It touched me more than I could have reckoned. Until Aleksei gave me one, I hadn’t known part of me yearned for an apology, any apology.

“Thank you,” I said simply.

Aleksei nodded. “You’re welcome. For all the many kindnesses you have shown me…” His color rose. “I owe you a great deal more than an apology.”

I smiled. “Oh, I have enjoyed the kindnesses, sweet boy. Do not think I haven’t.”

“I don’t.” He smiled back at me. “You’ve taught me that much. But do not think I am not grateful for them, or for the generosity and forbearance you have shown me.”

“I don’t,” I assured him. “You have a good heart, Aleksei.”

Thus in accord, we resumed our journey back into Udinsk. Passing the Tatar encampment, I caught sight of Vachir’s wife, Arigh, milking a goat and waved to her, hoisting the brace of grouse that she might see I’d put her bow to good use. She smiled and raised a hand in reply.

We entered the city proper, our stalwart horses jogging steadily beneath us. I bowed my head and touched the thoughts of my mount lightly, stroking her withers, trying to think of a name that might suit her now that we had spent an entire day together. The squinty-eyed trader hadn’t bothered to name his wares.

Something calm, I thought, something hardy.

Somewhere, someone shouted.

My head came up sharply.

“Moirin…” Aleksei’s voice shook. He pointed ahead of us.

There were men in the city square-too many men. Armed and mounted men, not merchants and traders. I recognized the wide-set figure and grizzled beard of the Duke of Vralsturm, and the attire of his soldiers.

And beside him…

I swore under my breath at the sight of the Patriarch of Riva, wearing black robes, seated astride a rather good-looking chestnut saddle-horse-swore and reached for my bow, glad that I’d forgotten to give it back to Aleksei for appearances’ sake.

“Moirin, no!”

I ignored Aleksei, nocking an arrow. The Duke’s men rode forward slowly, fanning out to create a semicircle. I willed my mount to be still, and she stood like a statue beneath me. Beside the Duke of Vralsturm, Pyotr Rostov smiled his creamy smile, raising one hand to stroke his beard in a thoughtful gesture.

“Moirin mac Fainche,” he said in a deep, resonant voice.

I leveled my arrow at his chest. “One and the same, my lord. How did you find us?”

His smile broadened. “A suspicious smith offered an unusual set of chains for sale made certain inquiries. Pity about the chains, but that’s a moot point now.”

Ah, gods! It was the fellow at that second smithy, the one who had asked too many questions. I glanced around the square. Some folk were pelting off in different directions, spreading the news of the brewing confrontation. Others gathered at a safe distance to watch, curiosity written in their faces.

All too well, I knew how quickly it could turn to hostility.

Even now, the Patriarch was addressing them in Vralian, and I’d learned enough to grasp that he was explaining that I was a sinful witch possessed by unclean spirits, that I was sentenced to death, and that the Duke and his men had come to take me into custody and administer the sentence.

“That’s not true!” Aleksei raised his voice, speaking slowly and distinctly in Vralian so that I could follow. “Uncle, I know Moirin. She has unusual gifts, yes, but there is no unclean spirit in her!”

“You are bewitched, boy,” his uncle replied, his brows drawing together in a scowl. “We will pray together.”

Aleksei shook his head stubbornly. “I’m telling the truth. I would stake my life on it!”

The Patriarch’s voice dropped to a low rumble. “And you just might if you insist on this course. You’ve been like a son to me, Aleksei, but I cannot protect you if you will not renounce the witch.”

Aleksei blanched.

“He can’t,” I said quickly. “You are right. I bewitched him so thoroughly he does not know it himself.”

“She’s lying!” Aleksei shouted. “She’s trying to protect me! Moirin, I won’t let you. I won’t lie.” There were tears in his blue eyes. “I felt Naamah’s blessing myself. It is real, it is true and beautiful, and there is no curse in it. None!”

The Duke of Vralsturm gestured curtly to his men. “Take them both.”

“Hold!” I drew the bowstring back two more inches to its fullest extension, keeping my arrow trained on Pyotr Rostov’s chest, and my gaze fixed on his face. No one moved. “Let us go, or I will kill him.”

“Moirin, don’t!” Aleksei murmured. “Please, don’t do this. You’re not a killer.”

“I have killed men before,” I said with a calmness I did not feel. “And I will kill your uncle if he does not recant his order.”

The Patriarch returned my gaze steadily. He had courage, I’d grant him that. Courage, ambition, and a fanatic’s belief in the rightness of his cause. It was all written in his face. And I saw, too, that he believed in his heart that I was bluffing. I saw a vision of a future unspooling between us, a future in which my corruption of his golden nephew Aleksei became a rallying point for the Church of Yeshua Ascendant. Here in this square, Aleksei would be slain for the sin of loving me, martyred for his uncle’s cause-and my death would be but the first in a long crusade against the sinful D’Angelines and the unnatural bear-witches of the Maghuin Dhonn.

A future of banners and bloodshed, preparing the world with fire and steel for Yeshua ben Yosef’s return; and in the center of it all, the Patriarch of Riva stoking the fires with his splendid rhetoric, causing it all to happen.

I sucked in my breath, shaking at the vision, my arms trembling from the strain of holding the drawn bow.

Pyotr Rostov smiled in triumph. “Take them.”

Steadying my grip, I loosed the bowstring.

“Moirin, no!” Aleksei cried a second time, hurling himself from the saddle and crashing into me, dragging me from my mount. I fell hard onto the cobbled square, striking my head on the stones, Aleksei falling atop me.

The world went black for a moment-pitch-black, with starbursts of light spangling the darkness. My head hurt. Everywhere around us, there was shouting and clattering, sounds like an avalanche of rocks falling.

In the sparkling darkness, I wondered if the folk of Udinsk had begun to stone me already, wondered how they’d armed themselves so quickly. I shoved frantically at Aleksei’s weight, pushing him off me.

The clattering got louder, and so did the shouting.

I scrambled to my feet, shaking my head to clear it. There seemed to be a sea of surging horse-flesh between me and my adversaries. In between the churning legs, shaggy flanks, and thick, arching necks, I caught a glimpse of the Duke’s men retreating to regroup and the Patriarch kneeling on the cobblestones, grimacing, his fingers clutching at the shaft of an arrow protruding just below his collarbone.

“Lady archer.” Vachir’s face hung above me, silhouetted against the bright blue sky as he leaned down from the saddle. I squinted, seeing two of him. “Are you well?”

Tatars.

The Tatars from the encampment had come to my rescue.

I laughed, a short, wondering laugh. “Not exactly. But, Vachir… why?”

He smiled his quiet smile. “I offered you the hospitality of my roof.”

There was more to it, but I understood. Vachir and his fellow traders were settling the balance of debt the Great Khan Naram himself incurred when he violated the sacred laws of hospitality. “Thank you,” I said softly.

Vachir nodded. “You should come with us. Now.”

I rubbed my hands over my face, gave my aching head another shake, and took stock of the situation. Beside me, Aleksei got to his feet, trembling.

It was a standoff. The Duke of Vralsturm and his men were in a cluster around the kneeling Patriarch, hands on their sword-hilts. Mounted Tatar warriors milled around them, bows drawn, arrows nocked and poised. The younger men among them had dark, glittering eyes and fierce battle-smiles that reminded me of Bao.