Marte and Iskra moved through the undergrowth, treading on a carpet of humus and dead leaves. Farther on, hoofprints gouged the mud.

  “Marte, come look at this,” she called.

  No sooner had her fingers brushed the earth than leaves burst from the ground.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’ll take the right,” Iskra declared as she moved away. “Wait, Iskra!”

  She plunged deeper into the forest, following the tracks to the edge of a stream. Her boots slipped on the wet rocks. But on the other side, every trace had vanished. Bushes and trunks tightened their grip, shrinking her field of vision to just a few meters.

  “Iskra!”

  She rushed toward him. Around them, six men struggled, trapped by vines. One of them tore one from his leg, but before he could savor his victory, others immediately coiled around him.

  “Damn sorcerer,” one brigand growled.

  Marte made a gesture with his hand, and at once the vines twisted.

  “Stop!” another screamed.

  A crack rang out as his rib cage shattered. Pleas mingled with groans. Some still fought, their faces contorted with rage and pain, while others, frozen into silence, remained crouched and withdrawn.

  “I found them,” he declared.

  “I can see that.”

  Late in the afternoon, the clinking of armor echoed, and soldiers emerged between the trees. At the head of the column, the officer wore a breastplate engraved with a falcon.

  “Marte, Iskra, it seems you’ve done all the work again before we arrived.”

  “Let’s just say these guys had the bad idea of crossing our path,” Marte replied.

  The captain sketched a smile before sweeping his gaze over the brigands.

  “Good. We’ll take care of them.”

  No sooner had the vines slid to the ground than they were seized and bound.

  “Let me go, you pack of dogs!” spat one prisoner.

  “All right, stop squirming,” one of the men snickered as he shoved him forward.

  But no sooner had he straightened up than a boot flew out, slamming into his ribs.

  “You really think you’re getting out of this like that?” another growled.

  The third man, in uniform, shook his head with a sigh. “Always the same idiots…”

  “What do we do with them, Captain?”

  “We take them back. The commander will decide.”

  The officer turned to Marte and Iskra.

  “Thanks for your help. You should come with us, these types might have some interesting things to say… if they still have enough teeth left to talk.”

  “Not this time. We’re heading back to the capital,” Marte declared.

  “You’re going to miss the best part.”

  “They’re just highway robbers. Nothing they say will change much.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Safe travels.”

  The captain signaled to his men.

  “Forward!”

  They pressed the brigands against the horses’ flanks and bound them to the tack. Then Iskra and Marte mounted their steeds and rode away from the forest. The castle ramparts took shape on the horizon. As soon as she passed beneath the shadow of the great gates, Iskra dismounted and handed her reins to a groom. She headed for Soren’s office. The moment she pushed the door open, the smell of burning tallow and old paper greeted her. Seated in his armchair, he was leafing through a document.

  “I’m waiting for your report.”

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  “The brigands have been captured. No casualties on our side. They’re in the captain’s hands and will be questioned shortly.”

  “Did they talk?”

  “Not yet, but it won’t be long.”

  “And Marte?”

  “He returned to his quarters as soon as we arrived.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m awaiting further instructions.”

  Soren leaned back against the chair.

  “They will come in due time.”

  “I still have strength left.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “Then give me another mission.”

  “Go get some sleep. That’s an order.”

  “I don’t need rest.”

  He shook his head, and she left the office. Soren sighed before returning to his reading.

  She crossed the threshold of the barracks. The smell of metal and sweat hung in the air. Several soldiers were busy with their tasks. Eyes turned away, conversations fell silent. She passed near a soldier who turned aside to tuck a dagger into his satchel.

  “Hey, you there!” she called.

  A group of soldiers froze.

  “Yes, ma’am?” one of them ventured, his eyes flicking between Iskra and his comrades.

  “Who’s in charge of assignments today?”

  “Captain Doreth, ma’am,” he stammered.

  “Then go fetch him.”

  He hurried off.

  “She’s got that look again,” a voice whispered.

  “Be careful, she might… you know.”

  A tremor ran through her fingers. The urge to answer burned on her tongue, but she swallowed her anger. This wasn’t the time. A graying man approached.

  “Lady Iskra, what can I do for you?”

  “I want a mission. Something straightforward—no reports or unnecessary details.”

  “I’m afraid all priority patrols are already assigned. Perhaps tomorrow,” he replied.

  “Find me something, or I’ll take care of it personally,” she said.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The captain adjusted the folds of his tunic, then turned on his heel. His shadow slid along the wall before vanishing beyond the corridor frame. Every passing second fed the fire smoldering inside her. She left the barracks and headed for the prison. The sentinels posted at the entrance lowered their weapons as she passed. She crossed the corridor, slipped into the spiral staircase, and descended into the bowels of the castle. With each step, the air grew heavier, saturated with dampness and the smell of moldy stone. She reached the sixth basement level and laid a hand on the bars.

  “Fulger!” she called.

  Two yellow pupils gleamed.

  “Iskra, what a surprise. I thought you’d forgotten me… Two years? Maybe more.”

  “What brings you here?”

  “I’m getting married.”

  “And who’s the lucky man?”

  “Count Hanté.”

  “Well, that’s fascinating.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “And what do you plan to do with those answers, Iskra? Do you want to run from this marriage? Do you really think knowing something will save you?”

  “Talk,” she hissed.

  “We are all prisoners. You, me… even him.”

  “I’m not you,” she shot back.

  He vanished into the shadows of his cell.

  “You came looking for answers, but sometimes ignorance is a blessing.”

  She turned toward the guards posted at the cell entrance.

  “Have a bed and some food brought to him.”

  “How generous,” Fulger called out.

  She headed for the prison exit. Outside, not a soul in the streets—only the wind slipping between the walls. Her gaze searched every corner. A danger to challenge, a fleeting distraction, a reason to stop. Anything to shatter the emptiness. A sign hung limply, but behind the door a warm light spilled out. Inside, a thick, sticky heat wrapped around her, heavy with the smells of beer, tobacco, and sweat.

  “What can I get you, miss?” the tavern keeper called.

  “A beer.”

  A man looked her up and down.

  “So, pretty thing, did you get lost?”

  She grabbed the mug and sat in a corner of the room. He pulled up a chair and sat across from her.

  “It’s late. Not very safe for a woman alone to be wandering the city.”

  She took the royal insignia from her pocket and set it on the table.

  “I… I’m sorry, my lady,” he stammered.

  He moved away, melting back into the crowd. Her fingers brushed the cold metal before she slid it out of sight, then she raised the mug to her lips. Her gaze drifted over the flushed faces. Every smile, every burst of laughter rang false. She ordered another. The liquid slid down her throat, but the bitterness knotted in her stomach did not fade.

  When her glass was empty, Iskra left a few coins on the table and walked out of the tavern.