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‘So you can be quick, after all,’ she said lightly.

I decided not to ask what would happen if I dropped the bag filled with the world’s love, and followed her as if treading on brittle ice, along the trail of flattened grass, between the apple and cherry trees that covered this side of the island. Zera walked ahead of me in the direction of her smoking fire, her bony shoulders twisting painfully with every step.

A small wooden cottage appeared between the trees, surrounded by a rich food garden, large bushes of herbs, and a host of blooming flowers. There were chickens, a good dozen of them, scratching peacefully around the house. The smell of verbena and cherry blossom wafted over me, mingled with a scent of burning wood that made me abruptly aware of my ice-cold limbs.

It looked like home. Truly, it looked more like home than home had ever done.

Zera was now positively limping, dragging her bag of grief to the low front door with laboured, uneven steps. But her voice was crisp and clear as she said, ‘Come in, dear. Warm yourself. I will find you something to wear.’

Disobeying a goddess – even if she had lost most of her powers, and even if she appeared closer to a friendly grandmother than a deity – was likely not the best of ideas. I ducked dutifully through the doorway and stepped into a small room, all dark wood and floral embroidery. A fire burned in the hearth, and my skin breathed a sigh of relief.

Zera installed her bag in a corner, vanished to the back room, and returned within a minute carrying a simple tunic dress made of the same homespun cloth as her shirt and trousers. I was too dazed to object by that time. I just undressed and dressed again, hanging my wet clothes over a chair to dry, while Zera politely looked the other way and pulled a bottle of wine and sachets of spices from shelves and drawers.

‘Please don’t make a fuss for me,’ I said nervously, having made myself somewhat decent. ‘I really don’t want to eat all your food.’

‘The forest gives me plenty,’ she said and waved at the pillows strewn around the fireplace. ‘Let me spoil my first human visitor in centuries a little – well, half human.’ A chuckle. ‘The dragons are sweethearts, but as conversation partners, they leave much to be desired.’

I thought of those three rows of dripping teeth and suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with my cold limbs. Installing myself in the pillows, I said, ‘I thought dragons were Inika’s animals.’

‘Oh, they are.’ She gave me a small smile as she pulled out a rather wrinkled orange and began cutting off slices. ‘Sizzle travels between us to deliver notes. The other surviving dragon is with her, at the coast.’

Somehow it made me feel better to know she had at least had some company through the centuries, or at least more than the deluge of prayers and invocations that must be flooding her every moment of the day. ‘So Inika is alive, too.’

‘Yes. So is Orin.’

The silence at the end of that sentence was too pronounced. There was one goddess left that she hadn’t accounted for – the same goddess who had gone insane with anger towards the end of her era, the same goddess whose cursed blood could kill a hundred warriors with a few drops.

I waited as Zera stuffed the orange slices into a small cauldron, added a handful of spices, and poured in half a bottle of wine. Only as she bent over to attach the mixture above the fire did she say, her voice flat, ‘We are unsure about Etele.’

‘Did you …’ I hesitated, not sure if making suggestions would be presumptuous or altogether ridiculous. ‘Did you go look for her?’

‘I did.’ A mirthless smile at her bony, old hands. ‘As you can see.’

‘What do you—’

‘We did not just lose our powers that day.’ She let out a small groan as she sank down in the pillows on the other side of the fire, her face contorting into a grimace. ‘Our immortality left us, too. Or at least, we started aging – I presume it is possible we are still immortal, but frankly, I wouldn’t want to ruin my knees any more than I already did these past centuries.’

A baffled laugh, or a sorry excuse for it, fell from my lips. ‘Then how are you still here?’

‘The forest.’ She shrugged, as if it was the most self-evident explanation in the world. ‘Time doesn’t pass here like it passes in the rest of the world. I did leave the forest for a few years in between in some hopeful attempt to find out what had happened to everyone, and you can see what it did to me.’

‘Oh, gods.’ My mouth had gone dry. ‘I mean – hell, this is hard. I’m so sorry. Perhaps … perhaps I could go look for Etele? After all of this is over?’

‘An admirable attempt to once again solve all the troubles of the world by yourself,’ Zera said, crossing her legs. They were bony below her trousers – strong but sinewy, worn down by the passing of the years. ‘You do take after your mother. I’m glad to see it.’

A flush of warmth rose to my face, having nothing to do with the crackling flames. ‘Do you have any idea where she is? My mother?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ Zera said slowly. ‘She doesn’t speak much to me these days – really, I’m afraid she has quite given up on gods in general.’

Not what I’d come here for, and yet, I couldn’t suppress a twinge of disappointment. ‘I see.’

‘But you may have questions where I can be of more help.’ She rose with another pained grimace, pulled her sleeves over her hands, and lifted the now steaming kettle of spiced wine from above the flames. ‘Surely you did not decide to risk certain death and more of such nonsense just to ask me about your mother?’

I managed a smile. ‘No.’

‘As I thought,’ she said, pulling two earthen mugs from her dark wooden cupboards. ‘So what is it, then, Emelin of Agenor’s house?’

‘I … I wanted to ask about the bindings.’ After all that time I’d spent reading up on the damn things, I really should have been able to come up with a more eloquent introduction – some sweeping and convincing monologue rather than this timid stammering. ‘I want to figure out how to break them, but we don’t know enough to have any idea of how they work. So I thought – I hoped – that you would be able to tell me more about them.’