Tears in her eyes, her mother had applied a vinegary salve to Anji’s stinging face, while her father cleaned and wrapped the wound on her arm. Then they’d gathered around the table for a small, subdued dinner. Anji had had to chew on the left side of her mouth, as the right side hurt so much. After dinner, Anji had helped clear the table and wash their few dishes, then they’d eaten Anji’s cake in an awkward silence, her father muttering to himself, her mother darting worried glances at Anji, as though she would crumble into dust right in her chair. Only after Anji had reassured them that the mugging was over, that she was all right, that she would be more careful, had her mother finally gone to sleep, leaving Anji and her father alone at the table. They’d sat together without speaking for an interminable time, cinnamon-scented candles burning low.

“Do you want to talk about it?” her father had murmured, his eyes red with lack of sleep, brow knitted in a deep crease. He had to be dockside at dawn, but he’d stayed up with her, clasping her small hand in his large, callused one. Anjisaid no . She’d fought off the muggers—two ragged kids, little older than her—and that was enough. She hadn’t even had anything for them to steal. She’d been shaken up, embarrassed, and her face hurt from the lucky punch one of the idiots had gotten in, but all in all she’d felt mostly okay. Angry, more than anything. The cut didn’t even hurt anymore. It was her parents who had seemed the most upset by the whole affair.

Then her father had let out a heavy sigh, unclipped the blade from his belt, and ran a thumb across its edge.

“You shouldn’t have to have it,” he’d said, his voice hoarse . Then he’d cast around at their basement as though seeing it for the first time. “Your mother and I … we’re working for something different. I wish so badly the world was just and kind, Anji. I wish people weren’t so desperate. I wish…” He’d held back a sob.

Anji reached out and—

Manacles jingled, heavy on her wrists. She grasped at empty air. Someone coughed.

“Easy now.”

The familiar scent of horse filled her nose, and she blinked and sat up straight, opening her eyes to pale sunlight, the plains spread around them like a rippling tablecloth. Ahead, enclosed by a wall of stone, lay a sprawl of rooftops interspersed with nearly a dozen gigantic windmills, their sails turning in lazy circles. Puffy clouds sped along above, tinged gold at their edges by the sun crawling toward the western horizon.

The Hawk rode at her side, mask raised over her head, face drawn, sea-green eyes glassy and distant.

“How long have we been riding?” Anji said, rubbing at her eyes.