every edge: of fangs and lolling beasts, of precious metals and wild horses. The maps were gridded with marked squares, inked with mountain ranges and caves. Maps built into books, with translucent pages that, when laid over one another, showed how the Mountains changed over weeks, months, and even years. Maps dedicated exclusively to the lairs of dragons, maps that charted the migrations of beasts, maps that connected the dots of treasure troves and mines for precious metals. There were maps of winds and maps of wolves, maps of avalanches, and more than anything, maps of dragons.
Lukasz’s long gloved fingers flickered expertly across the drawings. Ren imagined that she could see the lines reflected in his blue eyes. For all his talk, he looked like he belonged.
He cares, she realized. Even if it wasn’t home, exactly. He cares about this place.
He ran his hand over his chin, down his throat, and around the back of his neck.
“Is this Glass Mountain on these?” she asked into the yellow, dusty silence.
In answer, Lukasz slid a piece of parchment into view.
It was a mountain. The sides were not smooth, like Ren had expected. Instead, the illustrator had drawn a tangled mass of knights, kings, horses, and banners. All together, they formed a vaguely mountain-like shape. Their limbs intertwined and their faces formed silent screams. Atop this towering, peaked pile of humanity perched a dragon in golden ink.
Next to it, someone had drawn a map.
Ren shuddered.
“It’s awful,” she said.
He glanced down at her. The sun caught under his cheekbones. Ren found she barely recognized this new stranger, born once up here in these wooden halls and now reborn in the glow of the dragon skulls.
“At least it’s still here,” he was saying. “I thought Franciszek might have taken it—”
He stopped. Suddenly, he raised his hand, as if to run it through his hair, but knocked an inkpot off the desk. It shattered on the floor, and faded, red-brown liquid oozed across the hardwood.
Ren knew what he was thinking. If Franciszek had come here, then he certainly would have taken the maps. And if the maps were still here, that could only mean . . .
Ren’s heart sank.
Without being fully aware of what she was doing, she put her hand on his arm. She wasn’t surprised, exactly. She had suspected this. She hadn’t said it out loud because it had seemed cruel, and because he didn’t seem to want to hear it, but there was no getting around it anymore.
Franciszek was dead.
Lukasz moved away from her touch. He turned to face the window, running his hands through his hair, smoothing it down around his neck. With his back still turned, he said:
“They’ll be glad.”
His voice was steady; his hands didn’t shake again.
Ren blinked. “What?”
He turned back around. He looked way too calm. Looked like he’d been doing this for far too long. Saying goodbye, closing doors, moving on.
“They’ll be glad that we’re dead.”
A bed occupied one side of the room, heaped with knitted blankets and furs. Lukasz crossed the room and sank down, his head in his hands. A little unsure, Ren settled next to him. She didn’t know what to say.
“Who will be glad?” she asked at last.
When Lukasz finally answered, it was to say more words than she’d ever heard from him at once. She let him talk. She was used to the silence of animals, but she was learning that these humans needed more.
Besides, she liked how he talked.
She liked him.
“Everyone,” he said hollowly. “The aristocrats. The Unnaturalists. Even those wretches in the villages and towns. They hear Wolf-Lord, they think we’re dogs.”
He smiled, not quite at her. Not quite at anything. He looked gaunt and old, but he had nine dead brothers, and Ren wondered how he had ever been able to smile at all.
“When they heard my brother could read?” he murmured. “They were shocked. They wanted him to do demonstrations. For science. They study us in their universities. You know that? Put our swords and our carvings and our dragon antlers on display. They slap on a few plaques. They tell everyone about the once-great, now-extinct, savage people who couldn’t be dragged into this age with the rest of you.” His voice had gotten very harsh. “They were right.”
The rest of you.
It was strange, being folded in the rest of them.
She wasn’t sure why she did it, but she took his gloved hand in hers. Her fingers intertwined with his. White in black, speckled with sun and shadows. He