“Gods,” she breathed.

Mariya set down her rake. Her face was drawn with pain, aged by grief. “The demon still lives.”

“No, it’s just the wind.” Kirya scrounged for scraps of cloth and wound them around her hands, then cleared a path for herself into the hot ashes and grabbed for the cloth. She heaved it up, skipping backward, and the cloak unfurled like a great wing, ash and flakes of soot spinning away from it.

Even caught in the fire, unprotected, it had not burned. It showed no stain at all, no soot, no blackened edges, no discoloration where the heat should have browned it.

She looked at Mari. Her cousin straightened, squaring her shoulders. Now the accusation would come: the demon cloak had brought this down on them. They were tainted, and Kirya had been the cause.

“Did you see the raiders?” Mariya’s voice was hoarse from shouting and crying all night.

“No.”

“They wore the Vidrini patterns. That boy made eyes at me, and flattered me with trivial gifts, and then went back to his tribe’s council and told them everything there was to know about what an easy target we’d make. Then maybe some woman talked to Uliya or Yara, and that is how we were betrayed. But I took the first step, wanting a pretty boy to smile at me even if I did know a Vidrini boy couldn’t possibly be serious about me.” She touched the lapis-lazuli beads that bound the ends of her hair, meaning, perhaps, to fling them to the ground. But she lowered her hand, leaving them in place, and glanced toward Orphan, seated on their last milking stool, working with quiet efficiency.

“I know what we have to do.”

“IT’S THE WAY of things when a tribe is dying,” said Mother Oliski, come to survey the ruins. An amazing number of people had walked out from the main encampment to survey the aftermath of the raid, all those people who had refused to look at them yesterday. “The stronger takes what it needs from the weaker. The wolf picks off the diseased. It’s for the best.”

Aunt stared straight ahead, not speaking, not hearing. Mariya confronted the visitors.

“We no longer have anything you want, Mother Oliski. Why have you come, except to pick at the bones?”

“Tssh! You should be grateful for any offer you get, girl. We’d be willing to take your remnant into our tribe as servants. Your mother is a good weaver, if her hands aren’t ruined. If you’re obedient and work hard, we might allow you to marry Laoshko despite your low position. It’s the best a girl like you can hope for.”

Edina hissed.

Kirya began to speak, a bleat of anger more than a true word, then bit her tongue. Mother Oliski was right. She was only glad her mother had been spared this final dishonor.

Mariya stood beside her mother, squinting as though trying to identify an unpleasant flavor. “What makes you think, Mother Oliski, that we are interested in negotiating with you?”