On the morning of departure, Ardenthal was not woken by bells. There was no call across the courtyard, no public proclamation, and no banners hanging from windows. Whoever stepped out of their house early that day saw only more movement than usual. Wagons stood closer to the storehouses. Women carried bundles without speaking for long. In the kitchen, bread was wrapped in cloth, dried apples were counted, and herbs were filled into small pouches. In the northern wing, Irma and Elda checked bandages, needles, clean knives, and bowls that must not break if a wagon rolled over uneven ground. Alina had been on her feet since the first gray light. She could not have overslept. Sleep had never become deep enough to hold her. During the night, she had opened her eyes several times and stared at the dark window until at last she had risen before the day began. Now she stood in the courtyard and read a list she already knew. Still, she read it again. Water. Bread. Bandages. Ropes. Tools. Spare straps. Blankets. Dry cloths. Oil. Needles. Small knives. She crossed nothing off before she had seen it herself. Berit stood beside a wagon and checked the metal rings along its sides. Nela knelt next to it and drew a rope through a bracket, loosened it again, and tied it anew. Maela lifted one of the heavier sacks, set it down, and shook her head. “That one does not go on top,” she said. Taren, whose shoulder was still bandaged, twisted his mouth. “It is there because it will be needed last.” “It is there because someone put it up there who does not have to carry it,” Maela replied. Alina looked up from the list. “Then it goes below.” Taren wanted to answer, but let it be. He lifted the sack down together with Maela, and Alina noted the change. It was these small things that decided return. Not courage. Not grand words. A sack in the wrong place could leave a wounded man on the ground longer than he could endure. The fast group did not stand together, and yet all of them were there. Mara spoke with Jonna at the edge of the courtyard. Both looked down at a small sketch Mara had scratched into a piece of wood. Lio stood with Sanna and listened while she named several villages whose inhabitants reacted poorly to questions. Elda argued softly with Rena about the number of water skins that should remain with the forward group. Irma listened to the argument until she had enough, took two skins from Rena’s hands, and laid them wordlessly on the supply wagon. Rena exhaled audibly, but did not object. Rena was not going with the fast group. Alina had stated that decision once more the evening before. Rena had accepted it without weeping and without pleading. That had impressed Alina more than any oath. She had been assigned to the supply group, directly under Elda and Irma. She would not run at the front, but she would be where the wounded arrived. That was not a smaller place. Only a different one. Seraphina stepped out of the southern wing, accompanied by two ladies of the court and the old captain of the gate guard. The master of stores followed several steps behind. He looked as if he had not slept. They all did. “How far are you?” Seraphina asked. Alina did not hand her the list, but answered from memory. “The wagons are almost ready. The ten are complete. The supply group counts twenty-two. The return group thirty-six. In addition, there are the women who accompany us as far as the old mill and secure it there. In total, ninety-seven.” “Not a hundred,” said the master of stores. Alina looked at him. “Three fewer we have to feed.” He pressed his lips together. “That was not criticism.” “Then we will take it as a note.” Seraphina looked between them, but did not intervene. In the last few days, the master of stores had learned to speak more carefully. Alina had learned not to spare him unnecessarily. The old captain stepped up to her. “The gate guard remains posted. Not strong, but visible.” “We need no more,” Alina said. “No one should believe Ardenthal is open.” “Whoever tries will learn that old men can still make noise,” he answered. Alina nodded. “Noise is sometimes enough.” The captain smiled faintly and returned to the gate. Toward midday, the last women were assigned. Not all were calm. Some stood with arms crossed too tightly. Others talked too much. A woman from the riverbank village kissed her two children on the forehead so often that the older daughter eventually told her to stop, because she was coming back. The mother did not answer. She only took the small pouch the girl held out to her and tucked it into her pocket. Alina saw such moments, and each stayed somewhere within her. She could not stop beside everyone. Perhaps that was the hardest part. In the store room, she gathered the fast group in the early afternoon. This time there were ten. Mara. Lio. Taren. Jonna. Elda. Berit. Sanna. Maela. Irma. Nela. They stood around the map, which no longer consisted of chalk on stone, but lay on coarse cloth. Nothing about it was beautiful. The lines were uneven, some places marked only by symbols, and beyond the old redoubt much remained vague. But it was their map, born from letters, roads, observation, and return. Alina placed two fingers beside the old mill. “Up to this point, we