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Chapters (61)
  1. Dedication
  2. Prologue
  3. Ashyn: One
  4. Two
  5. Three
  6. Four
  7. Five
  8. Six
  9. Seven
  10. Eight
  11. Moria: Nine
  12. Ten
  13. Eleven
  14. Twelve
  15. Thirteen
  16. Ashyn: Fourteen
  17. Fifteen
  18. Sixteen
  19. Moria: Seventeen
  20. Eighteen
  21. Nineteen
  22. Twenty
  23. Twenty-one
  24. Twenty-two
  25. Ashyn: Twenty-three
  26. Twenty-four
  27. Twenty-five
  28. Twenty-six
  29. Twenty-seven
  30. Twenty-eight
  31. Twenty-nine
  32. Thirty
  33. Moria: Thirty-one
  34. Thirty-two
  35. Thirty-three
  36. Thirty-four
  37. Thirty-five
  38. Thirty-six
  39. Thirty-seven
  40. Ashyn: Thirty-eight
  41. Thirty-nine
  42. Forty
  43. Forty-one
  44. Forty-two
  45. Forty-three
  46. Forty-four
  47. Forty-five
  48. Forty-six
  49. Forty-seven
  50. Forty-eight
  51. Forty-nine
  52. Moria: Fifty
  53. Fifty-one
  54. Fifty-two
  55. Fifty-three
  56. Fifty-four
  57. Fifty-five
  58. About the Author
  59. Back Ad
  60. Credits
  61. About the Publisher

She hurried back to the baker’s house and strode into the bedroom to see the baker’s wife on the floor. She was turning to leave when she spotted Gavril. He stood in the corner, his back against the wall, lantern out, staring at the body.

She walked to him. She wanted to comfort him. But she didn’t know the words, and even if she did, she didn’t think she could speak them. In refusing to accept her account of the massacre, he’d denied her any comfort, and she could not find it in herself to offer some to him. Ashyn would.

But Ashyn isn’t here. All you have is me, and I can’t grant you anything that you wouldn’t grant me.

“We need to—” Moria began.

“I knew her.”

“You knew all of them.” She heard the snap in her words and wished she regretted it. She didn’t. She wanted to shout at him. To pound at him. They’re dead. My village—our village—they’re dead. Do you see that? Do you finally see it?

“She brought our bread,” he said. “Every day. When she had honey cakes, she always kept one for me. ‘In your father’s memory,’ she’d say. She remembered seeing my parents’ wedding, when she was a child. There was a parade, and my father waved to her, and my mother tossed her a honey cake. She remembered that.” He paused. “She was kind to me.”

“They all were. You just didn’t care to notice.”

He dipped his chin, and she did feel guilt then, just a twinge.

“They’ve taken the children,” she said.

His chin shot up, gaze swinging to her. “What?”

She lifted the note. “It’s from Ashyn. She’s with a few others. They’re following men on horseback who took the children. A girl saw me with them. Or saw another phantasm, I suspect.”

“I don’t understand.” He looked at the baker’s wife. “It’s all . . . I don’t understand. This isn’t . . . Something’s gone wrong.”

“Yes. Our village is gone. The women massacred, the men turned to shadow stalkers, the children stolen. I believe that qualifies as ‘something gone wrong.’”

She expected her tone to rouse him to anger, to slough off his shock. But he only stared at the dead woman.

“We need to go after my sister,” she said. “Find her.”

“Yes.”

“And we need to tell someone. Out there. Warn them.”

“Tell . . . ?” His voice faded to a whisper. “Yes, I suppose that’s all that can be done. My duty . . .” He swallowed. “Tell someone. Warn them.” He pushed to his feet so fast Daigo jumped. Then he turned on Moria, and in a blink, the old Gavril was back, his face stone, his eyes harder still. “Let’s see that note.”

Twenty-two

Twenty-two