I had taken no more than three steps when someone coughed in a nearby room.

My breath solidified in my lungs as if frozen. I began to back against the window then hesitated. What if Galina had come here? It seemed unlikely, but I would never be able to forgive myself if I ran away now, even to warn my parents. By the time I returned, it might be too late.

“You think Koschei will accept it?” a man mused.

“He’ll have to.” The other cleared his throat before coughing once more. “Otherwise, it’ll be your head or mine.”

Steeling myself, I reached into my satchel, groping past the chunk of flint, the herbs, and heartwood, until my fingertips touched antler. I pulled my hunting knife from its sheath. The soft snick of the blade scraping against leather was the only sound that betrayed me.

I edged closer to the doorway where the light came from. Pressing my body against the wall, I peeked into the room.

A bearded man sat on the dirt floor, stoking a fire with a stick. Another one with blond hair leaned against the wall. They wore dark sage-green greatcoats emblazoned with black patches on the shoulders. No visible weapons. If they were the men who had shot at Mikhail and me, they could have lost their guns in the crash.

My gaze swept across the room. A burlap sack sat in the corner. It had once probably held onions or potatoes, but now it was filled with squirming cargo. A low moan escaped my lips before I could stop myself.

Galina.

“I don’t see what’s so special about upyri,” the blond man said, nudging the sack lightly with the toe of his boot. “Back in my village, we used to spot them slinking through the graveyards. The feces pits, too. They’re like swine. They’ll eat anything.”

“Are you sure that wasn’t your mother?” The bearded man bellowed with laughter.

His partner shot him an ugly look. “Keep talking, Dima, and I’ll tell Koschei that you were the one to let the Tsar escape. Then you’ll end up in a feces pit.”

“Easy there.” A hint of nervousness wavered in Dima’s voice. Restlessly, he tweaked at his beard. “Listen, once Koschei sees this thing, he’ll give us another chance. He has to. Upyri are one thing, but child upyri? And a live one? They’re rarer than gold.”

Afraid they might spot me, I stepped back against the wall. My foot crunched down on a piece of broken pottery.

“What was that?” Dima rose to his feet, his bared teeth glistening in the dark thatch of his beard and mustache. “Did you hear that?”

“I didn’t hear anything,” the other man said. “You must be imagining things.”

Holding my breath, I retreated deeper into the shadows.

“No, I definitely heard something.”

“It’s the wind, Dima. The storm.”

“Shhh. Listen.”

Holding my breath, I clenched the hunting knife in a viselike grip. One minute passed. Then two. No voices.