the name. Redemption was a pretty dream, but it wasn’t part of his world.
“I’ll think about it,” Albric lied. “But keep your arrows ready all the same.”
They left a little while after that. Albric drank another mug of beer, dropped a handful of small coins on the table to pay for the meal, and went up the stairs to the night.
The cold startled tears into his eyes as soon as he stepped outside. He pulled his cloak closer and started for the west gate, which gave him the longest way to walk before he got back to Severine’s camp.
There was a small crumpled form on the cobblestones outside the Dancer and Drum. Albric initially took it for a clot of old rushes or an unlucky alley cat, but then the moonlight caught a fan of spread feathers and he recognized the dead thing as a crow.
He turned the bird over with the toe of his boot. It was too light, and by that he knew it was one of Severine’s: muscle and organs all withered away, leaving the empty shell as her spy. And it was dead, truly dead, but not by an arrow.
In the uncertain light it was impossible to see puncture wounds, and of course the girl might have pulled out her shafts, but Albric doubted they’d shot it. The stink of burned feathers drifted up from the little corpse as he nudged it, and melted ice glistened between the cobbles where it lay.
The stories said that Knights of the Sun could call upon Celestia’s holy fire to strike down evil creatures, leaving the innocent untouched. It seemed there was some truth to the tales. A little, at least. Enough to raise his hopes.
Albric crushed the crow’s skull under his boot. The brittle bone snapped with barely a sound, and he ground it against the cobbles until he could feel nothing under his heel but dust and gritty feathers and stone.
Then he walked on to the west gate and out of Tarne Crossing, the chill night warmed by visions of ghoul-hounds aflame.
SEVERINE WAS SEATED ON THE MOSSY log, reading a book in the dark. A hollow-eyed crow perched on her shoulder, its ragged head thrust forward at the pages. The bones of its neck peeped out from the rough collar of black feathers around its throat, showing the wound that had killed it.
“Where have you been?” the Thornlady asked once he stepped into the clearing. She marked her place in the book with a ribbon and closed it, tilting her head toward him.
“Drinking.” He didn’t stop. Albric had no interest in talking to her. He only wanted to sleep, and his tent was not twenty paces away.
“Have you had enough? You stink of beer.”
“I’m still walking, so the answer’s probably no.”
“Clever.” Her voice was cold and sharp as cracking ice. “Have you contrived of a plan to lure the Sun Knight to us? As I recall, that was your reason for spending the day in taverns.”
“As I recall, the reason for that was to drink. Which I did, so I’d count the day a success.” Beer and contempt were making him too reckless. Albric realized it even as he spoke. The gods promised victory to no man; he could lose everything if he was foolish.
He paused and turned back toward the woman. She was luminous and monstrous as ever, a thin creature of shadow crowned with trailing silver and staring at him with an eye that burned like a ghost-torch of Narsenghal. Albric swallowed uneasily, suddenly conscious of what he had been tempting.
“But I do have a plan,” he muttered, “so you might count it one too.”
She said nothing. She sat there, waiting, and her terrible eye raked his soul. He could just see the tips of her maimed fingers glinting in the moonlight, cold silverbound claws waiting to be warmed in blood.
“There’s a girl,” Albric said, struggling to work spit into his mouth so he could talk. “Her name’s Mirri. The Burnt Knight’s friend has been teaching her to track. Sometimes the girl goes out into the woods by herself. It’d be easy enough to take her and bait a trap with her. They’d have to come for her—they’d have to. People like that … they’d blame themselves for the danger she was in. Then you’d have them.”
“His friend has been teaching this child?”
“That’s what I said.” Albric shook his head. “A waste. She’s too pretty for that. The Sun Knights must be mad.”
“Perhaps,” said Severine. She