The ventriloquist was dead.
His sword – the black one – fell to the ground with a dry thud. The body, motionless, eyes open, mouth slightly ajar. Blood dripped slowly, forming a dark pool on the wooden floor of the inn.
"Zirinos…" Fenísia repeated outside. "Mira…"
I ran to the door.
Mira was on the stairs, standing, her eyes wide, Fenísia's hand gripping hers. She wasn't crying. She wasn't trembling. She just watched.
"Mira," I called. "Are you all right?"
"I am." Her voice was small but firm. "Did you kill the monster?"
"I did."
"Will it not come back?"
"No."
She let go of Fenísia's hand and ran to me. She hugged me. Her small hands clutched my tunic.
"I was scared," she said against my chest.
"I know."
"Were you too?"
"Too."
A lie. Fear was an old memory. But she didn't need to know.
---
Fenísia approached slowly.
"You're hurt," she said, pointing to my shoulder where the ventriloquist's sword had struck me.
"It's nothing."
"There's blood."
"I've had more."
She didn't insist. She knelt beside the ventriloquist's body.
"Who was he?" she asked.
"A man. I don't know his name. Trussum used him as a puppet."
"And the real Trussum? Where is he?"
"I don't know. No one knows. He changes his disguise. He could be anyone."
"That's frightening."
"It is. That's why people are afraid."
"And you?"
"Me too."
Another lie. But sometimes the truth is more dangerous.
---
The villagers came out of their houses slowly.
First the fishermen. Then the mercenaries. Then Goran, sword in hand, his grey beard wet with sweat.
"Is he dead?" he asked, pointing at the body.
"He is," I replied.
"Trussum?"
"A puppet."
Goran spat on the ground.
"So the real one is still out there."
"He is."
"And you're going to kill him?"
"I am."
"When?"
"When he shows up."
The man scratched his beard. His small dark eyes assessed me.
"You're mad, boy."
"I've been told that before."
"Madmen don't live long."
"Long enough."
---
Fenísia helped me clean my wounds at her house.
The guild master's house stood on top of the hill, overlooking the sea. It was small, modest, with stone walls and a thatched roof. The garden behind it had rare flowers – the kind Alice liked.
"Sit down," Fenísia said, pointing to a wooden chair. "Take off your tunic."
I obeyed. My shoulder burned, my chest ached. She wet a cloth in hot water and began to clean the blood.
"It will leave a scar," she said.
"Scars are memories."
"Of what?"
"That I'm still alive."
She didn't answer. She just kept cleaning. Her cold hands trembled slightly.
"Zirinos," she said quietly. "What happened to Mira's mother?"
"She died."
"I know she died. But how?"
"She was murdered."
"By you?"
I looked at her. Her green eyes, large, fixed on mine.
"No," I replied. "It was Trussum."
The lie came easily. Like all lies.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Don't be. She's in a better place."
"Where?"
"I don't know. But better."
Fenísia pressed the cloth harder.
"Mira likes you," she said.
"I know."
"Do you like her?"
"I do."
"Then why do you lie?"
Silence filled the room. Outside, the sea crashed against the rocks.
"Because the truth hurts," I said finally. "And she has already suffered too much."
---
Mira was at the inn, playing with the seagull that wouldn't fly. The landlady, Elara, watched her from the kitchen door, arms crossed.
"The girl is good," Elara said when she saw me arrive. "She doesn't cry. She doesn't scream. She just plays."
"She's strong."
"She is. Like you."
"I'm not strong. I'm stubborn."
"It's the same thing."
Mira ran to me. The seagull flew away, startled.
"Zirinos! Fenísia said the monster died!"
"It did."
"And now?"
"Now we rest."
"And then?"
"Then we go home."
"To the academy?"
"To the academy."
She smiled. She squeezed my hand.
"I like the academy," she said. "I like Professor Lara. I like the cakes."
"I like them too."
"You lie."
"Sometimes."
"Now?"
"Not now."
She looked at me. Her clear, innocent eyes tried to understand if I was telling the truth.
"I believe you," she said.
The lie weighed. As always.
---
Fenísia appeared at the inn at dusk.
"My father wants to speak with you," she said.
"The guild master?"
"The guild master." She hesitated. "He's sick. Very sick. But he wants to speak."
"About what?"
"About Trussum. About the war. And about you."
"About me?"
"He says you're dangerous. And that dangerous people are the best allies."
"Or the worst enemies."
"That too."
I went.
---
The guild master's name was Marek Mare‑vil.
He lay on a wooden bed in the back room, overlooking the sea. His face was pale, his beard grey, his eyes sunken. His breathing was short, laboured, as if each breath might be his last.
"Zirinos," he said, extending his hand. "The monster killer."
"The apprentice," I corrected, shaking his hand. "Still."
"Apprentices die."
"So do old men."
He almost smiled.
"Sit down."
I sat in the chair beside the bed. Fenísia stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
"Trussum is not dead," said Marek.
"I know."
"The puppet was a farce."
"I know."
"Then you know he is in the north."
"I didn't know."
Marek coughed. The sound was wet, ugly.
"My spies saw him near Lunos. He wants to open the first portal. He wants to summon the other lords."
"The first portal is sealed."
"It was." Marek closed his eyes. "Not anymore. Trussum found a way to open it. He needs blood. A lot of blood."
"Whose blood?"
"Of chosen ones. Of innocents. Of anyone."
"Where will he get that blood?"
"At the academy. In the villages. Anywhere." He opened his eyes. "That's why we need you."
"Me?"
"Someone to kill him. Someone who isn't afraid. Someone who doesn't mind dying."
"I mind."
"Then you're not the right man."
I stood up.
"I'm the only one you have. And the only one he fears."
"Why does he fear you?"
"Because he doesn't know what I am."
Marek looked at me. His sunken, tired eyes gleamed.
"Then kill him," he said. "Before he kills us all."
"I will."
I left the room. Fenísia followed me.
"Zirinos," she called in the corridor.
"Yes?"
"Are you afraid?"
"I am."
"Of what?"
"Of losing."
"Losing what?"
"What I haven't yet won."
She didn't ask further.
---
That night, Fenísia didn't go home.
She stayed at the inn, sitting on the stairs, watching the sea. Mira slept in the room, exhausted. The seagull, perched on the windowsill, slept too.
I sat beside Fenísia.
"Your father is going to die," she said.
"I know."
"And my mother is far away."
"I know."
"And you're going to leave."
"I am."
"When?"
"When Trussum shows up."
"And if he doesn't show up?"
"He will. He always does."
She leaned her head on my shoulder. Her hair smelled of the sea.
"Zirinos," she said quietly.
"Yes?"
"I like you."
"I know."
"It's not just liking. It's… I don't know. You're different."
"I've been told that before."
"It's true."
We fell silent. The sea crashed against the rocks. The moon shone.
"I'm going to sleep," she said, standing up.
"Sleep."
"You too."
"Maybe."
She kissed my cheek. Her lips were cold, light.
"Until tomorrow, Zirinos."
"Until tomorrow."
She went up the stairs. The bedroom door closed.
I stayed sitting on the stairs, watching the sea.
'Trussum is in the north', I thought. 'Lunos. The first portal. The other lords.'
'If he summons them, no one will survive.'
'Not me. Not Mira. Not Fenísia.'
I blew out the candle.
The room went dark.
Outside, the sea shone.