They ate in silence, and the four adults watched them just as quietly. Gerontez stayed by the door, leaned up against the wall with an unimpressed expression on his face. Yeskov paced, boards creaking endlessly under his feet. Magadan and Pleskanina had sat back down to their chess game, but seemed to be paying more attention to Kemp and Nikha than the board. It was all very disconcerting.

“Quite the gun you’ve got there, Lady von Kranssov.” said Gerontez suddenly. “It looks rather impressive, but wouldn’t something smaller be easier to shoot?” Nikha fixed him with a dark-eyed scowl, but Magadan spoke up before she could spit any venom.

“I’d wager my best horse she shoots it better than you could, Baron.” His voice was level, his eyes fixed on Gerontez. “They’ve less time for your ludibria out here. Their concerns are more practical.” Coincidentally, this was essentially a more diplomatic version of what Nikha was going to tell him, so she left it at that- or she did after giving Gerontez another nasty look.

“‘Practical’ is one way to put it, I suppose.” Gerontez tried to keep his voice nonchalant, but even Nikha could hear its undercurrent of anger. “‘Primitive’ is another. It’s so damned boring out here that shooting animals is the closest thing they’ve got to culture. Especially for curse-touched little girls and their idiot fathers.”

Nikha was on her feet immediately, fists clenched into furious knots at her sides. “Apologize!” she snarled at the red-haired man. “You’ll not insult my father in his own house. Apologize right now.” Kemp remained seated but looked carefully around the room, reaching beneath the table with one hand.

“Why would I?” he sneered, peeling away from the wall. There was such contempt in his voice. It reminded her of Ossoff, and that same cold fist of shame gripped her heart. What had she done to deserve this treatment? As bad as it made her feel, her anger was stronger. “Why would I apologize to the witchborn whelp of the man who-“

“Mihailo!” snapped Magadan, voice ringing with iron command. “Come into the kitchen. We must speak.” Pleskanina and Yeskov shared an inscrutable look. To Nikha’s surprise Gerontez listened, though he didn’t look at her as he crossed the room and violently shoved through the kitchen door. Magadan paused, turning to her. “I’m sorry for his behavior. This…All this, whatever it is, has been hard on him.”

Nikha was still burning with anger, but Papa would want her to be graceful as possible. She managed a stiff nod. “So long as he stops.”

“He will.” The mustachioed man turned and followed Gerontez through the door. Nikha stared after him for a moment, then abruptly sat down and put her face in her hands.

“Nikha?” Kemp’s voice was tentative. “Are you-“

“I just don’t know why they hate me so,” she mumbled, face scrunched up. She refused to cry. “I’ve not done anything to hurt them.”

A callused hand patted her shoulder. “It’s their fault, not yours.”

“I know that, but...” She looked up, blinked rapidly. “Sorry. No time for that. I’m okay, I promise,” she added upon seeing Kemp’s worried look. Then she turned to Yeskov and Pleskanina, who were having a muttered conversation of their own while stealing glances at the kitchen door. “Speaking of my father, have either of you seen him, Marchioness, Viscount?”

Pleskanina went pale and Yeskov broke into a coughing fit. “Not…not since last night,” warbled the marchioness.

“S-same,” choked out Yeskov.

Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all. She felt like a detective in one of those Cydwish mystery stories.

“What did happen last night, then?” asked Kemp. “Why’s the house so messy?”

Pleskanina stared down at her lap while Yeskov stammered out an answer. “As I said, Count von Kranssov was very generous with his cellars last night, and a great deal of spirits were consumed by all parties-“

“What about the bodies?” Nikha leaned forward, both hands palm down on the table.

“The…the what?” Yeskov’s feigned ignorance was entirely unconvincing. Pleskanina kneaded her hands in her lap, still not looking up.

“The dead bodies, the corpses! What about them, Yeskov! You already told me you’d seen some!” Nikha knew she was shouting now and didn’t care. She thought of the mutilated remains strewn carelessly about the halls like emptied bottles, of the massacre in the Cartographer’s Room, of Yesika. “People don’t kill each other like that when they’re drunk! You don’t need to lie to me because I’m a child, or a girl! I’ve already seen such awful, awful things…so please just tell me the truth!” The last part came out more desperate than forceful, but she couldn’t keep the emotion out of her voice.

The two adults looked at each other, then Yeskov sighed deeply. “A-alright, Lady Nikha. My apologies. I’m afraid I still won’t be able to tell you much. I truly was soused last night. My memory is…foggy. I remember the meeting, the celebration, drinking and dancing. But at some point, things just broke out into pandemonium. People were running and screaming. Windows were breaking- and people were coming through.”

“Who? What people?” Kemp was leaning forward in his chair, as curious as Nikha despite his reservations earlier.

“The ones who killed everyone,” said Pleskanina without looking up.

