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Idonea took it. “Thank you.”

“It isn’t fancy,” Kerem said, “but it should work.” He turned away, calling orders to the crew.

The witches murmured uneasily when Safira barked the order for boarding. Ropes unfurled from the airship, nets lowered to carry supplies. Pirates guided the witches one by one, helping the frailest into slings to be hauled gently up. Others climbed, their bare feet gripping the lines, determination written on their tired faces.

Lidiya didn't move towards the ropes. Idonea found her at the chapel wall, her shawl drawn tight, her hands folded in her sleeves.

"You should go."

"No, child."

"Lidiya. The Order will look for someone to blame. They will find you because you're still here."

"Then they will find me." The older woman's mouth turned at one corner. "There are buried witches here. I am not leaving them with no one. Someone has to stay where the names are. Besides, I will watch over your father."

"If you're sure."

"Yes." Lidiya looked towards the airship and the climbing witches and the pale glint of pirate steel.

Idonea swallowed, for she didn't have an argument against this. There was nothing she could offer the older woman that the older woman didn't already have a measured answer for.

"I will come back to you. Before I leave the village."

Lidiya nodded once. "I know."

One of the older girls, seventeen, maybe, paused at the rope. "If I go on this ship, I won't have to go to the fields?"

"No," Idonea said.

The girl looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether to believe her, then she climbed.

Idonea then stood with Kitsa at the base of the rope. The younger woman’s hands trembled, though her jaw was set.

“I can help you,” Kitsa said.

“You already have,” Idonea said. “But the Republic is no place for a witch.”

Kitsa nodded. Then, without another word, she seized the rope and climbed.

For a moment Idonea almost called her back. She didn't. Kitsa was finally heading towards a future. Idonea refused to make herself another thing that kept her here.

Kitsa's slight frame moved with stubborn strength, higher and higher until she vanished over the airship’s railing. One by one, the other witches followed. For the first time in living memory, none of them were going to the fields. Pirates lashed down the last of their salvaged gear and pulled the ropes taut.

Safira whistled sharp between her teeth. “Cast off!”

With a groan of timber and rope, the Clockwork Crows’ airship rose, shedding snow from its deck like feathers. Idonea tilted her face upward, watching until the shadows of the witches disappeared into the sky. She'd spent a great deal of her life standing still while other people vanished into the distance.

A sharp cold descended over the square as the ship pulled away, bringing a heavy silence. The witches had futures waiting for them now. Her eyes drifted to the chapel. She drew her cloak tighter and turned towards Alcaeus’ house. The snow crunched beneath her boots, the sound sharp in the stillness.

The door creaked when she pushed it open. Lysander sat near the hearth, his broken arm laid across his lap. He had stripped away the mangled plating, leaving exposed gears and fractured rods jutting out at crooked angles. He was working one-handed, trying to pry a bent cog loose with a knife.

He looked up as she entered. Exhaustion carved lines deep into his brow, but his eyes sharpened when they met hers. “They left?”

She nodded. “And left you a gift.” She held out the new arm.

He nodded to the table nearby, and she laid it down.

“I found him,” Idonea said, her voice steady though her pulse still raced.