reminded him that whatever she was—monster, human—she wasn’t anything like him.
“We’re going to shake on it,” he said. “It’s a human custom.”
Tentatively, she reached out.
Their fingers touched, and then Lukasz seized her hand and shook it once. It was cold even through the dragon-leather gloves, with sharp, prominent bones. But for some reason, despite the claws and the fangs, it struck Lukasz as being almost fragile.
He was already formulating a plan—hopefully, Franciszek would still be in the forest. They’d follow his most likely route, and with her guiding them, maybe even catch up with him before the Mountains. And then they’d make a break for it. They’d be back in Miasto in under a week, sipping vodka and enjoying their gold. The last two Brothers Smokówi, doing what none had done before them: growing old.
He released her hand. She turned it over, looking dubious.
“It’s a promise,” he said, irritated with the guilt already stirring in him. “To do what we say.”
“No games?” she asked. Her voice was rough and growling.
But she couldn’t know. Not when he needed her. Not when he was so close. Lukasz ignored the cold feeling spreading through his chest, replacing that flicker of hope.
He shook his head.
“No games.”
She continued to stare at her palm. Then she curled her fingers under and folded the hand back in her lap, still not looking at it. She ran her tongue over her lips. And then she said, in the same hoarse voice:
“My name is Ren.”
15
“ONE NIGHT?” REPEATED CZARN IN the morning. “Is that what it takes, Ren? For you to change your mind?”
Ren drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Lukasz had insisted that they try to take the same path as his brother, in the hopes that they might catch up with him on their journey. Ren personally thought the missing Wolf-Lord was lying dead at the bottom of a river somewhere, but she kept the suspicion to herself. She was happy to take whatever route Lukasz wanted. She needed that Dragon dead.
So, together with Czarn and Ry?, she had spent most of the night figuring out how a human might try to get to the Mountains. And at every step, Czarn kept badgering her not to go.
“You can’t trust them!” he insisted.
“Drop it, Czarn,” she growled.
On the other side of the clearing, the humans had built a fire. They paced back and forth in front of the embers, sipping drinks from tin mugs and watching the sun crest the trees. Ren was cold and hungry, but—whatever Czarn might have thought—she still didn’t trust them enough to move to their side of the clearing.
And besides, she did not like fire.
“My God,” muttered Ry?, opening one eye. “Make up your mind. Now that Ren’s actually made a deal, you’re backing out?”
“Did you see those things last night?” growled Czarn. “We—”
“They knew how to get rid of them,” said Ren, even though she only meant the Wolf-Lord. “We didn’t. They could help us, Czarn. Not just with the Dragon, but . . .”
Her voice trailed away, but both Czarn and Ry? knew exactly what she meant.
Without the humans—without Lukasz—they might not have survived the nawia. Whatever that bap—bat— Whatever that thing was Ren had done, only the humans had known how to do it. It was the first time that Ren’s experience had not been enough. The realization was sobering.
On the other side of the clearing, the Wolf-Lord leaned down to wake Felka, offering her a cup of something hot. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Ren felt a stab of jealousy as Lukasz lowered himself beside Felka to talk. His eye caught hers across the clearing, and Ren turned quickly back to Czarn.
“Czarn,” she said, “they’re our best chance. The Wolf-Lord has promised to kill the Dragon.”
The black wolf growled. The one-eyed man—Rybak—glanced up nervously.
“I do not trust them,” Czarn murmured.
“Come on,” groaned Ry?, rolling onto his back and stretching out as far as he could, until he looked like a furrier, toothier crescent moon. “He’s a Wolf-Lord, Czarn. You’re supposed to like these idiots.”
Czarn jerked his slim muzzle toward the one-eyed villager, Rybak. He wore a long cream-colored coat with dark embroidered trousers and boots. The coat had rusty stains, and Ren wondered if it was old blood.
“It’s not the Wolf-Lord I mind,” said Czarn.
Ren wondered, with a sudden twist, whether it was the same coat he’d been wearing when she attacked him. Even worse, she realized she could not remember.