A group of guards had gathered. Before they could react, Iskra raised her insignia.

  “It was a demon. I’ll file a report.”

  The soldiers exchanged glances, murmuring among themselves. Then they dispersed. Iskra caught one of them by the arm.

  “I want to enter the castle.”

  “No one is allowed inside the grounds.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s an epidemic.”

  “An epidemic of what?”

  A veteran stepped forward, his gaze locked onto hers.

  “Follow us.”

  The moment they crossed the threshold of the barracks, the atmosphere changed. The smell of leather and metal hung in the air. One of them grabbed a bottle of rum and set it down on the table.

  “Want some?” he said.

  Iskra shook her head. He filled several glasses and took a gulp.

  “The epidemic started a few weeks ago. At first, it was the servants who fell ill. We didn’t worry too much until it reached royal blood.”

  “How many victims?”

  “A lot. Impossible to say exactly how many. The castle is under quarantine. No one goes in, no one comes out. Those who tried never returned.”

  “Who’s affected?”

  “We have no information coming out of the capital.”

  Iskra grabbed the bottle and brought it to her lips; the amber liquid slid down her throat. When she had drained the last drop, she set it back on the table.

  “Thank you for the information.”

  Then she turned on her heel and left the barracks.

  *****

  At nightfall, Iskra slipped into the forest bordering the castle. With every step, the mossy ground exhaled a soft rustle, a muffled crackle beneath her boots.

  Soon, she reached a thicket. She placed her hand against the foliage. At once, brambles and roots slid aside, revealing a well. Iskra jumped down and landed in a heap of leaves. Her hand burst into flame, casting light across the stone walls. Before her, a spiral staircase plunged into the bowels of the earth.

  She brushed the wall as she moved forward; beneath her fingers, the stone was rough, slick with grime. When she grazed a spider’s web, a shiver ran up her spine.

  As she set foot on the first step, a layer of dust billowed upward.

  She descended, again and again. Then, at last, the final step awaited her. The paving stones vanished beneath a carpet of greenery, where ivy intertwined and wildflowers bloomed. Cracks ran along the walls, spiderwebbing through the stone.

  At the center of the courtyard stood a rosebush. Iskra approached it and plucked a flower. The petals fell away one by one, drifting to the ground. She slipped the stem into her pocket.

  A door lay hidden beneath a mantle of ivy. Iskra stepped closer, and at once, the plants peeled away.

  She placed her hand on the wood. The door swung open with a creak, and she slipped through the opening.

  A sharp, acrid stench filled her nostrils, tightening her throat. Iskra summoned a layer of flames around her body before moving deeper into the castle.

  When she reached the steward’s quarters, a glow seeped out from beneath the door. Inside, Soren sat hunched over his desk, quill racing across the page.

  “I know you’re here, Iskra.”

  She stepped inside without a word.

  “Have you sent your report?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I found herds of sheep dead out there, drained of their blood. It was the work of bloodsucking flies from a marsh. A witch captured me, but Marte intervened and killed her.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Still in the north.”

  “Very well,” Soren murmured.

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  The scratch of the quill echoed once more across the parchment.

  “Do you need anything else, Iskra?” he asked.

  “I’ve heard talk of an epidemic.”

  “Those who survived are now immune, but no one is allowed to leave the castle,” he murmured.

  “Have you discovered the cause?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  She clenched her jaw and left the room. The moment she crossed the threshold of her chamber, a reek of sulfur struck her nostrils. Iskra opened the window, braced herself against the sill, and launched forward. The void swallowed her. A second later, flames wrapped around her just before she hit the ground.

  A gray-haired woman wrapped in a shawl passed a few steps away, a basket overflowing with apples cradled in her arm. One of them rolled free, but she didn’t slow down. Nearby, a man dressed in a tunic moved forward, jerking with spasms. His head turned toward Iskra, but his gaze passed straight through her, unseeing.

  She entered a tavern. A server moved between the tables, a tray balanced on his hand. He was smiling, but his lips were frozen in place. Behind the counter, another worker was frantically polishing glasses. The cloth spun, rubbed, passed again and again over the smooth surface.

  She sat down at a table, and already an employee was approaching her.

  “What can I get you?” he asked.

  “A beer.”

  “I’ll bring it right away!”

  A few minutes later, he returned with a tankard overflowing with foam. She thanked him with a nod, then raised it to her lips. A sharp, acrid smell stung her nose. She poured the contents into a nearby plant before setting the mug back on the table. Then the server returned.

  “Would you like another beer?” he asked.

  “No, this is perfect.”

  “Very well, madam,” he said.

  Iskra stood up, but a small man grabbed her arm.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  His lips stretched, centimeter by centimeter, revealing yellowed teeth.

  Flames coiled around the man. His flesh cracked, the fissures widening as charred strips peeled away. Dark plumes of smoke rose.

