She passed her hand over her sweat-damp face. “Find me another Master to shelter with,” she said, finally, because she would rather trust her judgment and punishment to one of her own than to those with no magic. And she would have to give herself up to that sort of judgment, of that she was certain. She had used magic to kill, and anyone who did that and did not give herself up would find herself hunted down by the Bruderschaft in short order. That was, at least in part, what they did.

As Lebkuchen sped on through the night—a night lit by a bright, full moon—and she continued to wrestle with her guilt, she scarcely paid any attention to where they were going. She only knew it was well past midnight by the moon when the sylphs chivvied her off the highway and down a narrow little path through what looked—at least in the darkness—like near-virgin forest. Lebkuchen slowed to a hesitant walk immediately; deciding that her mare’s safety was of more importance than her own comfort, Giselle dismounted and followed the sylphs, leading the mare carefully around the worst of obstacles, doing her best to clear the path of things like fallen branches that could trip her up.

At least concentrating on that left her unable to think about anything else but relief when she finally saw a dim, warm light shining through the trunks of the trees ahead.

But it wasn’t until she saw the old woman waiting with a lantern held over her head to guide Giselle to what looked like a hermit’s cottage that Giselle suddenly felt the full effect of the evening hit her with a hammer-blow of exhaustion. As she came in through the open gate of a little yard, Lebkuchen whickering eagerly at the sight of a little shed with three goats tethered in it, Giselle stumbled and might have fallen if the old woman hadn’t been there in a trice, with a steadying hand on her elbow.

“Not a word, Liebchen,” the old woman said in a firm voice that brooked absolutely no argument. “Your sylphs have told me everything. What you need now is a safe place to rest, and old Tante Gretchen is here to give it to you.”

“But—” Giselle began, her tongue feeling oddly thick with fatigue.

“But me no buts,” Tante Gretchen said, and took Lebkuchen’s reins from her nerveless fingers. “You go in that door and take the cot by the fire. I’ll see to your mare.”

Giselle did not even bother to argue. She stumbled across the threshold into a warm cottage, sweet with the scent of woodsmoke and herbs, spotted a cot at the hearthside and all but fell into it. She didn’t even bother to take off her boots, and was dreamlessly asleep before she had even pulled the blanket over herself.

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