do not move as an army,” she said. “We are wagons, supplies, and escort. Whoever sees us sees work.” Taren nodded. “And whoever looks more closely?” “Should see nothing they understand at once.” Sanna looked down at the map. “For that, we have to match our stories.” “What stories?” Berit asked. “Why we are there,” Sanna replied. “If each of us says something different, we stand out faster than if we had weapons in our hands.” Lio nodded. “Supplies for wounded on the return road. Checking the roads. Collecting abandoned stores. Those are reasons people can believe.” “Because they are half true,” Mara said. “Exactly because of that,” Alina said. She looked to Jonna. “You and Mara go ahead of the main group. Not far. You check whether the road is open. No contact if it can be avoided.” Jonna nodded. “Lio, you stay with the forward wagon line. If anyone asks, you answer first. Not Taren.” Taren lifted his head. “Why not me?” Sanna answered before Alina could. “Because you speak more slowly when you lie.” Berit grinned briefly. Taren did not look pleased, but did not object. “Taren,” Alina continued, “you determine the order of the wagons. If a road becomes too narrow, you decide which wagon stays behind.” “That will cause argument.” “Then argue faster than the road narrows.” Maela crossed her arms. “And me?” “You stay wherever weight is moved. If someone falls, if a wheel breaks, if we must carry, you decide who takes hold.” Maela accepted that without visible reaction. “Irma and Elda take charge of the wounded. Irma decides what is medically necessary. Elda decides what is possible on the road. If you contradict each other, we stop until one of you has convinced the other.” Irma snorted. “That costs time.” “A dead man costs more,” Alina said. After a moment, Irma nodded. “Berit, you take tools, not heavy weapons. If we have to open a door, I do not want to hear half an hour of noise.” “Then give me people with patience.” “You get Nela.” Nela looked up calmly. “I do not open locks.” “No,” Alina said. “But you secure what Berit opens. And if we have to lower, pull, bind, or release someone, I do not want us to learn only then which knot holds.” Nela laid one hand on the rope at her belt. “Good.” Finally, Alina looked at Sanna. “You stay near me.” Sanna raised her brows slightly. “Because I cannot fight?” “Because I need someone who hears what people truly say when they are afraid.” That was not a lesser task. Sanna understood it. Mara looked at the map. “And you?” Alina knew the question was not seeking her position, but her place. “I go with the fast group as soon as we can secure the main group,” she said. “Until then I remain where decisions come together.” Taren studied her. “Not everyone will like that.” “I know.” “Outside this room as well.” “Especially there.” With that, the assignment had been spoken. Not final for all time, but valid for the departure. When they left the store room, Seraphina stood in the corridor. She had not been listening. She had been waiting. “The council asks for one last conversation,” she said. Alina looked at her. “Asks?” “Demands politely.” “Then we go.” The great hall was not full, but it was tense. The master of stores stood at the table. The priest sat, which did not make him appear calmer. Two village stewards were present, as was the old captain. Seraphina did not sit. Neither did Alina. “We request,” the master of stores began, “that the departure be delayed by at least two days.” Alina did not answer at once. She waited to see whether he would say more. He did. “The situation is not sufficiently secured. We have no final confirmation of the place. The roads are dangerous. Ardenthal is losing labor. And if this expedition fails, we lose not only people, but all credibility with the alliance.” “The alliance left our king behind,” Alina said. “That is a simplification.” “It is a fact still waiting for its explanation.” The priest raised his hand. “Princess, no one questions your motives.” “Yes,” Alina said calmly. “You have been doing that for days. You merely call it something else.” Seraphina looked at her from the side, but did not intervene. The master of stores inhaled with control. “We question the method.” “Then name a better one.” It became still. Alina waited. No one named one. The old captain placed both hands on the table. “If we wait two more days, the roads will not become safer. But the men out there will grow weaker.” The master of stores looked sharply at him. “You do not know where they are.” “No,” said the captain. “But I know what captivity does to a body.” The sentence struck differently because it came from an old man who no longer had much to prove. Seraphina stepped forward. “The departure will not be delayed,” she said. The master of stores turned to her. “Majesty, I must warn you expressly.” “You have done so,” Seraphina answered. “Several times. And I have heard it.” “Then you decide against the council.” “I decide with the responsibility Arvid left me.” The king’s name made the room quieter. Seraphina continued. “Alina leads this expedition not because she seeks glory. She leads it because she prepared while others waited for clearer messages. She does not take Ardenthal’s army, for that army is not