In the courtyard, a horse was waiting for her, its nostrils flaring as it stretched its neck and shook its head, the rings of its bit chiming softly. She swung up into the saddle and, with a sharp press of her heel, sent the mount forward. Behind her, the castle towers gradually faded from view.

  The day passed in a relentless ride, the landscape streaming by in an unbroken succession of rolling hills. Along the horizon, the first crimson hues began to stretch and deepen.

  After a few hours of sleep, she set out again. When the first light of morning brushed the edge of the sky, a village emerged between two rises. They passed beneath a stone arch and slipped into the narrow streets, where silence reigned and no living soul stirred. Her horse’s ears flicked back and forth as she rested a hand on her weapon.

  She stopped in front of a building where missing roof tiles revealed a tangled lattice of beams beneath. She brought her fist down against the door. Behind the grimy window, a shadow shifted. The handle creaked, and the door swung open, revealing a bald man.

  “What do you want, girl?” he growled.

  “I’m looking for a place to sleep and somewhere to feed my horse.”

  “That your horse?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

  She slipped her hand into her coin pouch, her fingers brushing cold metal before she drew out two silver coins. The old man made them vanish into his pocket.

  “Boy! Take care of the lady’s horse!” he barked.

  A boy appeared at the top of the stairs, swallowed by clothes far too large for him, frayed sleeves dangling around his wrists. He avoided Iskra’s gaze, but as he came closer, a shy smile crossed his lips. He took the reins and led the horse toward the stable.

  “Follow me,” the old man said.

  He led her to a narrow room where the air carried a sour stench. A bed with rough sheets stood at the center of the space. In one corner, a stool sat beside a dresser topped with a chipped washbasin.

  “There’s water at the well if you want some. Don’t expect miracles.”

  “That will be fine,” she replied.

  He left the room as she set her coat on the stool. In the washbasin, the water was coated with a thin layer of dust. She slipped a hand beneath her pillow and hid her dagger there. A knock echoed at the door. The handle lowered, and the boy stepped inside.

  “I’ll bring your meal at nine,” he murmured.

  “Why not downstairs?”

  “If you’d like, you can come down at nine.”

  He slipped away, and she lay back on the mattress. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, where dark stains stretched across the surface. Her eyelids wavered, struggling for a moment longer before finally giving in to fatigue.

  She woke and went down to the kitchen, where the scent of herbs hung in the air. Leaning over the table, the boy was peeling vegetables.

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  “Your mare is beautiful,” he said.

  “Thank you. Her name is Elia. You can address me informally.”

  “I… I’m not used to that,” he admitted.

  “You have to start somewhere.”

  “I had never seen such a beautiful horse,” he murmured.

  “She is beautiful, that’s true, but she has her own temper.”

  He disappeared into the adjoining kitchen. When he returned, carrying a steaming bowl of broth and a piece of bread, he set them down in front of her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Her hands closed around the bowl, absorbing its warmth. She dipped the bread into the broth, and when she lifted it again, amber droplets slid down the crust. Across from her, the boy never took his eyes off her, following each of her movements.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “No, no,” he stammered.

  She slipped a hand into her pocket and took out a silver coin. He shook his head in refusal, but she caught his palm and placed the metal in it.

  “Keep it.”

  “I’ll have to work for it, won’t I?” he said.

  “No. This isn’t a bargain.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “Have you heard anything about bandits?”

  “Yesterday, there was an attack. Seven people were killed.”

  “Were there any survivors?”

  He shook his head.

  “What time did it happen?”

  “During the night,” he replied.

  She pulled on her coat.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “I need to think,” she said, moving toward the door.

  “You shouldn’t go out. The bandits are still lurking nearby, and if they catch you…”

  “I’ll be careful,” she promised.

  “Then I’m coming with you.”

  He strapped a knife to his belt.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I can’t let you go alone,” he replied.

  “Very well, but stay behind me.”

  She pushed open the inn door, and they stepped out into the street. Soon, they stopped in front of a three-story house.

  “We should go back to the inn,” he whispered.

  “We’ve barely begun.”

  “I know, but it’s dangerous,” he murmured.

  “You can go back. I’ll join you later.”

  “Are you sure?” he whispered, fidgeting with the fabric of his sleeve.

  “We’ll meet back at the inn,” she said firmly.

  As she placed her hand on the handle, a shiver ran down her spine. The door creaked open, releasing a breath of icy air. In response, a flame burst from her palm.

  “Don’t go in,” he whispered.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  She crossed the threshold, greeted by a sharp stench, a blend of rotting flesh and damp. Her gaze swept over the room: a table cluttered with cracked plates and moldy scraps, a torn armchair, a cupboard gaping open with its drawers emptied. She moved forward, avoiding a dark puddle that clung to the floor beneath her boots. She pushed aside a dusty curtain and glanced outside. Nothing but a vast stretch of wilderness.

  She opened a drawer and found a few crumpled papers and a knife. The floorboards creaked as she stepped around an overturned piece of furniture. Her foot struck something solid. A dented iron box. She picked it up and opened it to find a handful of coins and a rusted key.

  She went to another door and opened it. Outside, the garden stretched as far as the eye could see. Tall grass scraped against her calves with every step. Farther on, brambles tangled into a living curtain, behind which the outline of a wooden shed emerged. She drew her knife and set to work on the wall of thorns, the blade splitting the stems one by one and sending sharp fragments flying.

  When she reached the door, a sticky stench clung to her skin. The moment she pushed it open, the air shuddered and the shed spewed out a swarm of flies. The black tide burst into chaotic motion, their buzzing shrill and pulsating as it drilled into her ears. Their legs brushed against her skin before the swarm finally scattered. She raised an arm and pressed her elbow against her face to dull the stench.

  No sooner had she set foot inside than a viscous liquid swallowed the sole of her boot. Long purple streaks scarred the walls. The floor was littered with debris: rotting wood, soiled scraps of cloth, and a thick layer of dust. A chest jutted out, half buried beneath a heap of refuse. With a sharp kick, the lock gave way. Inside lay a wood chisel, its blade eaten away by rust. Beside it, the handle of a knife crumbled, while a burin lay among shards of metal. At the center, a red book stood out.

  With the tips of her fingers, she brushed the leather cover. The yellowed pages quivered in the glow of her flame, revealing a tangled web of symbols. Scribbled notes filled the margins.

  A sound echoed outside. Her fingers closed around the book, which she immediately slipped beneath her coat. The boy was waiting by the entrance, his face ashen.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. Let’s go back.”