  She shoved him back, hurling the body against a table. The patrons stood, their heads turning toward her. Slowly, the circle closed in.

  She hurled herself toward the window, and the glass exploded. Hundreds of people filled the entire width of the street. Silhouettes leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Suddenly, one of them tore a roof tile free and hurled it at her. Others followed suit, and soon a deluge of projectiles tore through the air.

  Flames stretched around her as she lifted off the ground. Thousands of shadows slipped between the buildings. She exhaled and fixed her goal: the prison.

  Four sentinels stood guard before the entrance. She landed, her boots cracking against the stone. Their faces were hidden beneath their helmets, only their eyes gleaming.

  “Visiting hours are over for today,” they said.

  Iskra slid her hand beneath her cloak and produced her royal insignia.

  “I need to go inside. Now.”

  “Follow us.”

  They plunged into a corridor. But something unsettled her: this passage was unfamiliar.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Her hand closed around a guard’s wrist, cold as marble.

  At once, flames erupted around her. Fire devoured them skin fissuring, then peeling away in strips. At their feet, fragments of charred wood littered the floor.

  She quickened her pace and reached Fulger’s cell.

  All around him, silhouettes lay scattered. Their chests were split open, revealing only a smooth surface, empty of flesh and blood. He was seated on a chair whose backrest was made of tangled forearms. He idly twirled an elbow between his fingers.

  “You’ve been visiting me quite often lately, Iskra,” he said.

  “What are these things?”

  “Puppets,” he replied.

  She knelt beside one of the bodies. There was no warmth, no breath.

  “We need to leave.”

  “For what reason?” he shot back.

  She placed her hands on the bars. A red glow raced across the metal, spraying incandescent droplets that splattered onto the floor.

  “Impressive,” he snickered.

  Iskra grabbed his arm.

  They stepped over the debris and came face to face with around twenty puppets blocking the exit.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said.

  “You’re joking?” she snapped.

  “Iskra, either you leave, or you stay here and admire my genius.”

  “I’m staying but if you do anything stupid, I’ll burn you where you stand.”

  “Oh, please, as if I’d ever give you an excuse to indulge your pyromaniac urges.”

  Luminous trails slid over his hands as filaments of energy rippled along his arms. A bolt of lightning tore through the air and struck the puppets head-on. They exploded in a shower of sparks.

  “There. Problem solved,” he said.

  “Couldn’t you have been more discreet?” she muttered.

  “A little thank you, perhaps?” Fulger said.

  “Impressive,” she admitted.

  They crossed the threshold of the prison. A rumble rose from the alleys, making the ground tremble. A tide of puppets surged out to meet them.

  “There are too many,” Fulger murmured.

  “Follow me!” she ordered.

  Fulger was limping now, leaning on her more and more. Behind them, the puppets were gaining ground. Then, suddenly, he stopped.

  “What are you doing? They’re coming!” she shouted.

  “I’ll handle it. I’m slowing you down anyway, Iskra.”

  “There are too many of them.”

  The air crackled as lightning tore through the alley, pulverizing bodies. A shockwave shook the buildings. Gasping, he staggered, his knees buckling.

  “Fulger!” Iskra screamed, rushing to him.

  She slipped her arms beneath his shoulders and tried to lift him, but it was useless. He was too heavy. All around them, mutilated puppets crawled forward while others continued to pour in.

  “Leave me here,” he whispered.

  “Never!”

  She lowered him to the ground; flames erupted, forming a circle. With each burst of fire, her strength waned, her vision blurring further. Suddenly, a scream pierced the air. A metal bar punched through her leg. Fulger arched back, eyes wide. The next one struck him square in the chest.

  “Fulger!” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  A wave of fire erupted, reducing the puppets to dust. She rose above the flames. Buildings collapsed one after another, and yet, amid the chaos, a single tower still stood. Fire clung to its walls, devouring the masonry as thick columns of black smoke rose into the sky. Suddenly, cracks spiderwebbed through the structure, and the first sections of wall gave way. The summit tilted, and the impact sent a cloud of ash billowing upward.

  As Iskra moved farther away, the inferno continued to spread. On the outskirts, townsfolk ran in every direction. Some hurled water onto the flames, while others fled, bags stuffed with belongings clutched to their chests. Children clung to their parents’ arms, their cries lost in the turmoil. Horses whinnied, hooves pounding the ground, while dogs barked.

  “She’s the one who caused all this!” a voice rang out.

  “Witch!” an old man screamed.

  “She’s condemning us all!” a woman cried, clutching her child.

  “Kill her!”

  A rain of stones and debris rose up, hurled by the crowd. But around Iskra, the flames whirled, burning anything that tried to reach her.

  “Come down and face us, demon!”

  She fled the city, but the flames surrounding her began to falter. Her strength gave out; she fell, crashing into the earth, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. She forced herself up and staggered forward, her legs trembling. Ahead of her, the shadows of the forest stretched wide.