Page 45

“Come along,” he said, “before I change my mind.”

He walked towards the long hall and chapel. Snow lightly covered the roofs, and nearby barren trees gleamed white in their snow coatings.

“The hall is where town meetings happen, as well as group lunches,” he said. “The chapel is where our witches learn about Dawn’s path.”

“And they are all Resonants?” She examined the chapel. Its entry was arched, and stained-glass windows stood beside the doors. The stone construction appeared aged, as if the town was built around it.

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Under careful watch,” she said.

“Even light can become shadow.”

Idonea rolled her eyes and walked at Lysander’s side as he headed behind the chapel. A cemetery stood behind it, a rusted iron fence gated it. Lysander reached to open the gate.

“Don’t,” she said, grabbing his arm, “you’ll disrespect the Guardian.”

“A superstition.” He drew his hand away and glanced down at hers; it was on his mechanical one.

She withdrew it. “A truth.”

“Very well, we will not walk through there,” he said.

They moved on, the hush of snow swallowing their footsteps.

A southern path branched off near the trees behind the chapel. A simple gate, rusted at the hinges. Two girls in field-coats were passing through it, one of them carrying a bundle of cloth that smelled faintly of something Idonea couldn't place. They didn't look at them.

A branch cracked ahead. Out from behind a tree stepped a woman with short blonde hair, her cheeks wind-chapped, her breath white in the cold. She wore a dark-green wool coat trimmed in fur, brass buckles catching what little light filtered through the trees. A quiver hung across her back beside a string of dead hares, and she held a bow loosely in one hand, its string taut and gleaming.

“Elzhbeta,” Lysander greeted. “This is Idonea, Brother Alcaeus’ daughter.”

The woman’s eyes, near-black, studied Idonea. A faint line appeared between her brows before she smiled.

“A witch, I see.” Her voice was soft, her tone amused.

Lysander’s tone remained even. “Hunting?”

Elzhbeta’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You could say that.” She adjusted the strap of her quiver, and a charm glinted at her wrist. “A fox escaped my grasp, though.”

Idonea frowned. “A fox? Hard hunt in this cold.”

Elzhbeta’s smile was faint. “Foxes survive because people mistake caution for cowardice.”

Lysander’s eyes flicked to her. “Tomorrow, then.”

The woman’s attention slid from him back to Idonea. Then she turned away, her boots crunching through the snow.

Idonea exhaled. “She is no witch.”

Lysander shook his head. “No, Elzhbeta is wedded to the Magistrate. She also hunts game for the town.”

“Useful to know.” Idonea pointed in the direction she came from. “Where does that lead?”

“Towards the fjord.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “A curious place to cage witches.”

Lysander kept walking, boots grinding over the packed snow.