“I’m all right, you know,” said Bitterblue. “I’m crying from happiness and relief.”

“She really is the Queen of Monsea,” said Lovisa.

“Sure she is,” said the man. “Second one I’ve met this month. It should be light enough for cliff-walking in half an hour. Don’t dawdle. There’s a storm coming in, and houses are few and far between in these parts. You’ll be walking well into the afternoon before you reach that town. Good luck.”

Bitterblue turned a beatific smile upon him. “Good luck to you too,” she said, “in your life of crime.”

His grin flashed in the darkness. He turned to go, then turned back and called out. “If it starts to snow hard,” he said, “explore the land inland from the path. There are hidden huts.”

Then they were gone.

—

As the sun rose, Bitterblue felt more herself. But she was also bone tired, and thirsty. Her blistered foot smarted terribly.

She’d never seen a place so vast and dramatic as Torla’s Neck. The cliff to their left dropped to a black sand beach with crashing waves that pounded so hard that sometimes she imagined the feeling of the impact in her legs. To the right, the land stretched out in hills that climbed to fir trees. Beyond the fir trees, mountain peaks alternated with strange, wrinkly formations that Bitterblue suspected were glaciers. She wanted to ask Giddon, tell Giddon. If he was truly in the north as the fox had said, had he seen those glaciers? Was he somewhere among these hills?

“Gorgeous,” said Bitterblue. “Just unbelievably gorgeous. Will it be obvious when we reach the town? Or will it be mostly empty, like this?”

“I don’t know,” said Lovisa.

“What did you say your friend’s name was?”

“Nev.”

“Do you know her family’s names?”

“She doesn’t have a family name. Poor people in Winterkeep don’t have family names.”

“Yes, but do you know the names of her family members?”

“Oh,” said Lovisa. “Hang on, let me think. My friend dated her for a while. Grandpa Saiet,” she said, after another moment. “Mari was always making me listen to stories about Nev’s stupid grandpa Saiet. And her father might be Davvi?”

“Okay, that’s helpful. What are their professions?”

“Are you going to ask me questions endlessly, all morning long?”

“Oh, Lovisa,” said Bitterblue, then held back her sigh, frightened of how close Lovisa walked to the cliff. Of the long looks Lovisa kept taking, down at the sea.

“Will you tell me about your brothers?” she said.

“What do you want to know about them?” demanded Lovisa.

“How many do you have? What are their names? How old are they? What do they like?”

“Viri is five. Erita is seven. Vikti is nine. And it hardly matters what they like, because no doubt everything they owned got burned in the fire I started.”