The light in the courtyard was a pale mauve and the air was cool. The Between Realm had distorted time but it seemed that an entire day had passed. The day of Madame Skia’s execution. Here stood Madame Skia now though, in front of Ilyria. Ilyria knew it was her and yet she did not look the same. She had been a large woman with double chins and heavy make-up. But this woman was voluptuous, ageless, and entirely free of make-up. Her silver hair lay in curls close to her head. Ilyria remembered the day when Dirk had struck her, how her form had seemed to shift before Ilyria's eyes, the wound Dirk had dealt her healing as she watched. Madame Skia allowed Ilyria to stare, smiling with something like patience. “This is who you really are?” asked Ilyria. “It is who I was,” said Madame Skia, “The other version is who I need to be here, in Idixat, working.” “But why?” Madame Skia linked her arm in Ilyria’s and began walking her toward the dining hall.

“Not who, my sweet,” said Nicos, then laughed when his brother growled at him not to call his woman that. He grew serious again. “Not who. What.” “The relics left by the the old Magoses,” guessed Ilyria, “The parts of themselves that they left behind. Is that it?” “Yes,” said Nicos. “The relics. If the evil Magos …” “Zlo,” said Ilyria. Each time she said its name, it became a little less terrifying to her. It had been a man called Zlo. Men can be defeated. “Yes,” said Nicos, understanding, “Zlo. If Zlo finds these relics, when the Twin Moon rises, he will have absolute control of the unnatural forces. He will have all the power of the old Magoses as well as his own. It will be a fire that consumes everything in its path.” “Enough!” said Madame Skia, rising and shaking out her skirts. “These stories are only terrifying my girls. We have work to do,” she said, “We need to plan our defense.” “But,” said Ilyria, thinking of Dirk slumped in

Zlo stood aside for her to enter. Ilyria felt numb. What had Madame Skia said? That there were few certainties, all they could do was to stand together and protect each other. Her mother swayed in the hall and Ilyria’s heart could not hold on to the anger she felt for her. Not with true evil standing directly before her. She walked past Zlo into the entrance hall with as much confidence as she could fake. The door clanged shut behind them and Ilyria felt a buzzing under her skin as the enchantment took hold. She tried to concentrate on her mother. She thought she saw her lift her head, the pale and glassy eyes almost-focus on her then slide away. Zlo brushed past her and she shuddered. It stank of Dirk’s rotting flesh which it seemed unable to cast it off. Its own calloused grey hide showed through where Dirk’s skin had stretched too tight or torn. She felt her sanity slip. My mother, she reminded herself, she will know what happened to the traveller. What tr

“No,” said Ilyria, “It’s a mistake. You must be wrong.” The ascetic shook her head. “Think about it, Ilyria. You will know the truth yourself.” Ilyria remembered the Princess’s enchantment. Walking along the cold cave, dripping with condensation, the markings hewn into the walks gleaming with ancient silver, the story that could only be understood when looking away from the sigils, and at the center, two beings. A Magos and a Lightning Bird. But enchantments were not reality. “What if you are being deliberately misled,” she said, “What if this is what Zlo wants you to believe?” There was the slap of bare footsteps on the stone and they all three turned to see Bonbon running toward them. Her eyes were wild with panic. “Thassa! Nicos!” she was calling as she went, looking helplessly around her. “Where are they? Madame Skia have you seen them? Have you seen my Thassa?” Madame Skia hushed her. “Bonbon,” she said, “Be calm now,” the

Ilyria turned to look back at the gates of the city. She had to hold tight to the horn of the saddle beneath her as the unfamiliar sway of the camel threatened to unseat her at every moment. Sand stung her eyes and she faced frontward again, wrapping her head scarf around her face. The tears were from the sting of the sand, nothing more, she told herself. At each moment during the days of preparation for her journey, she had hoped—even expected—that Astrapi would come to her, asking her forgiveness and offering her an explanation that would allow her to let go of her betrayal and anger. Yet he had remained infuriatingly away. Skia, Thassa, Nicos and Bonbon were trying to help Ilyria find her way to Utzed. Each time they presented her with a new idea, they would preface it with “If only one of us could be with you …” until she could no longer bear it and told them that even if they had been able to be with her, she wouldn’t want it. This outburst seemed to set their m