Page 36 of All the Wandering Light

With that, River understood. While most witches had rallied to Esha’s cause, eager to strike at the Empire, some had slipped quietly away once their powers were restored. They had left the Nightwood behind, journeying east or south to unknown lands. Not everyone was eager for revenge—nor did everyone wish to be ruled. Though their numbers had been small, their departure had inspired a fury in Esha that River had never seen before.

“Is that true?” Esha asked the girl, his voice almost gentle.

Ivy was biting her lip hard enough to cut it. Yet even in her terror, she gazed at Esha with something close to awe. It wasn’t the first time River had seen that look. Even standing there, motionless, there was something about Esha that drew the eye, something fiery, larger than life. Emperor Lozong had the same quality, an aura of predestination. Yet Esha hadn’t been destined to rule—Sky had.

“Yes, my lord,” Ivy whispered. “It’s true.”

Esha turned back to River. “I’ve been thinking of what you said the other day, about what you called my impatience to find the star. You recall our conversation?”

“Vaguely.” It had ended when Esha summoned a gust of wind that had flung River against a tree, hard enough to topple it.

“Your lack of respect is troubling. I am your emperor now, after all. The Crown is said to increase wisdom.”

“I wonder how that works,” River said, “if the bearer is starting from a deficit?”

He regretted it instantly. The corner of Esha’s mouth quirked in that expression that was not a smile. River braced himself for an onslaught of unpleasantness. He thought that if worse came to worse, he could become an owl and escape. Despite the powers bestowed on him by the Crown, Esha was oddly clumsy when it came to shape-shifting.

“Perhaps you need motivating,” Esha said. And he turned and struck Ivy across the face. It was not a slap, or a punch—it was something that snapped her head back, her neck bent at an odd angle. She fell onto her back and moved no more.

River was still. He felt as if his breath had turned to ice inside him.

“There,” Esha said, absently rubbing the side of his hand, which was bloodied, perhaps where it had caught on the girl’s teeth. “Does that inspire you? Don’t think that because you’re my brother I won’t deal with you harshly if you disappoint me.”

“She was a child.” River’s voice was quiet. He didn’t know why he said it. But it was the only thing that rose to his lips.

“And?” Esha’s blank look wasn’t feigned. He had known how River would react to this, though he didn’t understand the reason. “There will be more deaths like hers—you should get used to it. The Empire sees us as monsters, and we will give them every reason to do so—fear is, after all, our most potent weapon. When we step out of the shadows, we mustn’t disappoint expectations.”

River had no doubt that Esha was a monster. He wasn’t sure about himself. He stared at the girl sprawled across the snow, a single smudge of red upon her mouth.

Esha touched River’s face, his fingers cool and dry against his cheek. He seemed pleased with himself, and with River’s reaction. “Happy hunting, brother,” he said, and strode away.

Snow speckled Ivy’s body—it wouldn’t be long before it covered it. River shook himself. He changed shape as effortlessly as shedding a cloak, lifting off the hill as an owl with pale wings that dissolved against the landscape. Then he soared into the sky—neither knowing nor caring his direction, desiring only to be away.

Twelve

I ROSE QUIETLY the next morning and pulled on my boots. Lusha slept beside me, her breathing shallow. She had been late to bed again, having stayed up talking to Mingma by the fire, and I doubted I would wake her if I shouted. Tem, on my other side, was snoring.

The air was frigid, even in the tent. Not thinking much, I invoked the same spell I had used on my hands last night, creating a small cloud of warmth around my chilled feet. I gritted my teeth until the pain faded. I then wrestled one of the dragons out from the blankets—the creature kept trying to burrow down among the folds—and stumbled into the dark. Beyond the shadows of the boulders, the snowy landscape was silvered and still.

Ragtooth, sleeping on a blanket next to the embers of the fire, stirred at the sound of my boots. He made a querying sound, then rose with a stretch and followed me.

I took the bow, because I needed a reason to be up if Tem or Lusha woke. There was little game here, apart from the odd pika or snow quail, and neither made for much of a meal. But our rations were meager, and if I saw an opportunity, I would take it.

“Can’t sleep?” said a voice behind me.

I whirled. Mingma perched on a pitted boulder that had definitely been vacant a moment ago, his eye pressed against a telescope. My heart thudded. “You startled me.”

“Sorry,” the ghost said, lowering the telescope. “I believe I saw a burrow by the spring to the south. Would you like some company?”

“No,” I said a little too quickly. “That’s all right, I’m— I won’t go far.”

He sat with one leg crossed over the other, entirely at ease. His immaculate tahrskin chuba was open, one side rippling in the breeze. “I’d avoid the hills. Rockslides are inconvenient things to encounter alone,” he said in his dry way.

I nodded. Mingma looked down at the map in his lap—it was one he had drawn fifty years ago, when he was still alive. A little uncanny shiver went down my spine.

“He’s back, I see,” the ghost said, motioning to Ragtooth. “He disappeared for hours today.”

“He does that.”