“We are well set for a hike in the woods,” said Fortunatus, attempting levity although there wasn’t much to be had.

Rosvita smiled gratefully at him. They had a single spoon, which they passed around between them to eat out of the kettle. “We have provisions, and freedom. It is more than we had before.”

“Best be grateful for each least blessing God grant us,” agreed Mother Obligatia. She was so tiny and so frail that the power of her voice always amazed Rosvita. She was actually sitting up for the first time in many days, as if the terrible night had strengthened her.

Her words awoke someone else. Sapientia had let the spoon pass by without acknowledging that it, or anything, existed. She had walked in a trance, pressed along by the constant attentions of Sister Petra, whose entire being was focused on her helpless charge. The glow of the fire painted shadows on the princess’ face, making of her a mask whose expression could not be fathomed because it was so empty. But the mask spoke.

“A prince without a retinue is no prince,” she repeated.

Rosvita knelt beside her. “We are your retinue, Your Highness.”

After a long silence, Sapientia turned her head and looked straight at the cleric, although Rosvita at first wasn’t sure the princess knew who she was. Behind her, Jerome slurped at the spoon.

“You love my father, Sister Rosvita,” Sapientia said.

“I love him and serve him, Your Highness.”

“Do you love me, Sister?”

“Nay, child, not in the same way. I have known your father for a very long time. He has my heart, but you have my loyalty. I will not abandon you.”

Sapientia slammed fists into the ground and again, and again. “Not like all the others! My father! Bayan! Sanglant! The Pechanek mothers! Geza! Every one of them deserted me!” The storm broke over her. She sobbed in great heaves, trembling all over. Petra stroked her shoulders, murmuring words that made no sense, and after a while the princess calmed.

Wind crackled through limbs. Among the trees a branch snapped and crashed down to the ground. Otherwise it was so quiet. Too quiet. They had seen no birds all day. No telltale rustling marked the comings and goings of the little nocturnal creatures who ought to be scuttling about their nightly rounds.

Sapientia’s reaction was such a brief window, opened to show a light within and perhaps soon to be shut. Rosvita had to ask, although she feared the answer.

“Your Highness. Did you see Hanna? The Eagle who was with us?”

Sapientia did not raise her head. Her voice was hoarse and ugly. “She’s dead.”

“Ai, God,” Rosvita whispered. “You saw her dead? You saw her body?”

Sapientia refused to answer, only stared at the ground.

“What will we do?” they asked, one by one, all but Mother Obligatia.

“I should never have let her go off alone!”

“Nay, Sister,” said Mother Obligatia, scolding her. “The Eagle did what she had to do. That was her duty. She knew it was dangerous.”