Ongrum led Ranka to the center of the camp. She turned, looking at her expectantly, as if she was waiting for Ranka to say something. But it was all Ranka could do to stay on her feet. She’d not seen the Skra camp since she fled that night with Vivna, what little belongings they had tucked into a knapsack, Vivna whispering, Come on, quickly, before someone notices we’ve gone.

Now she was back—and everything and nothing had changed.

One cabin had a new roof. The coal-pits had been cleaned recently. At the far end of their settlement, the carcasses of two stags hung from the boughs of a stripped-down sycamore to dry-age out of reach from fangwolves, bears, and wandering witches. But the winter gardens were still dead and empty, the river that snaked along the east side of camp still half-frozen. The pale and brown faces staring back at her remained the same.

It was as if she and Vivna had never left at all.

In her veins, her power twitched, spinning ribbons of gray through her periphery. It was barely a flicker—a warning, and a promise of what was to come.

“She’s not coming back, is she?” Ranka whispered.

Ongrum gave her a long look. Dully, Ranka thought Ongrum might hit her. She’d seen Skra punished for less. Once, when Ongrum learned one of the witches was sleeping through watch duty, she kicked her with metal-tipped snowshoes and forbade the others from treating her cracked ribs. The girl had never healed properly.

But instead of a slap, arms encircled Ranka. Ongrum’s chin settled on top of her head.

Ranka didn’t dare move.

“Listen to me,” Ongrum said. “Vivna didn’t understand you. Vivna was selfish. She didn’t understand how powerful you are—how brilliant you are.” A snow-crusted glove stroked her hair. “She didn’t love you, Ranka—not the way we do.”

When Ranka was seven, she’d cut Vivna by accident, a deep slice along her forearm. The blood had been bright against her sister’s pale skin, and Ranka had wept as Vivna cried out in pain and shoved her away. That night, she’d crawled into Vivna’s bed and whispered, “Do you still love me?”

Vivna had rolled over in the dark and taken Ranka’s face into her hands. “You’re my sister. My blood. I’ll always love you. Nothing will change that.”

A well opened up inside Ranka. She had the sense she was collapsing, as if her ribs had been removed from one side and her body could no longer support itself. A strange keening left her throat, and she knew she was crying, but she was too far away from her body to care.

Ongrum held her all the while. When her sobs slowed, Ongrum stepped back and gripped Ranka’s shoulders. Were it not for her hold, Ranka would have sunk to the ground.