But they’d made it to the river, grabbing Luca, Renzo’s best friend, on the way. They’d stood on the riverwalk and stared at the moon, and the boys had told ghost stories. Renzo had actually convinced Luca she was a distant cousin named Felicio. Nomi had lied shamelessly, playing up the deception, telling him she had a tattoo the entire length of her back. The stories she told that night! And then—and then a constable had come, and they’d hidden beneath the bridge, among the river grasses. Nomi had gotten her borrowed pants wet, and Luca had almost fallen into the river. He’d shrieked like a banshee until Renzo had pulled him up onto dry ground.

Nomi’s pulse pounded in her throat. Could it be? Could he possibly have been thinking of that night? He couldn’t have known she would find this, read this.… Could he?

But it was something. And the smell, the dried blood, the reality was starting to seep back into her mind. She would happily grasp at the slightest straw.

“I think I know what this means,” she said. “We—we should go.”

Malachi helped her to her feet. She stared helplessly at her parents. “I—we can’t leave them. They should be cremated; they shouldn’t be here, out in the open like this—”

“I know,” Malachi said gently. “But we can’t help them now. Asa’s soldiers may be watching the house, in which case we may now be in danger ourselves, and even if they’re not, we can’t call for the magistrate. He’ll know this was foul play. He’ll want to question us. We have to find your brother.”

He was right. She knew that. But the tears fell again as they left, the book of legends cradled to her chest. She turned right out of the door and started walking, forgetting the horse.

“Nomi,” Malachi said, reining her in. He took the book gently and carefully put it into their one small bag. Then he helped her onto the horse. The sidewalk was full now, curious faces turning toward them.

A sudden fear pierced Nomi’s haze. What would happen if someone recognized her? She spent most of her life in the house, but her father had often had his fellow foremen to dinner. How would she explain why she was here? What would she say if they asked about her parents? Surely someone wondered why they hadn’t shown up for work. How long had her parents been there, alone and left to rot?

And what about Asa’s soldiers? Wouldn’t they still be here? Watching? Waiting?

“Malachi, hurry,” she whispered, her throat raw from crying.