The sound of thunder and the strobe of lightning from within the cold-storage building sounded somehow deeply unnatural, the sound of thunder echoing inside a building intuitively wrong. Flames began to take root in the thatched roof, though the snow seemed to be keeping the fire at bay, for the time being.

  For the second time in the same day, Dalliance pulled himself up over the ledge leading into the cold-storage, this time soaked and partially barefoot, shield in hand as before, but sword missing from his hip. It didn’t matter. He had to do something.

  A lot had changed since he'd been here last. There was the fire, for one thing; lines of lightly smoking embers painted a trail down the center of the cold room. Hanging bundles of herbs, dried hams, and other goods smoldered where arcing lightning had struck them. In the middle of it all, Woebegone was fighting the bird.

  His club flashed in the light, reflecting off all the square-sectioned, blunt-tipped spikes he had driven into it, pointing every which way. The weapon hummed with the speed of its passage as first one, then a second blow crashed down, making a metallic clangor against the bird’s snapping beak.

  He was holding it at bay.

  Blood ran freely from his brow and nostrils—the result of an impact, perhaps? His shirt was ashen and tattered.

  In that instant, Dalliance had to admit, the taller boy looked formidable.

  In a crumpled pile on the floor behind him, amidst shattered glass, lay Zenith. Her bow was nowhere to be seen.

  Earnest scrambled up behind him. “Woah.”

  “We go on three,” Dalliance said, heart in his mouth. Terror thrummed in his limbs and his stomach felt like it was going to turn inside out.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? HELP ME!” screamed Woebegone, “CHICKEN SHITS!”

  Earnest charged, shield first, Dalliance right behind him, shield held near his to make a wall.

  Probably the most pitiful shield wall in legion history, Dalliance thought grimly.

  Servility’s heavier bootfalls sounded on the floor behind them as they ran, and it finally looked up and at them, weaving under another blow to do so.

  Got you now, Dalliance thought.

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  The monster let out a harsh caw and hopped back with uncanny speed, disappearing into a side room. Woebegone just stood there, panting. Dalliance felt a surge of unreasonable anger at him for not giving chase.

  “Go go go go!” yelled Servility. Dalliance and Earnest turned without breaking stride.

  As they passed, he got a better look at Zenith. Her eyes, glassy but moving sluggishly, followed his approach.

  “Zenith needs help!" Earnest shouted back at Immaculate. "We'll think of something!"

  Dalliance considered that they might have better luck if people would stop stopping to help one another. That’s what it was doing. On purpose—dividing them up.

  Knot was meant to be here somewhere, he thought. Where . . .

  "Knot! Woebegone! LITTLE HELP HERE!" he yelled into the smoky air.

  The Lackey boy didn’t answer, but the crow did, blasting their shields with a torrent of stolen lightning. The impact was a deafening wall of sound, though the force shuddering up his arm was unexpectedly tolerable. The wood held fast.

  The thunder quieted, leaving echoes and the pair of boys with brandished shields, standing in front of an empty doorway, in silence.

  Dalliance darted forward and slammed the door, driving the securing bar home.

  He listened at the door.

  Silence.

  The stillness was unbroken but for the the hungry crackle of the fire overhead and the ragged, heaving sound of his and Earnest’s breathing.

  “I think we got it,” Earnest gasped.

  A little section of thatch fell all at once, embers scattering across the floor and dying, each sending up its own streamer of pale smoke.

  Woebegone moved cautiously up beside the pair, now shirtless, pressing the balled-up garment against a set of three vicious claw marks running from his cheekbone down across his chest to his opposite hip. His ridiculously oversized club dragged behind him, bumping on protruding boards like a child’s toy being dragged by a toddler. Wide eyes flickered over the pair of them before focusing on the door.

  "I thought I was gonna die," he admitted.

  “Well, the day’s still young.” It was Knot, looking grim. He was battered as well.

  Dalliance wondered where he’d been. If he’d been, perhaps, hiding.

  The silence from behind the door stretched on. It was beginning to feel suspicious.

  "Where is it?" Knot asked.

  Dalliance jerked a thumb. “Locked it in,” he said.

  Knot cringed like a naughty dog, his words coming out in the rounded accent of his family’s original demesne. "Nooo," he said slowly, the single word hitting Dalliance like a punch to the gut. "It's not, either. There's windows."