the light of any globefire. They threw flickering shadows on the stone walls, the blood and bodies on the floor cast in monochrome. “This way,” he muttered, and Ana, Ramson, and the Affinites followed.
They walked in silence but for the sound of their heels clacking against the floors and their ragged breaths. Ramson stayed close to Ana, casting her sidelong glances. She kept her gaze straight, on Yuri’s flame-red hair, trying not to think of May’s weight in her arms.
Gradually, the stone floors grew coarse and slippery with moss, the tunnels branching out like roots of a tree and growing narrower and narrower until they had to walk single file. Several times, Ana was seized by the sudden fear that they were lost, that they would never make it out of these tunnels, that they would die trapped in an Affinite broker’s maze. She kept her Affinity extended, searching for signs of warm, coursing blood approaching.
After what seemed like hours, the air changed. It grew cooler; a far-off breeze stirred the flames on Yuri’s palm and kissed Ana’s cheeks. Gradually, the darkness eased around them and distant light appeared, and soon they approached a broken door, swinging off its hinges.
Yuri held it open and waited as, one by one, the Affinites took their first, tentative steps into freedom.
The stars shone a cold white light on them as they stole through the town like shadows, following Yuri through dark alleyways. The streets grew emptier, the cobblestones rougher until they faded to dust; closely intertwined red-roofed dachas turning to simple cottages with clay walls.
The Syvern Taiga loomed, a jagged wall of trees. At the edge of the forest was a single cottage, lights flaring stubbornly from its windows. As they drew closer to it, Ana could make out a wooden sign hanging on the door, declaring in lavish cursive: Shamaïra’s Shop of Spiritualism.
The group stopped at the dacha’s steps, shivering, their breathing ragged. Yuri stepped up and rapped.
The door swung open at the first knock. Arms aching from exertion, Ana stumbled inside after the other Affinites.
Warmth enveloped her. A fire crackled in a hearth behind a slanted wooden table, and the air was heavy with the smell of incense and aromatic spices. Her first impression was that the dacha was tidy, with a distinct décor that was like nothing she’d ever seen. Bookcases lined the walls, chock-full of tomes with golden inscriptions in an elegant, curling language. A giant rug sprawled in the center of the room, intricately patterned with birds and roses hewn in rich reds and deep golds. Cushioned settees surrounded it, and atop a low coffee table in the center rested a large silver samovar.
Yuri removed his shoes and stepped into the parlor.
Ana wanted nothing more than to collapse on one of those settees and wake up to May’s bright blue eyes.
“Speak and be recognized by the Mother of All Knowledge, you mortals,” a low voice boomed, startling Ana.
“Shamaïra, it’s me,” Yuri called.
There was a strange shuffling sound, and from behind a heavy brocade curtain emerged a middle-aged woman. Her eyes were outlined in black kohl against her rich olive skin, and she wore a silken shawl over her head, draped loosely over her shoulders. It was her bold cheekbones and fierce eyes that drew Ana’s attention. She was beautiful; a diminutive lioness.
“Oh, it’s just you,” the woman growled in the raspy voice of a pipe smoker. She paused as her gaze settled on the rest of the group. Her expression shifted and she broke into a smile as fiery as the sun. “Welcome.”
“Not tonight, Shamaïra,” Yuri said wearily, and tilted his head toward Ana.
Shamaïra’s eyes softened. “Oh,” was all she said as she strode over and placed a hand on May. Ana tensed—but the woman’s touch was gentle. Her eyes found Ana’s, and there was such a profound sadness in them that Ana felt the blank, unfeeling wall she had put up beginning to crack.
“A Chi’gon Affinite,” Shamaïra murmured. “We shall return her soul. Could I?”
Ana tightened her grip on May. She felt as though, if she just held on for a bit longer, she could delay the terrifying reality that awaited her. The reality of a world without her friend.
“She is passed, my child,” Shamaïra said softly. “And we must return her to her gods and her loved ones. It does not do for the dead to dwell in this world.”
This time Ana let Shamaïra lift May from her arms, as carefully as one would hold a