Neris had heard a great deal about the northern taverns and the type of people who frequented them. But all the hearsay in the world could not have prepared her for what she saw before her now.

Giggling women of all sizes and ages perched at the bar or lounged about at the tables, each of them armed with at least one knife in their belt, and probably more hidden elsewhere. A few had swords at their waists, and against the pelt-lined wall leaned a rack of spears waiting for their owners.

There was not a single man in sight. Not one of those taverns, then — though Neris had yet to be convinced those weren’t just salacious rumors made up by men with nothing better to do than gossip and fantasize all day long.

“Hey there, stranger,” called out one of the brown-skinned women gathered by the fireplace. She had an ugly scar slashing across her nose, and she kept her icy blue hair short and neat. “Care for a drink?”

A couple of her companions turned and eyed Neris as well, some of them clearly sizing her up, the rest already too drunk to care.

Neris stepped forward as she patted off the already melting remnants of snow on her shoulder. Then she drew back the hood of her cloak, shaking free her mane of long red hair.

“I’m here on business,” she said in Catayan, the traders’ tongue, raising her voice just enough to be heard over the noise. “Where may I find Captain Julaire of the Eighth Wing?”

The woman raised an eyebrow, shifting ever so slightly in her seat so that her hands rested visibly at her waist. “You’re talkin’ to her. Whaddaya want?”

“I’m looking for a man.”

Her companions stared, then burst into howls of laughter. Julaire shook her head, but smiled.

“If it’s a bedmate you’re lookin’ for, I’d recommend ya look elsewhere,” she drawled.

Neris looked calmly back at her. “I’m looking for the One-Eyed Crow.”

That silenced them.

Julaire’s fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife in her belt. “What, you his friend or something?”

“And if I am?”

“The Crow’s killed three of my girls just in the last year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Sorry ain’t gonna bring them back.”

“Neither will threatening someone who was not involved in their deaths.”

They eyed each other for some time, neither speaking, neither moving. The noise from the rest of the tavern swirled around them, a cacophany of voices and clattering mugs.

At last, Julaire stood. “Let’s take this outside, why don’t we?”

“Captain,” protested one of the other women, but Julaire shook her head and pushed her way to the door, steadier on her feet than Neris had expected.

“Well? Ya coming?”

“Very well,” said Neris, pulling her hood back up, and followed the other woman back into the snowy dusk.

* * *

The skies darkened swiftly as they walked past the outhouse, past the stables, and into the forest beyond. Julaire was a short woman, but her stride was brisk, and Neris struggled to keep up. Behind them, the moon glowed, a distant pale sliver.

Before long, they reached the banks of a small, frozen creek.

There Julaire came to a stop.

Neris stopped as well, keeping her distance. “Where is the One-Eyed Crow?”

“Funny you should think I know his whereabouts. Me, of all people.”

“I have my sources.”

“Too bad, girlie,” said Julaire, stepping up to her with a sneer. “Because they’re right, actually. But I’m not gonna tell you until you answer my question. Are you or are you not that little shitface’s friend?”

“That is none of your business.”

“So we’re gonna do this the hard way, huh?” Julaire laughed. Then, without warning, her fist came flying at Neris’s face.

Neris ducked out of the way, only to be met by a knee to her stomach. She doubled over, gasping for breath. But Julaire grabbed her shoulder and threw another punch. Neris frantically kicked out, managing to free herself from the other woman’s grasp. She rolled away against rock and ice.

“Those girls,” said Julaire, stalking closer, “were young. Still trainees. They were my responsibility. Do you have any idea? What it felt like to see their dismembered corpses freezing out there in the snow?”

The woman was toying with her. Wanted to see her suffer, no doubt.

“No,” replied Neris, hands clenching around a fistful of snow. “I don’t. And I never will.”

“Never? And why is that, I wonder?”

She lunged to her feet, arms sweeping out in a watery arc.

