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eyes that showed every passing emotion. Now he looked like a stranger.
    “Don’t despair about Raven,” Marek murmured. “It could still be one of our children.”
    “How?”
    “She might claim one of them later. I have two Spirits, why couldn’t Nilik or Jula?”
    “True.” She looked at the bits of fox and wolf tails hanging from Marek’s neck. He was the only person she’d ever known with two Spirits. “But Fox helped you survive when Wolf couldn’t. I wouldn’t wish your ordeal on them.”
    “Me, neither.” Marek followed her gaze to their son. “He’ll feel better once he starts training here in Tiros.”
    “I don’t think either of our children will ever speak to me again.” She jutted her chin in the direction of Jula, who was still bouncing on her toes, waving to the departing troupe.
    “They can’t understand,” he said.
    “No, they—” His words struck her as odd. “Why can’t they?”
    Marek didn’t reply, just watched Lycas’s caravan move across the plain toward the Sangian Hills.
    Rhia felt as though a stone were stuck in her throat. Marek knew. Had her words revealed her secret vision of Nilik’s death? All these years, she’d been so careful not to let on, to keep a Crow’s most sacred confidence. She’d pretended that she was worried for Nilik’s safety for all the mundane reasons. But Marek must have figured out why she insisted on keeping their son away from Velekos.
    She could see her vision now, as clearly as if she were nineteen again, gazing down at a newborn Nilik.
    His breath, nonexistent at first, had just started. In her exhaustion, she had reached forward with Crow magic to witness the end of his life, on a beach near Velekos, a young man dressed for battle. The waves washed his blood out to sea as Crow carried his soul to the Other Side.
    As his mother wept.

04
    Kalindos
    S ura’s feet were killing her—or at least, she wished they would. Death would at least stop the soreness in her thighs and backside from three days of riding.
    Her pony snorted with impatience as she led him—or rather, as he led her —through the forest of pines, spruces and hickories. Judging by the overgrown path, few people traveled between Kalindos and Asermos anymore. Twice she had been forced to double back and pick up a lost trail, and even now she wasn’t certain how far it was to the village. She only knew that the way was getting steeper.
    The gelding snorted again and shook his head. She let a few more inches of reins slip through her hands, hoping the slack would appease him. He quieted, but his ears continued to twitch and swivel. Worried that he sensed danger, Sura scanned their surroundings for bears and cougars, seeing nothing but birds and a few squirrels. The fat, gray rodents ignored her in their haste to bury nuts under the thick carpet of needles and leaves. It made her realize how far north and how high she’d traveled: Kalindos was already edging into autumn.
    She returned her focus to the ground. Left foot, right foot, she recited to herself. Left foot, right foot. Maybe the rhythm would help her forget the sensation of daggers jabbing into her soles.
    The horse suddenly jerked up his chin and whinnied. She cursed—now her arm and shoulder would be sore, too.
    “What is it now?” she said. “Spirits, you’re a complete—”
    The next word faded in her throat as she saw what stood before her on the trail.
    Or rather, who. Three humans, the middle one tall and male with long red hair. He appeared unarmed but was flanked by two women holding taut bows with nocked arrows. All three wore trousers, vests and long-sleeved shirts that blended with the forest. Dark green paint slathered their faces.
    “Who are you?” the man’s voice boomed. “Stand still and answer fast. Only takes a second for them to aim and fire.”
    “Half a second,” growled the tall blonde on his left.
    Sura raised both hands, palms forward. “Don’t shoot. I come from Asermos.