The windows along their path were battened shut. As they passed, she’d hear one open, and glance over to catch a flash of a face before it banged shut again.

“Do you get sandstorms here?” she said.

“We do,” panted the governor as he struggled to keep up. “Thankfully, they are rare. But the people have retreated because I sent a messenger to clear your path, Seeker. You do not need to be gaped at.”

She murmured her thanks and continued on down the empty street.

Seeker, a voice whispered, so faint she could barely hear it. It is a Seeker.

It had been so long since she’d heard and felt ancestral spirits that her eyes filled with tears.

“I am Ashyn of Edgewood,” she murmured, too low for her escorts to hear. “Seeker of the Forest.”

The forest. Ashyn of Edgewood. Seeker.

They seemed merely to repeat her words, voices running together.

“I’m looking for—” she began.

“Who are you talking to?” Wenda asked.

Ashyn smiled and patted Tova. “Just Tova. He’s not used to new places. I’m reassuring him.”

The hound chuffed, supporting her lie. When Wenda’s attention turned away, Ashyn listened for the spirits, but they’d slipped away. She was alone. Again.

The governor left Ashyn and Wenda in his guesthouse. It was unlike any house either of them had ever seen, with silk drapes and cushioned chairs piled with embroidered pillows.

The governor had said he’d return at midday. Soon after they’d arrived, two women had come with food and drink, richer than either girl was accustomed to. Not just honey cakes, but peach jelly and green-tea biscuits and dried persimmons and fruits they’d never seen. Wenda chattered endlessly about the food and the room and the village and the bandits until Ashyn longed to say, “Be still, please, just be still.” She wanted to retreat into her thoughts and ponder their situation, but the girl had been so strong during the trip, never complaining. Now, as the ordeal ended, her grief and fear must all be rushing in, and she was dealing with it through girlish chatter.

After the meal, the two women returned with clothing—dresses of linen and silk. Any other time, Ashyn would have delighted in the gifts. Right now, she was only glad that they were clean.

Soon she’d be clean, too. They’d brought buckets of hot water for the tub. Wenda was in no hurry to wash, which gave Ashyn an excuse to retreat into the next room for a quiet bath.

It was then, as she stood by the steaming tub, that she broke down and cried. A silly thing to bring tears. But she saw that tub, and she thought of all the times Moria had drawn a bath for her. She’d come all this way, and she’d been so certain Moria would have at least come through.