“Because,” she mumured. “Everyone I love is already dead.”

Julaire skidded back from the force of the water, twisting to avoid the brunt of the blow. She spat out a string of curses. In her eyes was a hardness that had not been present before. An understanding.

“It’s gonna take more than a little cold to take me down!” she cried, and charged, knife suddenly unsheathed.

Neris did not respond. Instead, she split the arc of water into two sinuous streams and sent them shooting at the other woman. Julaire successfully dodged between their winding paths, but did not notice a third stream snaking up from the ground as she neared. This last stream lashed out, knocking the knife from her hand. Then the first two streams smacked into her back and side respectively, and she fell to her knees. The streams continued to circle around the woman’s wrists and ankles, then solidified, encasing them in frozen bonds.

Neris kept the third stream of water swirling menacingly through the air, and waited.

“You rotting Caster!” hissed Julaire.

“Are we done yet?” said Neris, praying that her voice did not shake.

The woman glared, but finally lowered her head in acquiescence. “All right, I’ve lost, fair and square.”

Neris unfroze the woman’s bonds and let all water flow back to the ground, where it immediately began turning back to ice.

“Where is the Crow?” she repeated, careful not to let her exhaustion show.

Julaire rubbed at her wrists, then picked up her dropped knife, taking her time to answer.

When she spoke at last, it was only a single word. “Here.”

Neris stepped back. “What?”

Julaire released a sharp bark of laughter. “Not here here. Somewhere in this area. One of our girls spotted him lurking around the village just down the road, not one week ago. Which is why I took my leave from headquarters and hurried my way down here, all ready to have his hide.” She shrugged. “Asshole’s not shown his face since then, though. Trust me, I’ve been looking.”

“That’s all you know?” said Neris, trying to hide her disappointment. “I was told the information network of the Eighth Wing was unsurpassed among the knights.”

The woman blinked, then laughed again, slapping her thighs. “By the Crone’s hairy tits! That’s a new one. I’m glad you think so highly of us, lady. But do I look like the type of woman with the patience to set up somethin’ like that?”

She wasn’t, but Neris knew appearances could be deceiving. Still, what Julaire had said made sense. Judging by the woman’s personality, the Crow would have been flushed out of hiding long ago if she really did know anything more than what she had revealed.

“Now,” Julaire was saying. “If that’s all, I’m gonna head back to dry off and order another round of drinks.”

This time, she offered no invitation.

“Wait,” said Neris. “If you do find out anything else... please contact me immediately. Send word to ‘Neris’ at the next trading post.”

Julaire waved. “Sure. Just don’t be too disappointed when we manage to get to ol’ shitface before you do!”

Neris watched the other woman’s back retreating into the darkness. When she was alone again, she knelt down by the frozen creek, shifting more ice into liquid form, then back again, seeking equilibrium in the simple monotony of the act.

The One-Eyed Crow. He’d kill anyone, for the right price. And he had yet to fail, ever since he showed up in Ruxalia out of nowhere, some two years ago. He was as tall as three men, his remaining eye all-seeing, his movement faster than lightning. He carried a great sword made of Shadow itself, black as the night, sharper than the finest steel. He ate nothing, but drank the blood of babes as nourishment. So the stories went, each one more fanciful than the last.

The pegasus trainees’ murders were the most recent. And the only deaths Neris had been able to confirm as his work. All else was rumor and hearsay.

Why he would kill those girls, or who would have hired him for such a deed, Neris did not know. It did not matter.

He had done far worse, in the past.

Today had been her last chance to find him. But all her searching had come to naught, it seemed. Tomorrow, she would leave this place. In a week, she would be on a ship to the Empire. She had no time to spend wallowing here any longer.

And yet her failure chafed her. She had thought, perhaps, to prove herself. To bring back a single piece of good news amid the endless torrent of ill tidings that had plagued them since the fall of Qoyenis.

Three years now.