here. She takes those who had to remain and can still act.” The master of stores fell silent. Alina felt that Seraphina’s words did more than defend her. They made the departure official without turning it into something grand. “And you,” Seraphina said to the council, “will make sure Ardenthal stands while we are gone. Not complaining, not offended, not nursing wounded pride, but practically. The fields will continue to be tended. The gates remain manned. The supplies will be checked. And when we return, I do not want to find a land that has pitied itself.” The old captain lowered his head, and this time it almost looked like agreement. The master of stores said quietly, “And if you do not return?” Alina answered before Seraphina could. “Then Ardenthal will need people doing their work all the more.” That was the final word on the matter. Late in the afternoon, the wagons were arranged in an order that was meant to appear inconspicuous from the outside. The heavier vehicles in the middle, the lighter ones at the front and rear. Anyone who looked only briefly saw supplies and working women. Anyone who looked more closely could see the order. The fast group moved among the others, not set apart. Alina had insisted on that. Whoever showed themselves too clearly as command became a target. Whoever seemed too clearly special drew eyes. People gathered before the gate. Not many at first. Then more and more. Word spread although no one had called. Women came from the fields. Children stood behind wall corners. Old men leaned on sticks. Henrik’s mother was there, her hands cleaner than usual, the cloth tied firmly around her head. Rena saw her and went to her briefly. Alina did not hear what they said. Seraphina stepped beside Alina. “You must say something,” she said. “I know.” “Not much.” “I know that too.” Alina stepped in front of the wagons. The voices slowly faded. She looked into the crowd and did not search for approval. Approval was too soft for this day. She searched for understanding, and even that would not be found everywhere. “We go today,” she said. “Not because we are certain. Not because we are stronger than the war. We go because people from Ardenthal are captive, and because our king is among them.” She let her gaze move over the faces. “The work here continues. Whoever stays is not left behind. Whoever stays holds Ardenthal. Whoever comes does so not for glory, but for return.” Somewhere, a child asked too loudly, “Will you bring them home?” The child’s mother immediately put a hand on his shoulder, but Alina answered. “We will try.” She promised no more. It was enough and too little at the same time. Alina turned to the women behind her. “Check your pouches. Check your straps. Check whether you know who walks beside you.” Movement began. No cheering. No calls. Only preparation. Seraphina stepped to her as the gate wings were released. “You will not be able to control everything,” she said softly. “I know.” “You will have to make decisions without knowing enough.” “I already do.” Seraphina nodded. “Then come back.” Alina looked at her. In that sentence lay more than command, more than plea. It was what Seraphina allowed herself because no one else stood close enough to hear it. “I will try,” Alina said. Seraphina took her hand. Only briefly. To others, it might have looked like a formal gesture. To Alina, it was more. Then Seraphina let go. The gates opened. The wood moved slowly, and the road beyond became visible. It was the same road on which Arvid, Matthis, and the others had gone out. This time, the departure sounded different. Less metal. More wheels. More cloth. More breath. Mara and Jonna went first, without moving far ahead. Taren gave the forward wagon a signal. Lio sat beside the first driver. Maela walked beside a wagon carrying blankets and stretchers. Irma and Elda checked even while walking whether the pouches could be reached. Nela carried ropes over her shoulder. Berit had tools at her belt that knocked softly against each other with every step. Sanna walked close to Alina. Rena remained with the supply group. She did not look back. Alina did, once. Seraphina stood in the gate, dark-clad, upright, alone and yet not weak. Behind her lay Ardenthal. The walls, the courtyard, the writing room, the West Tower, the fields. Everything that had to remain so that return would have meaning. Then Alina turned her gaze forward. The column began to move. Slowly at first, because wagons need time and people must find their step. Dust rose beneath the wheels and settled on hems, shoes, and hands. No one sang. No one spoke more than necessary. At the edge of the road stood Henrik’s mother. When Alina passed her, the woman did not lower her eyes. “Bring back whom you can,” she said. Alina did not stop. If she stopped, the column behind her would falter. “We will,” she answered as she walked. The road led past the southern fields. The grain stood higher than it had in the weeks before. It moved in the wind, ripening, fuller, closer to what so many sacrifices had been made for. Alina looked at it only briefly. She knew that fields do not wait until wars are over. They grow when they can grow. Behind her, the wagons rolled. Before her lay the east. And