THE FOREST WAS SO DENSE THAT LITTLE LIGHT PENETRATED. There were just a few slanting shafts as the sun rose higher in the sky. The air was damp and smelled strongly of spruce. Maria clung to Peter as he ran with her slung over his shoulder, jolted by his pounding footsteps. It was clear he knew the area well, because he didn’t once hesitate about the direction he took. She strained her ears for the sound of guards pursuing them, but all she could hear was Peter’s feet tramping in the undergrowth, his heavy breathing, and the squawking of birds high above.

“Please stop,” she begged. “Leave me here and go back for the others.”

He didn’t slow down. “It’s no use,” he panted. “I’m sorry.”

Maria’s voice rose. “I’m sure some of them are alive. We can’t leave them behind.”

Peter kept running. “If I go back,” he explained, “I will be arrested, then they will find you and kill you.”

“You would leave my sisters to their fate at the hands of those monsters?”

There was panic in her voice. It was imperative he return. Why could he not understand?

It was a while before Peter replied, and she sensed he was trying to decide what to say. “None of the others were alive,” he told her at last. “I’m sorry.”

“How do you know? How can you?” She wouldn’t believe it. “You didn’t know I was alive until I opened my eyes.”

He didn’t answer, just kept pushing forward. Each step caused a jabbing pain in her belly. She felt light-headed and so profoundly shocked she couldn’t think straight. Her brain wouldn’t work.

They emerged by the side of a lake, which glowed pink in the morning light, with a mirror image of the tall trees reflected on the surface of the water. Peter stopped and laid her on the bank, and she was grateful to be still. She closed her eyes to stop her head spinning, but opened them when she sensed him nearby. He had some water cupped in his hands.

“Drink,” he ordered.

The water was so cold, it jolted her awake. It had a sweetish taste.

“Are you sure they’re all dead?” she asked again.

He nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“What about little Alexei? Anastasia? How could they kill children?” She couldn’t believe it. Refused to.

Peter had no answer. He busied himself making a small fire from some twigs, under the shelter of a rocky alcove.

“Tatiana is alive,” she told him. “She wasn’t in the house last night. She was with a friend who was trying to rescue us, a man called Malama. We need to find them.”

Peter created a spark and blew on it to get his fire burning. After that, he returned to the lakeside and scooped up some mud with his hands, bringing it back to the fire.