The cold wind swept through the streets of Daelin, howling between buildings like a vengeful spirit denied entry, shaking shutters loose from their frames with its ghostly fingers, wrenching signs until the chains wailed in protest.

  It was not the kind of wind that merely passed by. It searched, squeezing through every tiny gap in one’s clothing to nip at the ankles, the wrists, the nape of the neck, any spot that was unprotected. Viktor had wound his scarf tight enough to nearly strangle himself, but it still managed to worm its way through. He kept his head down as he trudged against the wind’s bite, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, boots slipping now and then on treacherous patches of ice buried under the slush.

  For a moment, he considered turning around. He could just go home, wrap himself in a blanket, and make a pot of tea. He would drop Alycia a message later, telling her that the apprenticeship could wait until spring, when the streets weren’t actively trying to kill him.

  But the thought was gone almost as soon as it arrived. After all, if he folded every time the world bared its fangs, he would never accomplish a thing. So he gritted his teeth, pushed one foot in front of the other, and moved forward. The wind shrieked its displeasure, as if disappointed that it had failed to break him. Good.

  The caravan station loomed ahead. A handful of wagons huddled near the yard like livestock bracing for a storm. Draft horses stood tethered nearby, hooves scraping at the frozen ground, steam curling from their nostrils like disgruntled kettles, while drivers clustered near the loading platform, rubbing gloved hands and trading muttered words.

  And there she was.

  Rhea waited exactly where she said she would be, next to the entrance of the station, book in hand and scarf pulled up over her chin. She looked up before he even called her name, as if she could feel his presence. The wind pulled at the loose strands of brown hair peeking out from under the knitted cap, and her cheeks were rosy from the cold, but she smiled like she didn’t feel it at all.

  Why was she even here anyway? She and Alycia lived together, so she could just go to the shop with the blonde and wait for him there like any sane person. But no, somehow she had decided it was a brilliant idea to stand out here and risk freezing to death instead.

  “Have you waited long?” Viktor asked as he approached.

  “Not too long. I just got here.”

  “Your red nose and cheeks say otherwise. What would you have done if I’d never shown up?”

  “I’d keep waiting,” Rhea said like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You said you’d come, so I believe you.”

  Which meant, had he indeed turned around and gone home, he would have sent her straight into the arms of her older sister.

  “Blind trust like that is going to kill you someday,” Viktor said with a snort.

  Rhea shrugged. “The last time I trusted you, it saved my life.”

  “Fair enough,” Viktor muttered. “Come on, then. Let’s get there before our faces freeze off.”

  They walked side by side, boots crunching through the crusted snow. He cast a glance eastward, toward the climbing sun glinting off frost-coated rooftops, toward the prettier part of Daelin, the part with cleaner streets, brighter windows, and fewer rats. The road ahead was quiet. Empty, even. Well, it was the weekend. Only a few shopkeepers were out, sweeping snow from their steps, while the rest of the town still lay buried under warm blankets.

  “Alycia is already there?”

  “Yes,” Rhea replied, adjusting her scarf. “Though it was kind of hard to wake her up, actually. She barely slept last night.”

  “Why? Was she up late working or something?”

  The girl gave a soft laugh. “No, she was excited. She kept pacing the floor and muttering to herself about what she was going to do today. She must have really been looking forward to the first lesson.”

  Really? Viktor arched an eyebrow. Normally, it was the apprentice who was expected to show enthusiasm to the master, not the other way around. Oh well, this was Alycia. It would be out of character if she didn’t do something absurd.

  He glanced at the book Rhea was carrying. “What’s that?”

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  “This?” She held it up. Not a book, actually. More like a stack of yellowish parchment slapped together with the cheapest-looking binding he had ever seen. “Since I’ll be there anyway, I think I might as well try to learn a thing or two. So it’s for me to take notes.”

  “You’re taking notes?”

  “Yes. Just because Alycia’s teaching you doesn’t mean I can’t pick something up.”

  As diligent as ever, huh?

  Alycia had chosen the wrong apprentice, obviously. He had no intention of taking her place after her retirement, whatever that was supposed to mean. He was only there to pick out the practical bits, stuff that might prove useful for him or his dungeon. The rest, all the esoteric ramblings, would go in one ear and out the other. Come to think of it, having Rhea around might turn out to be a better deal than he had expected. She handled the tedious parts, he reaped the benefits. Convenient, indeed. Very convenient.

  He turned to her, grinning. “What am I going to do without you?”

  “Wha—?”

