clung to the edges of the campsite. Lukasz was gone, and Jakub was still asleep. Ren sniffed again. She was sure she was right. She suddenly wondered whether what she had assumed was mist might actually be smoke.
“Cold?” asked Koszmar, emerging from the trees.
It took her a moment to realize he was addressing Felka.
“I’m fine,” said the girl flatly. Ren could see the goose bumps on her skin.
“Your lips are blue,” Koszmar pointed out.
As he sauntered past his horse, he tugged some fabric from under the saddle. It was another black greatcoat, almost identical to the one he wore. This one was fancier, decorated in extra gold braid and edged in black fur. He held it out.
“I do not want it,” said Felka in the same flat voice.
“Please,” said Koszmar. It was as if he couldn’t hold Felka’s gaze. His eyes drifted toward the trees, then back to her. As if it cost him a great effort, he repeated: “Please. Just take it.”
“No,” said Felka.
Koszmar held the coat out a moment longer, then dropped his arm. He crossed back to the other side of the fire and dropped it in a heap. When he looked up, he asked, in an entirely different voice:
“Why are you here, anyway?”
Felka stiffened. Ren could feel it. But she could also still smell the smoke, and now she wasn’t sure whether it was her imagination, but she could almost hear something, too.
“I was born,” Felka was saying. Her eyes flickered, without humor. “Unfortunately.”
Ren began to move toward the edge of the trees. Behind her, Koszmar picked up the tin mug. Turned it over in long, elegant fingers.
“No, no,” he was saying, in that soft, slightly rushed voice of his. “I mean, why are you here? What interest could someone like you possibly have in the Dragon?”
Even half paying attention, Ren caught the tone. Insult.
A shape moved in the trees. Ren transformed her eyes. The shape was gone . . . if it had ever been there at all. All the same, she got to her feet. She couldn’t be too careful. There could be anything out here.
Behind her, Felka said: “Who said I was interested in the Dragon?”
“I’ll be right back,” Ren said over her shoulder as she stepped into the trees.
The forest was cool. Moss, damp and coarse, carpeted the trees and the ground. Her bare feet sank into the cool green, and except for the distant chirrup of crickets, the forest was silent. She kept glancing over her shoulder, trying to keep her bearings. Overhead, Jakub’s eagle—Ducha—flitted between the trees.
Ren suppressed a shudder, glad of the company.
As she walked, a wall of smooth white rolled into view. She laid a cautious hand against the side and nearly gasped. The surface was knotted and rough under her palms, and familiar. A tree. It had fallen in the forest, but its trunk was so tall and wide that it had almost looked like an enormous, curved wall.
Ren changed course, walking beside it, fingers trailing along the bark. Ducha dutifully followed. As she went farther, the trunk began to expand and then split into roots, still half-embedded in the forest floor.
Partially uprooted, the fibers that remained tendriled out to her like a many-headed monster. A faint scuttling noise emanated from the other side of the trunk. There was also the sound of someone smacking.
Like a moth to a candle, Ren approached the tree. Its skeletal roots ran directly into the ground, forming a tiny jungle of bare, twisting fibers.
Other than the smacking sound, the forest was silent.
Keeping close to the desiccated bark, Ren crept toward the sound. What was left of the tree overhung a kind of mossy embankment, the forest stretching onward below it. Ren lowered herself to her belly and crept up to the edge.
She froze.
Strzygi.
They dug around in the clearing, chattering. A wagon lay on its side, surrounding by a half dozen skeletons. The strzygi tore through them, clawing at their clothes. Chewing on their bones. They picked. They snuffled. They feasted.
A hand—a claw?—closed on Ren’s shoulder.
Her attacker slammed against her, propelled her into the ground. Her elbow struck a rock, and she twisted around, hands flashing into claws. A hand clamped over her mouth. Ren felt her teeth change, and she bit down.
Lukasz swore. Loudly.
Below them, the strzygi went still.
Ren froze. Lukasz ducked his head and froze. It brought them very close together.
“You—”
“You bit me,” he interrupted. She could tell he was trying not to smile. It annoyed her.