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walk away. Seconds later, Vengeous leaned into her.

      “I should crush your throat right now,” he said.

      Valkyrie started to say, You make a lovely couple, but she only got halfway through before Vengeous lifted her off her feet. Her legs kicked and she pawed at the hand around her neck.

      “I don’t know how much you know about me,” he said calmly, “but I do not enjoy trading barbed witticisms. Such things are a waste of my time. If you even attempt to make a joke in my presence, I will break a finger. Understood?”

      Spittle flew from Valkyrie’s lips, and Vengeous released her. She dropped to her knees, gasping for breath.

      “Very good,” said Vengeous. “Come now. Mevolent awaits.”

      The Palace was a marvel of stone and steel and glass and glinted so brightly in the sun that it was actually painful to look at. Its steeples and spires rose like thin blades to pierce the sky. This was what Valkyrie had seen from the other side of the wall, this Palace with its towers so high you could probably look out over the whole of Ireland from up there. Probably.

      A dozen men stood at the doors. Their left arms were armoured, their right arms bound in straps of leather. They wore heavy uniforms adorned with the three towers of Dublin, and each had a sword slung from a scabbard on their left hip, and a holstered gun on their right. City Mages, she guessed.

      The corridor beyond the doors was ridiculously wide. In the centre of it was a large tank filled with a pale green liquid. In that tank, the naked corpse of Mr Bliss floated, a chain around his ankle stopping him from simply rising to the top.

      “Mevolent likes to parade his vanquished enemies,” said Vengeous as they passed.

      Valkyrie pulled her eyes away, feeling hollow. The outside of the Palace may have been guarded by the City Mages, but the inside was the domain of the Redhoods. They stood like statues, scythes gripped in one hand, and she felt how her brown coat rubbed against her skin and how vulnerable it was. It would part as easily as her flesh to those scythes.

      They entered into a large room. On the far side was a small pool of black liquid from which steam rose, seemingly responsible for the foul smell that hung in the air. Beside the pool there was a man on his knees, surrounded by six Redhoods armed with long spears. He was slender, with narrow shoulders, and his hair was cut short. His skin was tinged yellow, like a nicotine stain that had covered his whole body. His head was down. She couldn’t see his face.

      “That’s Mevolent?” she asked, whispering.

      Vengeous didn’t answer.

      At some unseen command, the Redhoods stepped forward and drove their spears into Mevolent’s torso. He stiffened but didn’t scream. The Redhoods withdrew their spears and stepped back, and Mevolent fell forward on to one hand. He stayed there for a moment, gathering his strength, then resumed his kneeling position. Once again, the Redhoods took a step, and drove their spears in. This time Mevolent did scream. He threw his head back, his eyes screwed shut, and let out an agonised howl. The Redhoods shoved their spears deeper, twisted, and the scream was cut off. They withdrew, and Mevolent slumped to the ground, blood oozing from his many wounds.

      Something rose from the pool of black, something long-limbed and spider-like, slowly unravelling its arms as it straightened. The creature called Nye ignored Valkyrie completely as it reached for Mevolent, gently pulling him across the floor. The Redhoods stood to attention as Mevolent slid slowly into the pool.

      “Every day he dies,” Vengeous told her, keeping his voice down. “A short death, always violent. Always painful. Blood is always spilled. By doing this he will teach death that he is its master, and when it comes for him against his wishes, it will hesitate and withdraw.”

      Nye rose from the pool and left the room. It didn’t even glance at Valkyrie. But of course, it had no reason to. To it, she was just another prisoner.

      A moment later, Mevolent’s head broke the surface of the black liquid. He climbed the steps out of the pool and a woman rushed forward with a robe. It was only when he was out that Valkyrie truly appreciated just how tall he was. Even barefoot, he towered over the woman and the Redhoods. The woman handed him a towel and he wiped the black residue from his face, turning away from Valkyrie before she got a good look. They left through the same door that Nye had scuttled through, and Vengeous prodded Valkyrie, forcing her on.

      They came to what could only be described as a throne room. Elaborate weapons of all kinds hung from the walls, but the throne itself was a simple thing, just a heavy wooden chair that looked like it had been carved straight from the tree. On their way towards it, they passed a glass case. Within, garments stood like a suit of armour, fabric and leather and chainmail woven together in blacks and greys. The helmet was dark metal, its features arranged into a screaming visage, and the hooded cloak that covered it all was tattered and ripped and covered in half-hidden sigils.

      “His battlesuit,” Vengeous informed her. “The master had never been defeated while wearing it. The helmet has been the source of terrible nightmares for his many enemies.”

      Valkyrie didn’t respond. She wasn’t looking at the clothes or the helmet. She was looking at the small golden staff with a black crystal embedded in its hilt.

      The Sceptre of the Ancients.

      She stared at it. She no longer had Darquesse. Skulduggery no longer had Vile. But the Sceptre could kill Argeddion. If she could get it back to her own—

      Vengeous shoved her so hard she nearly went flying. She recovered in time for him to grab her arm and position her before the throne.

      “You are not to look the master in the eye,” he said. “Mevolent is the voice of the Faceless Ones on this earth and as such you have neither the right nor the honour to look upon his face. Any attempt to meet his gaze will be met with punishment. Do you understand?”

      Valkyrie nodded.

      Mevolent came through the narrow door behind the throne, barefoot, wearing a simple robe and some kind of veil over his head that hid his eyes. Remembering Vengeous’s words, she looked at his hands as he sat. For a while, he didn’t speak.

      “Have you ever seen a man come back to life before?” he asked at last. His voice was deep but flat. Unimpressive. “Not many have. Over the years, stories have grown up around what you have seen here today. The truth gets misplaced the more the stories travel. They say I bathe in blood. Have you heard that? According to the stories I must submerge myself in mortal blood for two hours out of every twenty-four, or else my body starts to break apart due to the corruption I have inside me. That’s a lot of mortal blood to drain every single day, but they don’t take such things into consideration when concocting these stories, do they? On a purely logistical level, if I had to drain all those mortals, I’d never have the time to do anything else, would I?

      “Other stories tell how I eat innocent newborns, how I’m ten feet tall, how I breathe fire and have great dragon wings. None of these are wholly accurate. I don’t have dragon wings, I don’t breathe fire, I’m only eight feet tall and I’ve never eaten a newborn that didn’t have it coming. My name is Mevolent. What’s yours?”

      For a moment, her throat was too tight to speak. “Valkyrie,” she said at last. “Valkyrie Cain.”

      “You’re not from here, Valkyrie, are you? I don’t need my Sense-Wardens to tell me that. I’d have known it just by looking at you. You don’t belong here.”

      “No.”

      “But you’ve obviously heard of me. You have too much fear about you not to know who I am. Am I what you expected?”

      She shook her head.

      “Words, Valkyrie. Use your words.”

      “No,” she said. “You’re not what I expected.”

      “I’m glad. I would hate to be predictable. You’ve heard about the monster Mevolent. You’ve heard the stories. You’ve heard what I’ve done. You

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