The routine was a trap.
Wake up early. Train Mira on the pier. Work at the guild in the afternoon. Have dinner with Fenísia at the tavern. Sleep. Repeat. The days blurred into one another, like the waves that beat against the wooden stakes – always the same, always different.
"Zirinos," Mira said one morning. "What day is it today?"
"I don't know."
"How can you not know?"
"The days are all the same."
She made a face. The little sword trembled in her hand.
"That's a lie. Days aren't the same. Today there's fish. Yesterday there wasn't."
"Fish don't make the day."
"They do. Fish are important."
Fenísia, arriving at that moment, heard the conversation and laughed.
"The girl is right," she said. "Fish are very important."
"You're not a fisherman," I replied.
"I'm a customer of fishermen. It's almost the same thing."
"It's not."
"It is."
Mira looked from one to the other, confused.
"Do you always argue like this?" she asked.
"Always," we answered at the same time.
Mira laughed. The sword fell from her hand.
"Again," I said.
"Again," she repeated, picking up the sword.
Fenísia sat on the pier, her legs dangling over the water. Her dark brown hair swayed in the weak wind. Her green eyes followed Mira's movements.
"She's getting better," she said.
"She is."
"You're a good teacher."
"Are you a good student?" I asked.
"Terrible."
"Then I can't compare."
She threw a stone at me. It hit my hand. She laughed.
---
At noon, Fenísia was called to the guild.
"Your father," said Goran, pointing to the back door. "He wants to speak with you."
Fenísia paled. Her father, the guild master, hadn't left his room for weeks. The disease consumed him slowly, the doctors said there was no cure.
"Shall I come with you?" I asked.
"No." She squeezed my hand. "Wait here."
She disappeared toward the back.
Mira, meanwhile, was playing with a seagull on the pier. The bird wasn't afraid of her. It hopped around her, pecked breadcrumbs, flew away and came back.
"Zirinos!" Mira shouted. "She likes me!"
"Seagulls like bread. Not people."
"She likes me! I know!"
The seagull flew away. Mira made a face.
"Liar," she muttered. "She didn't like me that much."
---
Fenísia came back an hour later.
Her eyes red, her face pale. She wasn't crying, but she had been crying.
"Your father?" I asked.
"Worse." She sat beside me, her hands on her knees. "The Contraranures."
"What?"
"Not his. Others. They're coming to the villages. Father heard from a merchant. He says they're coming south, to the forest. He says they're coming for someone."
"For whom?"
"He doesn't know. But there are many of them. And they're bringing weapons."
I looked at the horizon. The sea was calm, the sails of the boats furled. The sun shone.
*Trussum*, I thought. *Or Ierály. Or both.*
"Are you going to stay?" asked Fenísia.
"I am."
"Why?"
"Because I have something to finish."
"What?"
"I don't know yet."
---
The following days were tense.
Goran closed the guild at nightfall. The fishermen brought their boats in earlier. The streets emptied after dinner. The windows were shut. The doors locked.
"They're coming," the mercenaries said in the tavern. "The Contraranures. They're coming."
"How many are there?"
"Two hundred. Three hundred. A thousand. No one knows."
"And what do they want?"
"Blood. As always."
Fenísia squeezed my hand under the table. Mira slept at the inn, in the landlady's care.
"I'm afraid," she said one of those nights.
"I know."
"And you?"
"I'm afraid of not being afraid."
She looked at me. Her green eyes, large, shone in the candlelight.
"You're strange, Zirinos."
"I've been told that before."
"You are."
I squeezed her hand. I didn't say anything else.
---
Trussum's ventriloquist arrived on the morning of the seventh day.
He came by the north road, alone, on foot. The black cloak, the blood‑red hair, the grey eyes. Exactly as Trussum appeared when he wanted to be seen.
The fishermen saw him first. Then the mercenaries. Then the whole village.
"It's him," said Goran, pale. "The great liar."
"It's not," I replied.
"How do you know?"
"Because Trussum isn't stupid. He wouldn't show up like this, alone, without an army, without a plan."
"Then who is it?"
"A puppet."
The ventriloquist stopped in the middle of the village. He looked around. His grey eyes scanned the houses, the closed windows, the hidden people.
"Zirinos!" he shouted, with Trussum's voice. "I know you're here!"
Fenísia grabbed my arm.
"Don't go," she whispered.
"I have to."
"Why?"
"Because he came for me. If I don't go, he'll kill people."
"And if you do go, he'll also kill."
"Yes. But fewer."
I freed myself from her arm. I tightened my sword. I went down the inn stairs.
The ventriloquist smiled.
"You know I'm not him," he said.
"I know."
"Will you kill me anyway?"
"I will."
"Then come."