The king's road ended in a moss‑covered clearing.
After that, there was only forest. Blue pines so tall you could barely see the sky. Thorny bushes, vines that looked like snakes, and a silence so heavy it hurt your ears. The map Alice had given me had a dotted line – "Hunter's Path" – but the path was not visible. Only shadows and fallen logs.
"Zirinos," said Mira, holding my hand, "is this the middle of nowhere?"
"It is."
"Are we going through it?"
"We are."
She did not answer. But she squeezed my hand tighter.
We walked the rest of the day in silence.
---
The first problem came at nightfall.
The wolves appeared without warning. They emerged from the trees like shadows, their yellow eyes shining in the half‑dark. There were four, maybe five. Lean, ribs showing, their fur dirty with dried blood.
"Don't move," I whispered. "Stay behind me."
Mira obeyed. Her hand, holding mine, trembled.
The wolves circled us. They advanced. They advanced.
The first died with a sword stroke. The second, with another. The third backed away. The fourth stood still, staring at the blood dripping from my blade.
"Come," I said to Mira. "We run."
We ran.
---
The forest darkened quickly. The trees seemed to close in behind us, branches slapping our arms and faces. Mira stumbled twice. The second time, she fell to her knees.
"I can't," she sobbed. "I'm tired."
"You can." I helped her up. "There's not much left."
"How much?"
"I don't know. But there's not much."
The remaining wolf did not follow us. Or it followed, but hidden. I heard no footsteps. Only the silence.
We lit a fire in a small clearing protected by rocks. Mira fell asleep almost at once, her head on her backpack, her hand closed on my tunic. She did not let go. I did not let go either.
The fire crackled. The shadows danced.
I thought of Zerane. The last time I saw her, on the falling ship, her dress burned, her eyes full of tears. I thought of Ziring. His torn‑off arm. The promise to return.
*Don't come back*, I thought. *Don't come back to me. Stay away.*
The wolf did not appear. Or it appeared and left. I don't know.
I slept badly.
---
On the third day, the ground began to slope downward.
The pines gave way to low bushes, the bushes to burnt fields, the fields to stone houses with thatched roofs. The smell of the sea was faint, but it was there – salt, seaweed, wet wood.
"Zirinos," said Mira, pointing. "Look!"
In the distance, a village.
Small, maybe a few hundred houses, squeezed between the sea and the hillside. A wooden pier stretched into the water, where fishing boats swayed with the waves. The sails, brown, were furled. Smoke from the chimneys rose straight, without wind.
"Have we arrived?"
"We have."
"Is it the first one?"
"It is."
Mira jumped for joy. I did not. The village was beautiful, but there was something about it that made me uneasy. Perhaps the silence. Perhaps the lack of people in the streets. Perhaps the eyes I felt on my back, coming from nowhere.
'The villages are dangerous', Alice had said. 'Not because of monsters. Because of people.'
I squeezed Mira's hand.
"Come. Let's find a place to sleep."
We entered the village.
---
The first night was at an inn called "The Broken Anchor".
The owner was a fat man with a stained apron, who looked us up and down before asking:
"A room for one night?"
"For a week," I replied.
"Pay in advance."
I paid. He handed me an iron key and pointed to the stairs.
"First floor. Last door."
The room was small but clean. One bed, a table, a window overlooking the pier. Mira threw herself onto the bed and fell asleep in seconds.
I sat on the chair by the window. The sea shone in the moonlight. The boats swayed. In the distance, the silhouette of a caravel stood out against the horizon.
'I am here', I thought. 'In the three sea villages.'
'Where alliances are bought. Where eyes speak.'
'And where Trussum waits for me.'
I blew out the candle.
The night was dark.