The next three days at the “Spicy Boar” passed in a state of taut strain. Rize refused to work outright, for all Niko’s pleading. The cat hid—now in the attic, now in the cellar, wherever she could. She spent her days in sleep, burrowing into the farthest, darkest corners. For the first time in almost three months she had truly slept. In the rare hours when she woke, she wondered why she had not done so sooner.

  She sated her hunger with nightly forays, began to steal, no longer waiting for the hostess to deign to reward her and Niko with bland feed twice a day. Tooth-marks appeared on the wheels of cheese, as though some enormous rat had taken up residence in the cellar. She tore dried fish straight from the rafters; the fresh she dragged out from beneath the ice in the larder, squealing at the cold.

  Her appetites grew. Hunger gave way to interest. Judging when Alladis would come, she decided to watch Colette on a busy evening. All day a juicy haunch roasted on the spit. When that spiteful woman stepped out into the hall, Rize slipped at once into the kitchen. Her claws sank into a hefty piece of meat. Juice ran down the wood, and steam climbed toward the ceiling. And the smell… the smell was such it simply drove one mad.

  Hauling her catch back to her lair, she fell upon it greedily, feeling the salted, spicy taste spread through her from within. She rolled her eyes, clutching the haunch in paws soaked with fat. Saliva seeped from her predatory maw, mixing with the juice, and fell in heavy drops upon the floor. In that moment the whole world seemed to stop. She was no longer in this cold, oppressive city. Everything around her took on new colours. Rize savoured more keenly than ever before. With that savour came a sense of superiority—anything was permitted.

  For Colette, little had changed. She remained angry with the flighty girl, though she did remember the possible reason. Instead of shouting and running about, she simply went on working—there was no time for anything else.

  Rising, her first business was the hearth. She raked out the ash, black dust smearing her face and hands; she hauled heavy billets and blew up the flame until the heat began to sting her eyes. Then she went down into the cellar to check the ale’s fermentation.

  Preparations for dinner began alongside breakfast. Throwing grain, vegetables, and meat into the great cauldron, she would dart into the hall to hand out bread, cheese, and ale to the workmen, then back again to the kitchen.

  Midday was the noisiest time. She stood at the cauldron serving, keeping in her head which regulars paid at once and which ate on credit. Later she marked them all on a special wooden tablet.

  Her fingers, forever wet from washing dishes in icy water, split with small cracks that smarted from salt. Colette had no time to stare up at the ceiling beams or guess where Rize was hiding. The verid had become for her merely one more item on a list of troubles she no longer had the strength to tend.

  In the evening, when the hall hummed with voices, Colette no longer felt her legs. They filled with lead; each step from the counter to a table sent a dull ache into her lower back. Ale had to be topped up, spilled gravy wiped away, drunken brawls quieted before someone smashed the furniture.

  Toward night it all repeated. As soon as people dispersed, she set to peeling vegetables, butchering carcasses, or plucking fowl. Faithful Niko did help, yet even with him she barely managed to keep up. Thank Tessa, Hemile tended the ale, which bought her a little time.

  For supper she lit tallow candles and, together with Hemile, began the pouring, listening to prices and news despite the droning in her head.

  She finished well past midnight. When the last guest went out, Colette did not lie down. She went about the hall with a wet rag, washing the grime from the benches; she put out the lamps; then she counted the takings.

  At times she fell asleep at the table. This time was no exception. Her head rested on a bent arm; heavy breath slipped from her half-open mouth. In the uncertain light of the dying coals she seemed a part of the furnishings.

  Rize crept up to her, her eyes on the most precious thing—the ring of keys. It was Colette’s power, her control over every door in the tavern.

  The cat drew nearer. The leather cord the keys hung from was tied in a simple knot. Rize held her breath. Colette did not so much as stir when thin fingers with short claws touched her skin. One precise tug—and the ring was in Rize’s hands.

  The feeling of impunity intoxicated no less than ale. Rize knew where to go—to the secret room on the second floor.

  The key turned in the lock with a rasp. Rize pushed the door and froze.