  For some reason, Rhea croaked. She missed a step, barely catching herself, and blinked at him as if he had just lobbed a stone at her face. Her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red. Then she looked away, her gaze fixed on a dead tree by the road as if it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the universe.

  “You alright? Is the cold getting to you?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, then started walking again, faster than before.

  He shrugged and followed. Oh well, whatever.

  The silence stretched as they made their way through the town. He didn’t mind it at all, not in the slightest. In fact, he preferred it. If someone didn’t have anything worth saying, then they were better off keeping their mouth shut. What was the point of spouting empty words just to fill the air? Nothing annoyed him more than talking for the sake of talking, born from the fear of silence. No, there was nothing inherently wrong with being quiet. He appreciated it. He embraced it.

  As they crossed the snow-mantled town center, leaving a trail of footprints on the previously undisturbed blanket of white, Viktor glanced over at the Southern man’s shop. Still closed. “A pity,” he murmured.

  “What?” asked Rhea.

  “If it were open,” Viktor said, jerking his chin in the direction of the shuttered storefront, “I’d get some meatwraps for all of us.”

  “There’s no need. I already prepared a lot of food, and Alycia took it all with her when she left.”

  “Oh, right. The usual. You make lunch for her, and she brings it to her shop to eat there.”

  “Exactly.”

  “All the while, she keeps telling me she can cook for herself.”

  “I’d rather not. I don’t want my kitchen to blow up.”

  Viktor barked out a laugh. To think that there was someone else who understood how alarming Alycia could be. It was strangely comforting.

  “What about the laundry? Do you let her do that? Or are you afraid she might flood the place?”

  “Well, she does take care of the laundry for both of us. The house is still standing, by the way.”

  That’s... unexpected, Viktor thought. “Good to know my esteemed master is not totally hopeless.”

  Then something dawned on him.

  “Anyway, why does she always eat by herself at her shop? Wouldn’t it make more sense for her to come to the Guild and have lunch with you?”

  “Well...” Rhea hesitated. “Because... Noi’ri and Lucian are usually with us.”

  “And?”

  “You know what happened between them and Alycia, don’t you?”

  “Yes, she had tried to kill them. But I thought everyone had agreed to let bygones be bygone after the apology?”

  “That’s true,” Rhea said, “but that doesn’t mean it’s no longer awkward. She still feels guilty about it, and she’s not sure if she deserves to be around them, sitting down and sharing a meal like nothing has happened.”

  People really love overthinking, don’t they? Viktor thought. He and Azran had been enemies once, but now he had absolutely no problem sitting at the same table with the guy.

  “Besides,” the girl continued, “we don’t know how those two feel about it, especially Noi’ri. He might not show it, but he could be uneasy having an Arstenian like her nearby. It’s not just about him and her, but also the bad blood between his people and her people...”

  Fair enough, Viktor thought. He didn’t need to be told what it was like to carry hatred. He knew better than anyone else that it was not something that would just go away when someone said sorry. And he also knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of hatred. People had tried to kill him for what he had done. Many, many times. Most failed, but six of them had eventually succeeded.

  “Come to think of it,” he said, “I haven’t seen Noi’ri or Lucian at the Guild lately. In fact, I haven’t seen anyone from their party for a while now.”

  Rhea tilted her head. “I heard they were last spotted just after coming back from the dungeon. Apparently, Noi’ri was badly injured. I wasn’t there to see it, but that’s what my colleagues told me. If I remember correctly, it happened the same day we went to the haunted castle.”

  That’s... strange.

  Noi’ri was tough. Lucian was a good healer. The gnoll had once walked off after eating a punch from Sebekton, and by the next day, the boy mage had already patched him up as good as new. So the idea that there was something that could put him and his entire party out of action for weeks was certainly baffling, especially now that the place had practically become “a dungeon that didn’t kill.”

  Oh well, whatever. As long as they hadn’t dropped dead yet, Viktor could always ask them what happened later. He had other things to deal with right now. Because, like it or not, he had just reached his destination.

  The wooden building stood before him, iron letters bolted above the doorway, reading “Alycia’s shop,” which told absolutely nothing about what was sold here to any potential customer passing by.

  Viktor stepped closer and raised a hand, then paused.

  It was torturously cold outside. His scarf had stiffened, his fingers were numb, and his boots felt like they were about to fuse with the ground. By all logic, he should have already flung the door open and hurled himself into the warmth inside.

  And yet, he hesitated.

  “Let’s just hope it doesn’t blow up the moment I open it.”

  Then, grimacing like a man lighting a powder keg, he pushed the door.