The cacophony drowned Runa’s mind. Severine went limp. Runa caught her as she fell through the trapdoor, her head still swimming. It was like being inside a bell, or being the sword as it was drawn from the scabbard—a thousand bells, a thousand scabbards…

  Just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.

  Severine flinched back into life. Her feet scrabbled on the floor and Runa helped her upright. “The swords?”

  She couldn’t think of anything else it could be.

  Severine nodded, her face pale.

  “How come I heard them?”

  “You only heard one.” Severine’s eyes dragged to the corner. Runa followed her gaze.

  Bloodburster.

  Fear made her voice surly. “What was it singing about, then?”

  “Its fate draws near.”

  “I thought I was its fate,” Runa joked. Severine was clutching her, and the gurgling noise she made in response meant joking probably wasn’t the best decision right now.

  “Sorry, love. A fate even greater than you.” Severine’s face was drawn, and her eyes had a strange grey, oily gloss over them.

  “The Blood Lord.” Runa stilled. “How far? How long do we have?”

  “Up to a week’s walk on easy terrain.” Severine’s eyes were hollowed, and Runa’s jaw tightened, thinking how she must have learned it to that level of detail.

  “The Cauldron doesn’t do easy terrain. Then again, an undead lich doesn’t need to eat or rest, so maybe not.” She steadied Severine against her. “How long before we need to follow it out?”

  “What’s this we—”

  “I’m not letting you face it alone.”

  Severine straightened. Her head fell forwards, as though it was too heavy for her neck to hold, and it was several long breaths before she looked up at Runa through the trailing coils of her hair.

  “I’d give it two nights.”

  “Then we’ll leave before then. We’ll only stay as long as it takes to prepare for the journey, and to face to Blood Lord.”

  “I have to return the blade to him.” Severine gritted the words out, her face twisted. “I thought it wouldn’t matter. He’s been dead hundreds of years.”

  “Shouldn’t be any danger in giving a sword to a dead man.”

  “He’s still dead. He’s just walking around, too,” Severine said bitterly. “If I’d left well enough alone, he’d still be lying on his tomb. This is all my fault.”

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  “Don’t worry. I’ve been doing this a long time, too. I know how to deal with restless skeletons.”

  Runa pulled her close. Severine sagged against her, boneless with exhaustion.

  “Can you go to sleep again, do you think?” Runa asked.

  “I… don’t know.” She laughed weakly. “I don’t think I could climb the ladder, anyway.”

  “No need.” Runa drew her to the window seat, and Severine slipped under the blankets beside her.

  For a few minutes, they had as much peace as was possible, knowing that fate was marching towards them.

  The first rays of light crept in around the shutters, and someone pounded on the door. “The sun is rising, and we’re alive! It’s time to eat!”

  Runa carefully slipped out from under Severine, who was asleep. She tucked the blanket around her, made sure that Nobody’s chocolate dragon moon roll was on its shelf where it wouldn’t get accidentally snagged by anyone else, and went to open the door.

  “Morning, Junilla,” she said.

  Junilla’s gaze danced past her. “What is that delicious smell? Don’t tell me you got hold of chocolate all the way out here.”

  “It’s a gift from Severine.” Runa stood back and Junilla whisked inside, heading straight for the racks of cooling chocolate dragon moons. “They’re still cooling. Don’t touch them yet.”

  “When did she—oh. An apology gift?” Junilla raised her eyebrows. “And I’m assuming she’s upstairs now, since she disappeared from the camp last night. Oh, no, there she is.” Her voice dropped minimally, in deference to Severine sleeping by the window.

  “What’s that about, anyway? Everyone sleeping outdoors.”

  Junilla shrugged as her nose led her to the other loaves. “All part of what we try to remember. The desperation of the last harvest, the village gathered together to defend the grain, and then—the celebration! The feast.” Her eyes gleamed.

  “What we try to remember. This must have all been new to you once, too.”

  “It’s been a long time since that was true.” Junilla put the kettle on and made herself comfortable. “Staranza has different ways to remember the wars, and different things to remember about them.”

  “I knew the story,” Runa admitted. “But I only knew it as a story. Not something people lived through.” Something they’re still unliving through, she added, thinking of the undead who’d guarded the wall the night before.

  Junilla was still surveying the loaves. “You’ve done a great job here. Did you sleep at all?”

  “Was I meant to?” Runa asked ironically.

  “Certainly not. You’ll be pleased to hear some villages have the tradition of the baker working themselves almost to death, to feed the townsfolk with the miraculous harvest.”

  “All these little details about the job that only come up when it’s too late to run off.” Runa put her hands on her hips. “Anything else I’m missing? Audella introduced me to the local skellies last night. You didn’t think to mention them when you were telling me not to clonk Errant over the head?”

  “I was more worried about you setting him on fire,” Junilla said. “So you met the old locals, did you?”

  “You weren’t worried about me sconing them?”

  “Should I have been?”

  Runa’s mouth opened. She shut it again without saying anything.

  “I thought not.” Junilla looked smug. “Don’t get me wrong, Runa. I know nobody survives the Cauldron as long as you have without a few notches on your blade. And you don’t survive without knowing who not to attack, either. Horrifying apparitions of the Seven Deathless, looming threateningly over your neighbours, yes. Stray skeletons minding their own business? You’d have had a far shorter career if you pounded every undead you ever met into dust.”

  “Fair point.”

  “The old baker liked to save a few loaves for them. Put them out on the wall last thing today. They can’t eat it, but it’s a nice gesture.”

  Again with doling out the details one by one. Runa shook her head. “That’ll only work if there’s bread left at the end of the day.”

  “Oh, you think you’re such a good baker nobody will leave a single crumb, huh?”

  Runa turned to face her. She was holding the bread shovel, another perfectly baked loaf balanced on the end. “I know I am,” she said, and grinned.

  On the windowseat, Severine screamed.