  Here it scarcely reeked of beer and grease as it did below, but of something special—almost like the Temple of Tessa, only sweeter. A many-coloured carpet lay on the floor; upon a broad divan were piled cushions in bright covers. On a small table stood thick wax candles and a silver tray. Rize had seen such a thing only once, from a cage in that castle on the far bank.

  In the corner, on a low stool, stood a wooden figurine of a woman with a rose. Unlike Tessa, her face was uncovered. Beneath it sat a squat bottle of dark glass, sealed with wax. Rize easily picked the seal away with a claw and pulled the cork. A sharp, heavy scent of fermented berries and spirit struck her nose.

  Pressing the neck to her maw, she began to drink. The liquor was thick, sweet, and searing. It ran down her chin, soiling the fur on her chest, but she did not stop—she drank, choking and gulping until she dropped the bottle.

  Something struck her head again, but not as it had there, in the brawl. This struck from within.

  The room lurched. The carpet beneath her feet suddenly turned treacherous. Rize tried to take a step, but her paws tangled. The walls began to turn slowly, and the ceiling to sink. In her belly an icy spiral tightened.

  She was nauseous. A sour lump rose in her throat. She tried to crawl to the door, but her sight betrayed her—where there had been one exit, she saw three. Her stomach clenched in spasms, and she vomited straight onto the handsome shaggy carpet.

  The world overturned at last. Rize collapsed face-first into the cushions, feeling her mind drift into a sticky, grey darkness steeped in the smell of wine and her own bile.

  The kitchen had grown colder. To save firewood, Hemile stoked the stove only at midday and in the evening, so by twilight dampness began to creep from the corners.

  When the last patron spilled out the door, a heavy, drowsy silence settled over the Spicy Boar’s hall. Outside, the wind howled, hurling prickly snow-grit at the windows, yet warmth still clung about the hearth.

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  The old man sat on a low bench, clasping in both hands a mug with the remnants of ale. Opposite him, on the floor, Niko had settled himself. The boy was intent on a worn-out boot, pushing a thick needle through coarse leather. He sniffed with effort, and in the stillness the sound seemed loud.

  Rize came out of the kitchen. The cold of the attic had pierced her to the bone, and the sight of red, smouldering coals drew her more strongly than pride. She went slowly to the fire, holding her head, and looked at her companions.

  Hemile did not even turn his head. He took a swallow and watched for a long while as grey ash slowly devoured the heat in the hearth.

  — You ought to know your measure, — he said quietly, tossing the cat something green. — Chew. It’ll ease you; Dalia sent it. Even the finest wine, taken in a single gulp, is like dirt.

  There was only weariness in his voice.

  Rize began to chew softly—the thing was bitter.

  — Last time you wrought less havoc. Colette was raging, and I offered we go to the priestess. She said the verids go wild at the full moon, and they endured your antics. But then you didn’t get to the wine… Colette was beside herself; truly, I do not know what she might have done in that moment. We were angry and afraid all at once. Lucky Dwain was there and laughed—said it would do you good.

  — Whhy you torer-rate… whhy you not chase aft-ter me?

  — There was no time, — Hemile at last turned and looked at her. His eyes in the glow of the coals seemed like dark hollows. — Colette is simply afraid. Afraid that if she sits even for a moment, if she gives way in aught at all, this will all collapse. And we’ll all be turned out into the world.

  They fell silent. Chewing the foul thing, Rize felt the hush begin to press upon her.

  — Darrria knows you… she said—you a peassant…

  Niko, startled, shifted his gaze to the old man. The old man turned again toward the fire and stirred the coals with the poker. A sheaf of sparks leapt up.

  — People are like these sticks in the fire, — the old man said simply. — Alone, they burn through quick and go cold. Together, they give at least some warmth. Thirty years ago… likely more by now. Sharlenne did the same—bound itself together.

  He shoved a heavy log with his foot, and a bitterish smoke drifted through the hall.

  — They took me straight from the ploughland. Said—militia. Put a spear with a rusted point in my hands and drove us east. I did not even know whom we were fighting. I remember we marched a long while, and there were so many people as I’d never seen before.

  Hemile gave a crooked smirk, and that smirk looked more like a spasm.

  — That was when I met Colette’s father. His name was Pasan.