between the two went Ardenthal, not as an army, not as a legend, but as a group of people who had waited long enough. The first day outside Ardenthal unfolded more slowly than Alina had expected. Not because the road was difficult. Not yet. The road to the old mill was known to anyone who had ever moved grain, wood, or cloth between town and villages. It was broad enough for wagons, firm enough for wheels, and familiar enough that no one thought of war when looking at it. That was exactly what made it dangerous. Alina did not walk at the front. Mara and Jonna moved some distance ahead, far enough to see something before the column walked into it, but close enough not to look like scouts. Lio sat on the first wagon and spoke with the driver about harmless things when they passed farms or individual workers. Taren walked between the wagons, checked axles, corrected distances, and acted so convincingly as though it were only about transport that even Alina might have taken him for an ordinary wagon leader if she had not known better. The women spoke little. That had been practiced beforehand. Not out of secrecy for its own sake, but because many voices make a column seem larger than it should. Whoever stays silent is more easily taken for work. Whoever talks too much more quickly becomes a story. Around midday, they reached the old mill. It stood at the edge of the road, half collapsed, but not useless. The wheel had not turned for years, yet the yard offered cover for wagons, animals, and people. The first securing group was meant to remain there, as planned. Alina let the wagons roll into the yard and waited until Taren had checked their order. Then she stepped to Mara, who stood at the edge of the mill yard and looked along the road east. “Up to here, everything was clean,” Mara said. “Too clean?” Alina asked. Mara shook her head. “No. Just clean.” It was an honest answer. Alina was learning not to force such answers. Whoever wanted to see signs everywhere eventually found them even where there had been only wind and chance. The women who were to remain at the mill took their positions. Some had tools, others water, blankets, bandages. From the outside, it would look as though they were preparing a return transport. That was exactly what they were doing. The lie held because it was made of truth. Rena helped Elda redistribute the pouches. She looked focused. More than once, her gaze moved to Alina, but she did not come to her. That was good. It meant she had accepted her task, even if it did not satisfy her. Alina gathered the ten behind the mill, where the broken wall gave them cover. “From here on, the column becomes smaller,” she said. “The main group remains staggered behind. We check the road as far as the old redoubt and return if we find no safe passage.” Berit tightened the strap of her tool belt. “And if we find one?” “Then we decide there, not here.” No one entirely liked that. It was still right. They did not continue at once. Irma insisted that each of the ten drink water. Elda checked Taren’s shoulder, which visibly displeased him. Jonna checked her arrows. Nela tightened the knots on the short lengths of rope she had distributed. Sanna quietly repeated the names of places that had appeared in the letters. Lio listened and added which of them could be named to strangers and which could not. Maela took the heaviest pouch without asking anyone. “You do not always have to take the heaviest,” Alina said. Maela looked at her calmly. “Yes. If someone else takes it, they will be slower later.” Alina let it stand. They left the mill in two groups. Mara and Jonna went ahead. Alina followed with Sanna, Lio, and Taren. Behind them came Berit, Nela, Elda, Irma, and Maela at a little distance. From far away, no formation would have been visible. From close by, it would. The road to the old redoubt was narrower. Bushes grew closer along its edges, and the ground carried tracks from different wheels. Not all were fresh. Some were. Twice, Taren knelt, touched the earth, and said nothing until Alina stood beside him. “Two wagons,” he said. “Heavily loaded. No more than two days ago.” “Eastward?” “There and back.” Alina looked along the road. “Supplies?” “Or relocation.” The word remained without further explanation. Everyone knew what it could mean. They went on. The first encounter came shortly before the hollow beyond the redoubt. Mara raised her hand, and all stopped. No jerking movement, no startled retreat. They had practiced this, and the practice paid off. Jonna had already stepped into the slope and made herself small between two shrubs. Mara came back silently enough that even Berit narrowed her eyes in appreciation. “Four men,” Mara said softly. “No open colors. One with a bow, three with short blades. They do not stand on the road, but beside it.” “Control?” Alina asked. “Waiting.” Lio looked toward the hollow. “For whom?” Mara shook her head. “For anyone who is not careful enough.” Alina studied the road. If they turned back, they lost time and perhaps the only trace. If they went on, they walked into a point set up precisely for that. She felt everyone waiting for her decision. “We do not bypass them,” she said. “We take them out of the way.” No one