Point taken, move on.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. I heard him kneel, and he gripped my wrists. I whimpered. He stroked my hair one-handed, saying, “Relax. I’ll have these off in a second.”

“Be fast,” said Quentin. “The guards are gonna be coming down here to check on her any minute.”

“What did you guys do?” I asked.

“A minor diversion,” said Tybalt.

“There are seventy rose goblins enchanted to look like three hundred rampaging through the Court,” said Connor.

There was a snap as the lock on the manacles gave way. I opened my eyes and pulled my hands around, staring at them. My head was already starting to clear. The pain and the low, chattering hum of iron were still there, but I could think again. “You have to get out of here,” I said.

“What?” Quentin stuck his head into the room. He was wearing leather gloves thick enough to let him knock without hurting himself. “What do you mean?”

“Get out,” I repeated, pushing myself up onto one elbow. “Leave me and get the hell out before the guards show up and give you cells of your own.”

“No,” said Tybalt.

I glared at him. “Just listen to me for once. I’m not worth this. Get out and save the others. Stop Oleander.”

“Not without you,” said Connor. I turned toward him again, distracted enough to miss Tybalt moving into position behind me until he was scooping me off the floor.

“Hey!” I yelped.

“Hey, yourself,” he said, walking toward the door. “Connor, leave the shackles.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he said, following.

“This is suicide,” I said.

“If it’s suicide, it’s our choice,” said Quentin. “You can’t stop us.”

“I’m getting that,” I said, letting my head drop and closing my eyes. The rolling motion of Tybalt’s steps was almost enough to lull me back to sleep—an honest sleep this time, brought on by exhaustion, not hopelessness and terror.

We were halfway up the last flight of stairs when Tybalt spoke again. “Did you think I could walk away and let you die?” I didn’t answer. He shook me, demanding, “Did you?”

“Easy, Tybalt!” said Connor. “She’s sick.”

Tybalt subsided. I could still hear him growling in the back of his throat. “She’ll recover.”

“Not if you break her first.”

“I won’t,” said Tybalt. He took another step. “October, are you awake?”

I considered lying, but cleared my throat and whispered, “Barely.”

“We’re going to take the Shadow Roads.”

“What?” I opened my eyes, staring up at him. His face was only a foot away, but it was blurry and hard to focus on. “Tybalt, I can’t—”

“You have to,” he said, gently. “There’s no other way out of here.”

“I’ll suffocate.” Not long before, I’d been waiting to die; now, I wanted to avoid it if I could. It’s amazing how quickly things can change.

“You won’t. Not if you trust me and hold your breath. Can you do that?”

“I . . .” I realized that he’d try to take the overland route if I said I couldn’t handle the Shadow Roads. Quentin and Connor couldn’t move through the shadows without him, and all three would die or be imprisoned for the crime of trying to save me. I wasn’t worth their lives; if they’d made it this far, I wouldn’t stop them from making it the rest of the way. “Do what you need to.”

He kissed my forehead, whispering, “Hold your breath.” Quentin gave him a sidelong look. Tybalt quelled it with a look of his own. Then he tensed and took a great leap forward, throwing himself into a running start. Quentin and Connor grabbed his belt, straining to keep up. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, and Tybalt dragged us all into the shadows.