The Nameless Girl was already shaking her head when she heard her alte-bubbe speak.

“You may not have it, Lilith.”

Softly, the Nameless Girl put her hand into the pocket of her apron, laying her fingers on the spoon. Lilith tracked the movement carefully with cold eyes.

“Oh no?” she said. “Perhaps you ought to ask the girl.”

Now the Nameless Girl’s alte-bubbe revolved, closing her into a whispering huddle. “Listen to me carefully,” she said. “Whatever you choose to do inside that tower, I am proud of you.”

“But together,” said the Nameless Girl. “You said we go together.”

Her alte-bubbe gave a tight little shake of her head. “Sister Lilith has other plans. If you run, I think I can give you enough time.”

“But,” said the Nameless Girl with a lurch. “But…”

“Go,” said her alte-bubbe. “And if you see my daughter, tell her I’m sorry.”

The Nameless Girl’s eyes were crowded with tears as she turned toward the tall, mottled tower at the bottom of the valley.

“Go!”

And, one last time, the Nameless Girl began to run.

Behind her, someone gave a great roar that shook the snow from the treetops.

It had begun.

Chapter Seventeen: To War

“No,” said Yehuda Leib. “We need to go now.”

The Army of the Dead had halted its march just below the ridge that led down into the Tower Valley. Everywhere there was hubbub—tents pitched, cannons cleaned, blades sharpened and polished.

In the privacy of his silence, the lord high general strode through the camp, Behemoth and Yehuda Leib arguing on either side.

“Faster is not necessarily better,” said the little rat-faced undergeneral. “If we take the time to survey the ground…”

“Then we give away the advantage of surprise.”

Behemoth shook his head. “The tower walls are high and strong. If we don’t examine them for weaknesses, then who’s to say we’ll ever topple them?”

“We don’t need to topple them,” said Yehuda Leib. “We just need to open them.”

“At the very least,” said Behemoth, shaking his head, “I must be able to deploy artillery teams up the ridge.”

“If you can do it while we’re on the march,” said Yehuda Leib, “then you’re welcome to.”

Behemoth rolled his eyes. “What’s the rush?”

Yehuda Leib sighed. The Tower of Death could be seen from anywhere in the camp—huge, looming up from the valley, blocking out the stars—and, what was more, Yehuda Leib could feel it: a tightness in his muscles, a cold itching in his hands.

His father was in there.

At just this moment, a sentry came galloping up.

“Lord High General,” he said with a bow. “Movement in the trees: Lilith and her War Cats. A girl approaches the tower.”

Now Yehuda Leib’s heart began to thunder.

“Lilith?” said Behemoth. “What does she want here?”