contradicted her, but the air changed. This was the first step that was no longer only observation. Alina spoke quickly, but not hastily. Jonna was to pin the archer, not kill him if there was another way. Mara and Lio would take the left edge. Berit and Maela the right. Nela would remain with Elda and Irma, who would stay back. Taren was to block the road if one of the men tried to flee. “No shouting,” Alina said. “If one escapes, the next post knows more than we do.” Jonna nodded. “And if they draw first?” “Then you draw faster.” The plan was smaller than her fear. Perhaps a plan had to be that in order to be carried out at all. They moved into position. Alina went with Mara and Lio. Her heart beat heavily, but her hands remained calm. She did not think of heroism. She thought of distances, of branches underfoot, of Lio’s breath beside her, and of the place where Jonna had to be when everything began. The first arrow did not come from Jonna. A crack in the brush had been enough. The foreign archer turned faster than Alina had expected, drew, and shot. The arrow struck no body, but buried itself in the trunk beside Lio. Before the man could draw a second time, Jonna’s arrow struck his shoulder. He did not fall, but the bow sank. Then movement broke loose. Mara was ahead of Alina, low and fast. Lio did not shout. He threw himself into a man stepping out of the hollow, and both went to the ground. Berit came from the right, not elegant, but with a force that drove her opponent against a stone. Maela held a second man until Taren knocked the blade from his hand. Alina saw the third man too late. He did not come toward her, but past her, straight toward the road. If he escaped, he would change everything. Alina reached for the knife at her belt, but for an instant her hand felt foreign. Then Mara stepped into his path. He struck at her, and Alina moved. It was not a clean fight. Not a practiced sequence. She grabbed his arm, felt cloth and muscle, almost lost her grip, and thrust with the blade because she found no other movement fast enough. The man sagged against her. His weight was greater than she had expected. Mara pulled him away from her before Alina could remain standing like someone who had just understood what she had done. “Move,” Mara said softly. Alina heard the word and forced herself to lift her gaze. The fight was over. The archer lived. Jonna held him in sight while Elda bound his shoulder, not out of mercy, but because a dead man said less than a living one. Two of the others were dead. One lay unconscious at the edge of the road. Berit had blood on her cheek, but it was not hers. Alina looked down at her hands. Mara stepped beside her. “Not now.” Alina nodded. She understood. Breaking apart was a luxury that could come later, if at all. They left the wounded archer behind, tied but tended. Sanna found a small piece of wax on one of the men, bearing a sign she did not know. Nela took it. Taren checked the men’s shoes and found that they had walked far, but not from the east. “Mercenaries?” Lio asked. “Or paid eyes,” Sanna said. That was worse. Mercenaries fought for coin. Eyes were sent. They continued, but differently. No one spoke about the man Alina had killed. That did not make it easier. It only made continuing possible. Late in the afternoon, they reached an abandoned timber yard. The main group was meant to pause there briefly later if the road remained open. Alina let the ten rest, but not make camp. Irma checked small cuts, bruises, Taren’s shoulder. Elda forced Lio to put his hand in cold water because two fingers were swelling. Jonna stood with Mara at the edge and looked back. Alina drank without feeling thirst. Sanna sat beside her. “You did what was necessary,” she said. Alina did not look at her. “Do not say that.” “Why not?” “Because it sounds too easy.” Sanna was silent. Then she nodded. That restraint was better than comfort. The second ambush did not come because they were careless. It came because a successful first step easily makes people believe they have understood the rhythm. Mara had checked the path. Jonna had seen no movement. Taren had read the tracks and found nothing fresh enough to trouble them. They moved on, more narrowly staggered, more cautious than before. Then Rena, who had followed with a small supply group, saw a piece of cloth at the edge of the road. It was blue. The color of the simple cloths some men from Ardenthal had carried with them. Rena should have stopped. She should have called Mara. She should have waited until Jonna had checked the edge. She did not. She stepped off the road. Only three steps. It took no more. Movement came from the brush. A man reached for her, not first with a blade, but with his hand, to pull her away. Rena screamed, and the road tore into chaos. Jonna shot at once. The man let go of Rena and stumbled back. Two others came out of cover. One threw a spear that grazed Maela’s arm. Berit pulled Nela aside. Taren drew his knife and placed himself before the next wagon. Alina ran toward Rena. Not alone. Mara was faster. Rena lay on the ground, not badly wounded, but frozen with shock. Mara grabbed her by the collar and pulled her back onto the road. “Get up,” Mara said. Rena could