Ash had caught the smooth scar on his palm as he’d gripped the horn of Nine’s saddle, and he knew that her blood ran through him, just like every reever before him. They were joined, whether or not she was a witch, no matter how much he hated her.

Unlike the thatch-roofed villages and farm towns centered on churches or fields, Yelagin was a sprawling city on the shores of a long, deep lake hidden behind the hills that nestled it. If Ash had been in a less goddess-awful mood, he may have found it pretty. While the rolling landscape wasn’t comparable to the gargantuan peaks and ranges that scraped the clouds in Stone and the reev, the terrain here rose and fell around the lakeside city, concealing it completely with the elevation changes of its bluffs until the men crested the hills and found themselves above its twinkling expanse. From their vantage point, they could take in the smokestacks and glowing windows from the metalsmiths, taverns, shops, and buildings. Docks lined with the fishing boats that trolled the lake stretched like black extensions of the city itself, carving paths into the reflective surface of the water.

The men hadn’t spoken much on their ride, just as they’d remained silent upon returning to their camp, mounting their horses, and leaving Amaris behind. They left her pack, her things, and her gray steed for her to find whenever she returned. Ash had scribbled a note and left it on her blanket.

We’ll see you in Yelagin, you traitorous bastard.

It got the point across. They were angry, and they did not forgive her, but they also would not disown her. Not yet, anyway.

The reevers had let themselves into a tavern near the edge of the city closest to the water. It had taken a moment to shake off their cloaks and settle at a table, but the other patrons seemed to give them and their foul dispositions a rather wide berth. They shared their pints in silence, drinking in the sour ale, allowing the tap house’s commotion to drown out the turmoil of their thoughts. Jeering, heat, merriment, smells of fire, bodies, food, laughter, music, sex—it was all the senseless background noise of civilians who never left the safety of their city. How could the naive residents know what evils dwelled in their forests, or what witches lived amongst them, masquerading as their friends, their family, their lovers. None of them would sleep, toast, or gamble with the weight of unholy powers anchoring them to the bottom of the sea.

“Another beer?” Malik asked, raising his hand to order a second round.

Ash looked from the empty pint to the crimson wound blooming on his shoulder. He said, “I’m not one to judge, but maybe you should prioritize the tonic over alcohol.”