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“Even if you had known,” Ludya said with an apprehensive glance toward the path before starting down it, “it would not have made a difference. You wouldn’t make it a single step inside their antechamber without an invitation. Besides, you’ve nevercareduntil now, have you?”
Ana skipped steps to keep pace. “That feels an awful lot like condemnation, Ludya.”
“Truth simplyis. If truth feels like condemnation to you, then by all means, accept it as such.”
Ana scoffed and jogged faster. “We were never raised to—”
“Arkhady has visited the kyschun many times,” Ludya said, cutting in. She slowed as the path climbed, a short hill that would then drop them into a small valley.
“If that were so, then why has he been so blind to the koldyna?”
“He was not asking the right questions. What your father most wanted was a cure for his unending grief, a way to bring Ksana back. But there wasn’t one. And the archivists do not share what is not asked. They often do not even share whatisasked.” Ludya paused at the peak of the hill. She pointed down into the valley, but at what, Ana couldn’t tell.
“What am I looking at?”
“Do you see the place where the trees part?”
Ana looked again. The forest was a solid line at the base of the foothills, except in one spot where the patch of trees thinned. She nodded.
“The entrance is there.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see it when you’re close.”
Ana spun toward her. “You’re not coming with me?”
“I was not invited,” Ludya said. “But I will wait for you here.”
“You can’t come in with me? Even ifIinvite you?”
“I could,” Ludya said, “but they may or may not reveal what you want to know in front of someone else. And you are not at liberty to take such risks right now, are you?”
Ana sighed and turned her eyes back toward the quiet, foggy valley. “What if—”
“No matter how you choose to end your question, Anastazja, I have no answer for you. Buttheymight. Go, now, before others discover where you are. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
Tyreste made it all the way to the gates of Fanghelm before he spotted Ana. She was walking away from the keep, but she wasn’t alone anymore. He recognized the woman with her, though they’d never been formally introduced: Ludya. Her beloved vedhma.
He followed from a distance and hung back when they reached the short hill. He waited for what seemed like more than enough time and slipped behind a tree to spot where they’d gone.
But Ana was on her own now, marching through the valley floor. Where she was going wasn’t clear, but she was headed toward the foothills. Her vedhma sat on a fallen log at the top of the hill with her eyes closed, her face flushed with something resembling grief as she comforted herself with words he couldn’t hear—and wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Whatever was going on, wherever Ana was going, Ludya had left her to go on alone—which seemed highly unlikely unless necessary. If so, avoiding Ludya’s notice was crucial if he wanted to make it wherever Ana was headed.
There was no way he was letting her walk into a dangerous situation alone again. Isolating in her darkest hour was her way of punishing herself—for what, he intended to find out.
Tyr slipped into the forest from the north side, keeping close enough to the path to follow Ana’s progress. He checked on Ludya every few paces, but she continued her strange meditations, unaware.
He fell behind, slowed by the patchy layers of ice and snow, so he slipped into a sprint that had his side aching in seconds. Each land of his boots came with a new discovery. Something hard. Something sharp. Something slippery. Something soft. Somethingmoving.He kept losing sight of her, so he veered closer to the path, knowing the risks yet too excited to care.
Tyr inched out onto the path in time to see Ana disappear between two trees and go...
Down.
Intothe foothills.
If he hadn’t actually seen her do it, he wouldn’t have believed there was anything there.
