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“In the trees!” he shouted, calling to anyone who would listen.At the head of the column, Sigil started and Sorasa nudged her horse to follow, riding after him.
A few Treckish soldiers drew their bows, but Dom waved them down. He leapt from his horse, arms raised. “Hold your arrows—they’re children,” he called, stepping into the trees.
Children?Sorasa was only a few steps behind, parting the low shrubs and pine branches to see Dom kneeling at the base of a fallen oak. He peered into its hollowed-out trunk. On the road, the column halted, with Oscovko himself jumping to the ground.
Sorasa watched as Dom coaxed a trio of young girls from the oak tree, each one dirtier than the last. Their pale faces were black with ash, the smell of smoke clinging to their hair and rumpled clothing. Only two had cloaks, the oldest of the three shivering in little more than a wool dress and shawl.
Oscovko joined Dom, extending a hand to the girls. “Shh, shh, it’s all right. You’re safe,” he said, bending down to meet them eye to eye.
The girls looked him up and down before recoiling as one, clutching at each other.
“A war band,” the tallest murmured, looking past Oscovko to his men on the road.
Sorasa slid down from her horse. The three girls were clearly petrified, traumatized by something.
“Perhaps someone less terrifying should speak to them,” she said dryly, gesturing for Dom and Oscovko to hang back. “Corayne!”
But she was already there, coming through the trees with Andry limping along beside her, Charlie behind them. The squire winced with every step but kept pace, holding himself up withouthelp. Sorasa wanted to shout him back to his stretcher but bit her tongue. He wouldn’t listen anyway.
Sorasa stood back, knowing her own face was hardly comforting, and let Corayne approach the girls.
Corayne looked between the children, weighing her options. Slowly, she eased down to a knee, with Andry at her back.
“Hello, my name is Corayne,” she said calmly, offering a falsely bright smile. “Who are you? Where do you come from?”
The tallest clutched her two sisters, holding them to herself. At first Sorasa thought she wouldn’t speak; then she raised her chin, her blue eyes clear.
“I’m Bretha,” she said. “We’re from Gidastern.”
Corayne nodded in greeting. “Hello, Bretha. You are a very brave girl. I can tell.” She eyed their clothes and worn shoes. “Gidastern is a long way to walk in the cold.”
“We ran,” the smallest sister mumbled against Bretha’s chest.
“Gods above,” Corayne said, her eyes going wide. “What did you run from? Was there a fire?”
Bretha nodded gravely. “Yes. Too many.”
“The city is burning!” the little one blurted out, bursting into tears.
The sound of a child weeping snapped something in Sorasa, and she had to look away. At the ground, at the horses, at Sigil still watching the road. Again she wanted to move on. Grab the children and keep riding.
Andry’s voice was low and calm, warm as his tea. “How did you make it so far alone?”
“Papa,” Bretha said, her breath hitching.
Sorasa winced, hoping the oldest wouldn’t cry too.
“And where is your papa now?” Corayne asked, hesitant.
The girls did not answer, though the little one continued to weep.
“I see.” Corayne’s voice broke but she pushed on, collecting herself. “I’m sorry to hear about your city, but you can travel with us. We’re going to Vodin, to stay in a castle and get warm before the hearth. This is the Prince of Trec, you know,” she added, sweeping a hand toward Oscovko. He gave a small wave. “He’s very pleased to meet you.”
The middle child watched him, her eyes going round.
“A prince set our city on fire,” she said in a strange, dull voice.
Corayne tipped her head and furrowed her brow. Behind her, Sorasa wondered what idiot had left the wrong candle burning.
