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The aufhocker’s growl deepened, and it launched itself at me with two powerful leaps that dug fissures into the ground. It came at me with its mouth open, and I lifted my sword, hilt poised in my hand like a spear, before hurling it at the monster, which roared as the blade lodged in the back of its throat. As it landed, it shook its head in an attempt to dislodge the weapon, slinging blood and drool.

I watched for a moment before approaching as it pawed at the hilt. The creature growled, though it was more of a gurgle. I gripped the slick blade and pulled it free, only to jam it farther into its throat before taking hold of its snout and snapping its jaw. The creature gave a final, mournful moan before going limp at my feet.

Its blood pooled on the ground, dark and glossy. I had done this so often, I felt nothing—no remorse, no thrill. This was the way of the world, and I had been the catalyst.

My only concern was that the creature had gone against its nature and roamed in the daylight. Was this the disturbance that had the witches wailing?

In the silence that followed, my gaze shifted to the woman who still lay motionless except for the hurried rise and fall of her rattling chest. I bent and took up my sword once more, blade dripping with crimson.

As I came toward the woman, I saw her eyes were open and her throat shredded. During the attack, she had fallen on her cloak and was framed in a sea of royal blue. It made her look even paler, her blood an angry contrast.

She was far younger than I expected, and I wondered what had brought her to the woods until my eyes fell on an overturned basket some distance away, a handful of mushrooms and herbs scattered on the ground. I recalled how Yesenia would wander the grounds outside the Red Palace two hundred years ago for the very same supplies.

A sudden wave of unease straightened my spine, and my wish to return to Isolde renewed.

I knelt and the girl met my gaze. She seemed to breathe harder as I hovered, and whether out of fear or her approaching death, I did not know.

“This is a mercy,” I said and leaned nearer as I whispered, “Close your eyes.”

It took her a moment, but she obeyed, and I rose, lifting my blade overhead, only to bring it down on her ruined neck. The head separated from the body cleanly, and despite the decapitation, I knew it was not enough to keep resurrection at bay after an aufhocker bite.

She would have to be burned.

I used the woman’s cloak to clean my blade and, once sheathed, leaned down to pick up her head by her dark, silken hair when I caught movement in the tree line.

A young boy stared back at me, wide-eyed and shaken. I wondered if he was this woman’s son, maybe her brother. I did not ask, couldn’t, even if I had wanted to, because as soon as I noticed him, he turned and fled in the direction of the village of Volkair.

I followed, head in hand, knowing they would have fire to burn it.

The trek through the surrounding woods was short, though the voices of the dead grew incessant. I did not understand their language, but their words prodded my mind and warped my reality, and in an instant, I was no longer trudging over the rugged floor of the Starless Forest but sinking into a soft bed, my hands and knees framing Yesenia’s body. She stared back at me, eyes hooded, hair spilling over her pillow. I had little hope that we would be together beyond this day, and even as I moved inside her, I could not fully commit to this moment, too desperate and anxious to give her every part of me as she deserved.

Had Isolde recalled our time together in the hours before Yesenia’s death? I would never ask for fear of causing her pain, and in the end, it did not really matter. She did not need these memories to fuel her vengeance.

I stepped out of the tree line, shaking off the memories clinging to me, once more fully present in the reality of my bloodied world.

Goddamn witches. Even from their high graves, they still cast spells.

My teeth were set, my fist wrapped tight in the girl’s hair, her head hanging at my side as I entered Volkair. A main road snaked through a ragged village, flanked by worn homes and shops, their thatched roofs dusted with snow. A few farm animals ran loose, prey for the monsters that lurked in the nearby forest.

I headed toward a fire blazing in the center of the road. My boots became heavy, caked with mud, and as I threw the girl’s head into the fire, I looked to find the townspeople had come out of their homes, gathering beneath what little outdoor shelter they had.

The boy had likely alerted them to my presence—and the death of the nameless girl. I could not be certain what he had said or if they believed him, since it was unusual for monsters to venture out in the daylight.

All monsters except for me.

I turned fully toward them.

None of them bowed; none of them so much as nodded. They stood, solemn and staring.

“Have you forgotten your king?” I called, a warning and a chance to show respect, but the only movement came from one man who stepped apart from those who cowered.

To my disappointment, it was not Gesalac. This man was mortal.

He was thin, and age had bent his tall frame so that he stood almost like a crumbling oak—hunched at the shoulders, skin perpetually weathered by the red sun.

The land and this village had nursed this man as it had me, and he faced me, unafraid.

“Or have you found a new one?” I muttered, narrowing my eyes.