  The children glanced at one another—Niko had never heard that name before.

  — They dragged him from his home too, gave him a ladle, two cauldrons, and ordered to feed three hundred hungry mouths. I was among them. We became friends—neither of us was a warrior, and we hoped only to survive. The Gallats—that was what they called those who attacked us. It seems they hate orcs with a burning hatred, yet they burned villages just the same. Cruel folk, from cold forests and mountains, and so they have no fertile land. That’s why they crawled to us—seems not even for the first time. The war was long; battles came one after another, and there was no end in sight. It felt as though we’d fallen into an endless sleep, a nightmare. Then a rumour went round of the great battle. They gathered the whole army, and out they came to us—our lords: Agas Valquar and Gaspar Louazier.

  “Louazier?” — at the familiar word, Rize’s ears twitched.

  Hemile fell silent, a tear slipping free.

  — Never have I seen anything greater in my life. Such men… such strength. Lord Louazier said: “Sons of Sharlenne, into battle with me, and I into battle with you!” We cried out and went after our lords. A miracle happened—we won. It seems that, for the first time in many years, the Gallats were defeated. And our lord Agas Valquar slew their king, but died with him..

  No longer able to hold it in, the old man wept—so did Niko, spellbound.

  — Niko, Rize, I do not tell you this for naught. Only together, working as one, can we hope for a better future. Pasan and I understood that. We could not return to the soil—our villages were burned by Gallat fiends. We went to Seltrivelle. Between the two of us we had ten forrins apiece, but it was enough for the left bank.

  He sipped from the mug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  — Pasan loved to cook and wanted to open a tavern. “Spicy Boar”—he took the name from the best dish he cooked for the soldiers. We began to settle in, grew close with the locals, joined the watch, and then it turned out Pasan had already fallen in love with the daughter of the tavern owner we used to go to.

  Hemile pointed to the floor.

  — This very place—only then it had another name, and the food was much worse. Pasan set the business right quickly.

  — And where are Colette’s mother and father? — Niko asked. — Why are only you left to her?

  The old man looked away.

  — So it happened that the girl did not have long with her family. The First Crows took her mother from her. Her father raised her and her sister in labour—raised them properly—hoping the family would run the place together, but then he took to his bed. Her elder sister at once snatched what savings remained and left; she said she did not want to die in the soot of a cheap tavern.

  — And Jess? — Niko asked, well remembering the serving girl who had worked here before Rize.

  — A niece. Colette—she, too, could not bear it long. She ran off with a caravan after a passing merchant, some two months ago.

  The old man looked at Rize, and there was no pity in his gaze—only dry truth.

  — Colette keeps the Spicy Boar going not because she likes giving orders. If tomorrow she does not rise to the stove, if she does not bark at you or Niko, everything will stop. In war as in peace, we simple souls must work.

  Hemile set the empty mug on the table. The dull thud rang in the hush like the full stop of a long sentence. He turned to Rize, and she, meeting his straight, heavy gaze, flattened her ears without meaning to.

  — It’s winter outside, — he said with a sigh. — In Sharto only the rats are full now, and even they eat one another in the alleys. You can leave right now. The door isn’t locked. But by morning you’ll either freeze in some ditch, or the guards will beat you to death.

  Rize flicked her tail, but said nothing.

  — Let it be thus, — Hemile leaned his elbows on his knees, bending forward. — We’ll strike a bargain. You stay here until winter’s end. You’ll have a warm pallet, hot pottage, and a roof. Just do your work. Help her, help me, and help Niko live to spring—and when the snow is gone, when the roads open and the mud dries—you’re free to go wherever you wish. I myself will open the door for you and speak not a word of reproach. But while it is winter here—we must all hold together, if we are to live to see the dawn.

  Rize looked at him with her vertical pupils. Something snapped loudly in the hearth, throwing up a cloud of sparks. The old man did not expect an answer at once. He rose, grunting and rubbing his lower back.

  — You ought to take a place with Gyuste, at the theatre, Hem, — came a familiar voice from the stairs.

  Colette descended the creaking steps, tears in her eyes.

  — Well then, what do you say? — she asked, meeting Rize’s gaze.