More, in truth. Far more than that.

At last, weary and cognizant of the late hour, she released her hold on the waters of the creek and rose. She hated to head back to the tavern after the earlier display, but the next closest village was too far, especially now that night had fallen, and the trading post even further. And she was not so foolish as to bet her life on a night without shelter, here in the unfamiliar north.

But before she could turn, the snap of a branch alerted her to another presence behind her.

Despite herself, she jumped. Whirled around.

“Looking for something?” said a familiar harsh voice as a figure emerged from the shadows.

For a moment she did not recognize him.

He was indeed taller now, though nowhere near as tall as the rumors claimed, and once-skinny limbs had filled out with lean muscle. He’d let his hair grow out; shaggy black fringe brushed now against his shoulders, framing the stark angles of his face.

Covering his right eye was a dark patch that made her throat tighten.

“Why, if it isn’t Gwyneris.”

“You have no right to call me that.”

“Fine, Gwyn, then.”

“Jinne...”

“Oh, I don’t go by that anymore. Haven’t you heard what they all call me these days?”

He must have noticed her asking around after all. Must have lured her here deliberately, if only out of idle curiosity. She wondered if he had witnessed her fight against Julaire. If she had given away too much already.

“I’m not here to play your little games.”

He snorted. “Neris. What are you doing here, then? Not for sightseeing, I assume? Or perhaps you’ve come to check if the rumors are true yourself?”

Neris fought the urge to slap him. Instead, she took a deep breath and said, “I’m here to recruit you.”

His expression flickered from incredulity to mirth. Despite the cruel hardness in his remaining eye, he still had the same boyish smile she remembered from all those years ago. The effect was somewhat disconcerting.

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. You’re not the only one I’ve been searching for.”

“Oh?”

She continued, “You know what’s been going on in the south. In Thaevia.”

“Afraid I don’t, actually. Haven’t been back south in —”

“In three years. I know.” She’d not seen him in six.

He spread his arms out in a mocking gesture, letting his ragged cloak flare out dramatically against the snow.

“Things have changed, Jinne,” she said then. “The Council has finally gone too far. People are beginning to rebel.”

“I fail to see what this has to do with you and me.”

She took another deep breath. Exhaled.

“I’m one of the leaders of the resistance,” she said at last.

He immediately laughed. “You? A resistance leader? A little young for that, aren’t you?”

She did not take the bait. Instead, she closed her eyes briefly and formed thin needles of ice in her palms, each one narrower than a single silk thread, but sharp as a glass shard. She flicked them at him surreptitiously, one after the other, watching him carefully for any reaction. Fortunately, he did not seem to notice. Knowing how deadened he was to pain, she had not expected him to, but the unnatural keenness of his senses had always frightened her, made her wary.

When one shard finally struck true, she clenched her fists at her side, hiding them behind the folds of her cloak. The remaining needles pierced through her skin. Warm blood welled between her fingers.

“Tell me, Jinne. Why did you leave the League?”

In truth, she was not expecting an answer, so she was surprised when he shrugged and said, “Got sick of doing the Council’s dirty work.”

Even if she had expected an answer, it would not have been this.

And running around playing assassin is any better? she wanted to ask, but what came out of her mouth was, “Then surely you must —”

“Must what? Understand?” He snorted again. “You think far too highly of me, Neris. Frankly, I don’t give a damn about what you’re up to now. You, the League, the Council, whoever. I would’ve been happy just to never see your face again. All right? Now, is that all?”

“It’s not like I wanted to see you again either,” she said quietly. “But I came because I thought you had the right to know. To know what happened... to Ghell.”

His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft and dangerous. “What happened to Ghell?”

Behind him, the creek solidified back into ice.

She looked away, at the dark woods beyond.

“Ghellarn’s dead.”

Then she said, “I’m sorry, Jinne.”

With a single sweep of her bleeding hand, she enacted the bind.