Ranka stared. She had nothing to trade in return. She started to shake her head, and Yeva’s eyes flashed with grief.

“It’s a gift, Ranka.” Yeva tied the bracelet around Ranka’s wrist and held up her own. “See? We match. Asyil has one too.”

Ranka knew she ought to thank Yeva, that this was extraordinarily kind, more than she deserved. But she felt nothing. She didn’t know what to say to her, this witch who had already given her more kindness in three months than most had in her lifetime. Ranka searched for something, anything—and the door swung open.

Bitter winter air and sunlight rushed in. A familiar shadow leaned against the frame. “You’ve done good work on her.”

Ranka went still.

She’d not seen Ongrum since Belren. Ranka had betrayed the Skra by fleeing, and thanks to her actions in Belren, the rapidly disintegrating cease-fire between humans and witches was surely doomed. Ongrum was probably furious. Ongrum probably wanted her dead.

“Leave us,” Ongrum said, her voice soft. “Both of you.”

Anger flashed across Yeva’s face, so brief that Ranka might have missed it, had she blinked. Yeva wrapped her hands around Ranka’s, her face suddenly raw, and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Look at me, Ranka. You’re a good girl, with a good heart. You can still protect it. You can survive. But you have to move on. You have to let her go.”

There was only one her Yeva could be referencing. But why would Ranka ever want to let go of Vivna? Vivna, who had been her entire world, her hope and her prayer, the one god she believed in and the joy her heart spun around? Vivna, the only family she’d ever had?

Yeva exhaled through her nose and rose. She dipped her head in deference to Ongrum, careful not to meet her eyes, and slipped from the cabin, Asyil trailing on her heels.

And then they were alone.

Ranka swallowed. If Ongrum asked her if she regretted what she’d done, she wouldn’t be able to lie. She’d have followed Vivna to the end of the world, every time.

But instead, Ongrum crossed the room and knelt beside her. “How are you feeling?” She lifted a brow. “Did you think I’d forgotten you? For two weeks you lay asleep. For two weeks I was here. Three months ago, when I found you half-dead in the snow, a village burning around you…” Her voice caught. “Tell me this, witchling. The power that woke in Belren. Is it with you now?”

“Yes,” Ranka rasped.

Ongrum looked almost reverent. “How does it feel?”

When Ranka spoke, her voice sounded far away, as though someone else were piloting her body for her.

“Hungry,” she whispered. “It’s always hungry.”