[[And I have. But to all things there are limits.]] Fingers glinked against a white-and-gold cheek. [[Mine run a lot closer than they once did. I can hold the Dark back for a time, but that’s all. She and Malatriant are bound too tight.]]

He stared at Halvor, gnawed by loss he couldn’t explain. “How long?”

[[A few hours.]]

“But you can get her free again?”

[[Perhaps. I took Malatriant by surprise this time.]]

Meaning that next time would be harder. “How does this even happen? Raven’s Eyes, but you see strange sights growing up in Dregmeet, but this? This takes the whole of the weasel, guts and all.”

Chains rattling, Halvor set her shoulder to the wall. “She said her ash was in our blood.”

“Our blood?” said Kurkas.

“The town’s. The whole damn valley’s. I can . . . feel them. The others. The cold.” She shivered. “She is us, and we are her.”

Kurkas thought back to the gate, to the shudder of the crowd. “Do you share their pain?”

Halvor’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I shot one of her thralls. Didn’t get much of a reaction, but the others shared it.”

She laid a hand across her upper arm. “Here?”

He nodded, not sure whether to be impressed or terrified. “You felt it?”

“I remember Malatriant screaming. The babble of confusion. This . . .” She gripped her arm tight. “It’s like the memory of pain. I don’t know if that makes any sense?”

He snorted. “Look at who you’re talking to. Not a day goes by when my missing arm doesn’t itch. But Belenzo burned Malatriant! Every child knows that! Dragged her off into the wilds and gave her to the flame! That’s why we burn witches! Because it works.”

[[Much can change, in time,]] said Anastacia. [[Truth becomes hope, and hope becomes legend. What was wild becomes settled, and fear lives on as prejudice. People remember where history forgets.]]

“My old mother always said southwealders were wicked.” Kurkas shook his head. “Cheered louder than anyone when I marched down here back in the day.”

Halvor grimaced, and her thin voice drifted. “When I close my eyes, I can almost . . . see it. I feel the flames take root in my flesh. I hear her screams . . . my screams. And we make Belenzo a promise, as he stands behind the barrier of light. We promise that this isn’t the end. That the Dark will return.”

Kurkas shot Anastacia a worried glance. She shook her head, her mood unreadable as ever.

“Our ashes seeped into the soil.” The lines on Halvor’s face reknitted in a new frown, as if she were striving to recall a dream long-lost. “Bitter seeds took root in blood, and we slept. Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t know.” She hunched over, head in her hands. “I think I’ve lost my mind.”

[[It’s not lost,]] said Anastacia. [[But taken.]]