not. Alina knelt beside her and seized her arm. “Now.” That helped. Not because of harshness, but because it gave direction. They pulled Rena back. Then Alina heard Maela shout. Not loudly from pain, but in warning. Nela had gone too far forward. She had seen that one of the ropes on a wagon had come loose, and she had run to secure it. In another life, that would have been right. In this moment, it brought her into the open line between the trees. The arrow struck her below the throat. She did not fall at once. That made it worse. Her hand still reached for the rope, as if her body had not released the old task. Elda reached her first, followed by Irma. Jonna shot again. This time Berit roared, not like a heroine, but because she saw the man who had loosed the arrow. Mara threw herself into the slope. Lio pulled Rena behind the wagon. Taren brought the horses under control before they could overturn the cart. Alina looked toward Nela. Elda had her hand pressed against the wound. Irma said something Alina did not understand. Then Irma looked at her, and there was no hope in that gaze. The fight ended faster than the first and felt longer. Two attackers fled. One remained dead at the roadside. One was struck by Jonna and vanished between the trees without anyone knowing whether he would keep running. Alina would have had to order no one to follow him. She did not have to. No one moved that way. They had learned. Too late for Nela. Elda sat beside her, hands full of blood. Rena knelt a few steps away and stared at the blue scrap of cloth now lying in the dirt. It was not cloth from Ardenthal. Only bait. Alina went to Nela. The ropemaker was still breathing, but shallowly. Her eyes were open. They sought no sky, no faces, no great final words. They found Alina. “The rope,” she whispered. Alina knelt beside her. “It is secured.” That was not true. Berit understood faster than the others, grabbed the loosened rope, and pulled it tight. “Now it is secured,” she said, with a voice that barely held. Perhaps Nela heard it. Perhaps not. Her breath grew shorter. Irma laid a hand on Alina’s arm. “We have to move.” Alina looked at her. “Not immediately,” she said. “Yes,” Irma replied. “Especially now.” Alina knew she was right. The second ambush had shown that the road was not merely watched. It was prepared. Whoever stayed here gave the next attackers time. She stood. Her voice was calmer than she felt. “We take her with us.” Taren looked at her. “That slows us down.” “We take her with us,” Alina repeated. This time, no one objected. Maela and Berit prepared a stretcher. Nela’s own ropes held her together. It was cruelly fitting, and no one said it. Rena still stood apart. Alina went to her. “She died because of me,” Rena said. Alina looked at her. The easy comfort was ready and wrong. “She died because the enemy placed bait and because you took it,” Alina said. “Both are true.” Rena lowered her gaze, and Alina saw the sentence strike her. “You will not break from it now,” she continued. “Not here. Not on this road. You will walk, you will carry, and later you will understand what it means.” Rena nodded, at first barely, then more firmly. “Yes.” That one word had to be enough. When they continued, the column had changed. The distances were tighter. The voices fewer. Every gaze checked the edge of the road, every branch, every scrap of cloth, every movement in the grass. Alina felt the pain only later. During the second ambush, she had cut her forearm. Not deeply, but long enough that blood had run to her wrist. Elda wanted to bind it. Alina allowed it, without pretending it was nothing. “You will need that hand,” Elda said. “Then make it useful.” Elda bound it firmly, but not too tightly. She had learned from Irma. Toward evening, they saw from a distance the first hill from which the area before the camp could be observed. They went no farther. Mara insisted. Jonna agreed. Taren found a sheltered place between rocks and low trees, large enough for the fast group and part of the supply. The main group stayed farther back, as planned. Nela lay on a stretcher, covered. No one spoke a prayer. Perhaps later. Perhaps in Ardenthal. Here it would have felt wrong, because the road was not yet over and the living still had to be led. Alina did not sit. She stood at the edge of the camp and looked in the direction where the enemy lay. She did not think of glory, not of victory, not even of rescue. She thought of the man she had killed, of Nela, of Rena, of the way death could be made in a single moment from task and mistake. Mara stepped beside her. “Tomorrow we see the camp,” she said. Alina nodded. “Tonight, we do not all sleep at once.” “No.” Mara looked at her from the side. “You brought her with us.” “Nela?” “Yes.” Alina answered only after a while. “I will not leave her lying on a foreign road.” Mara nodded. “Good.” It was not comfort. It was agreement. That night, Alina remained awake for a long time. Her arm throbbed. Her hands smelled of earth, blood, and wet cloth. Behind her lay the women who were still breathing. One was already missing before they had even reached the camp. The road into fire had taken its price. And tomorrow they would see whether they had paid it for nothing.