Vanya pointed out Szternova Company to us. Located at the city’s outskirts, the textile factory loomed along the riverbank, its brick pipes and iron scaffolding tearing open the skyline.

“Inga served with my father in the imperial army,” Vanya said as we trailed down the road. “I suppose some of her loyalty must remain there.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“A few months ago, when the tensions were starting to rise in my village, the Old Quarter’s council asked her to lobby the Otzvuk commanders in Detskaya to issue a statement affirming their support for all of the empire’s citizens, including Stranniki. It could have prevented what happened a few days ago. Instead, she refused. Two weeks later, the first poster appeared in my village, accusing us of witchcraft and blasphemy.” Vanya’s hands tightened around his horse’s reins as the words left his mouth in a growl. “All this time, she’s been using our labor to provide uniforms for their army, and she won’t even lift a finger to help her own people.”

“Do you think she might be able to make contact with the Otzvuk leadership still?” Mikhail asked.

“Why?” Vanya said flatly. “Looking to hang more kolduny?”

I drew in a sharp breath, and Mikhail came to a halt alongside the road. There was a genuine edge of anger in Vanya’s voice, resentment even, and I realized then that all this time it had been brewing beneath the surface, festering from the moment we passed under the shadow of the hanging tree.

Vanya kept on riding. He looked back after several steps. “What are you two waiting for?”

“What did you just say?” Mikhail said tightly, through gritted teeth.

“You heard me.”

“Hey, let’s just keep going.” I tried to keep my voice light, but by the moment, I could sense the tension rising. Not good. Desperately, I racked my brain for something to add.

“As I told you earlier, the Tribunal is under the authority of the Ministry of Heritage, as per the Blasphemy Act. It’s been that way for a hundred years. Every person accused of witchcraft is entitled to a fair trial.”

I gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t know about you two, but I can’t wait to sleep in a real bed toni—”

“Except, that isn’t quite how it works, is it, Mikhail?” Vanya said, wheeling his horse around to face us. “I’m curious, what percentage of accused kolduny are Strannik?”

Mikhail’s features darkened. “What exactly are you implying, Ivan?”

“What percentage?”

“I imagine,” Mikhail said levelly, “that it is the same percentage as the total population. In the Edge, just over seven percent.”

“You imagine? So, you don’t know.”

Mikhail didn’t answer, his face stricken.

“How about the percentage of blasphemy cases?” With each second, Vanya’s voice rose. “Or the percentage of condemned? Well?”

“Vanya, stop!” I said, and he flinched, looking at me as though he’d forgotten I was even there. “You can’t just blame—”

“He’s right, Toma,” Mikhail said quietly, coming up alongside me. “The truth is, I don’t know, and until now, I didn’t care. I never asked to be tsar. Never wanted to be. After my father died, I thought that if I just listened to my advisors, everything would be okay, but it isn’t, and I’m sorry.”