As he dragged me through the camp, my vision swayed in nauseating circles, giving me a whirling view of several burning fires, stacked trunks and barrels, and a scatter of tents. I writhed in his grasp, but he continued forward undauntedly.

Every time I spotted a crate, I leaned forward, searching for air holes. Galina’s name gnashed in the back of my throat.

Dawn blazed across the horizon like a wall of fire, painting the skyline in shades of gold and indigo. Within an hour, the sun would rise, except I might not live long enough to see it.

We entered a tent occupied by a few rickety bookshelves, a table covered in maps, and an unused cot. Men surrounded the table, their conversation stilling as Dronov carried me into the room and dropped me unceremoniously onto the dirt.

Struggling to my knees, I tightened my grip around the scalpel’s handle, terrified that the men would spot the glint of metal through my locked fingers. A hot line of blood unraveled down my wrist where the blade had cut me.

The tall blond man at the rear of the tent turned around. Even in the lantern light, the golden striations in Koschei’s eyes appeared to radiate a low, pulsating glow.

Couldn’t these men see what he was? Or did they just not care?

“Ah, so we meet again,” Koschei murmured, stepping around the table. His long fingers traced over the map absently, toppling Otzvuk and Fraktsiya flag markers alike. “My men tell me that you are Duchess Aloisia, but there is no Duchess Aloisia of Groznaya. So, you must be Toma.”

I blinked rapidly to clear the stinging sweat from my eyes. How could he know that? I was certain I had never given him my name.

“I spoke with your sister,” Koschei said, resting against the edge of the table. Framed by his ashen lashes, his hooded leonine eyes regarded me aloofly. “Rest easily knowing that her first death was not in vain. By her very nature, she is invaluable to this empire’s future prosperity.”

Beside me, Lieutenant Dronov shifted uneasily. “Sir...”

“Leave us.” He gestured to the other soldiers in the tent. “You as well. I’ll call you when I’m ready. In the meanwhile, prepare the Tsar for transport as soon as his wounds are stabilized. Within the hour, we depart for Eyry Castle.”

Once they had slipped out, he crossed the room and tugged the gag free. I expected his fingers to feel cold and slimy, like how I imagined a drekavac or vodyanoy might feel. Instead, they were shockingly warm to the touch—even more so than the humans he surrounded himself with.

I strained against the ropes, panting. “Where’s Galina? What do you intend to do with her?”

“Merely unlock the source behind her resurrection and that of all beasts.”

“But why?”

“Would you like to know the one greatest commodity produced by war?” He squatted down so that we were at eye level. “Death. In the war with Groznaya, I was afforded my first look at true carnage in the trenches. Soldier boys blown apart by artillery, and others drowning on dry land in the fog the Grozniy troops had distilled from vodyanoy gallbladders. We didn’t always have time to tend to the dead, so we would leave our lost comrades behind in the trenches or burn them in mass graves, and come nightfall, we would pray that if they returned, they would seek out those who had harmed them. But that wasn’t always the case. Sometimes, they came back for us as well.”