“The m-marchioness is right, and unfortunately I can’t make things any more specific. They may have been bandits, rebel peasants, perhaps a heretical cult…there was another man with us who thought he heard them speaking Talian. Could have been steppemen out raiding.”

Nikha frowned, thinking. It could have been any of those things, she supposed, but it didn’t quite line up. Any of those groups would have burned Eldergrave after pillaging it, like as not. And I doubt there’s any steppemen or rebels who could send Kemp and I to some other world and back again.

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“What about everything else? The sideways room, the paintings, how none of the halls lead where they should?” Yeskov stiffened, and Pleskanina kneaded her hands about with renewed vigor.

“We are cursed,” she muttered.

Yeskov glanced down at her as he answered, waxy sweat sheening his face. “I-I-I have as little idea as you do. Whatever’s happened is far beyond human ken. There were a few war summoners in attendance, and I’ve heard they can perform impressive works when they combine their facilities. Th-that’s only a guess, though.”

“Could war summoners really do all this?” Kemp whispered to her.

She shook her head. “There’s no way. What a waste of time.” She quickly did up her rucksack again. “They don’t know any more than we do.”

“Or they’re lying.”

“Or that.” Nikha stood up, pack in one hand and rifle in the other. “We thank you both for your hospitality, Marchioness, Viscount, but we must take our leave. Um, good luck, and-“

“You aren’t leaving, I’m afraid.” It was Magadan, coming back through the kitchen door-and he was pointing a double-barreled pistol at her. “Put down the gun and pack, please.” Nikha froze. He’d gotten the drop on her. Her mind whirled, looking for a way out of this, but it found nothing. “Now,” Magadan warned. “I assure you, I’m a good enough shot to hit you from here.” Gritting her teeth, she did as he said and put her weapon down on the table. Kemp, who hadn’t gotten up yet, looked from it to her with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?” she spat, glaring daggers at Magadan.

He didn’t answer, just shaking his head at the other two adults. Nikha wondered where Gerontez was. Surely he’d relish participation in whatever was happening.

“I don’t want to do this,” said Yeskov, his voice almost a sob. She was shocked to see him pointing a gun at her and Kemp just like Magadan, a stubby little derringer that would surely be powerful enough to kill at this range. “It wasn’t meant to end up this way-but I’m just, so, hungry!”

“Hungry?” Nikha fairly shouted it. “I told you there’s jerky right here! I must have brought pounds of it! Who cares if it hurts your teeth?”

“Won’t help,” whispered Pleskanina. “We tried.”

“It is no natural hunger,” Magadan said, moving closer. “It’s not ours.” Despite his gruff manners there was a tremble in his voice, something precarious. “Something gave it to us.”

“Your father ruined it all!” Pleskanina screamed suddenly, knocking her chair over as she stood. “He twisted it, let things through that weren’t supposed to come! It was meant to be so simple.”

“What do you mean!” Nikha yelled back. “None of this makes any sense, you bunch of-“

“Shut up!” Magadan’s voice again cut through the din. “Yevgenia, help me with the girl. Yeskov, just watch the boy. One at a time will be easier. “And you“-he twitched his gun at Nikha-“come into the kitchen.”

She gritted her teeth, but there seemed no other choice but to do as he said. As she started moving, though, Kemp caught her eye and she realized why he’d been so still and quiet.

They didn’t know about his gun. It had stayed hidden beneath his long tunic this whole time. Against two armed foes the single-shot pistol was almost useless-but if he was left along with Yeskov he might be able to make something happen. She gave him a tiny nod as she went past, and he returned it.

Feeling like a witch walking to the pyre, Nikha went to the kitchen under Magadan’s watchful eye. He and Pleskanina fell in behind her. She took a breath before opening the door. She had no idea what she’d find inside, but it wouldn’t be anything good.

The first thing to hit her was the smell, rich and coppery, almost overwhelming. There was a faint sucking sound, too, as she crossed the threshold. She looked down to find the tiled floor awash in half-congealed blood. And on the great wooden counter before her was Gerontez- or what was left of him. He had been mutilated, pieces of his clothes and flesh cut haphazardly away. Thighs, upper arms…like he was being butchered. She’d cleaned deer before, of course, but this was still enough to almost make her retch. Cleavers and carving knives were left scattered alongside him, still running with blood. She had an awful inkling now of what they’d meant by ‘hunger.’

“You…you want to eat Kemp and I…” she whispered.

The door shut behind them. “We don’t want to. But we have to,” growled Magadan. “After Count von Kranssov botched up the ceremony, something changed us, possessed us. Food tastes of rot and ash. Water burns like poison.”

“Only one thing will work. We can feel it.” Pleskanina’s voice was barely a murmur. She stared at the floor, trying not to look at what was left of Gerontez.

“Our own flesh won’t do either.” Magadan waved a careless hand at the ruined corpse, but his gun remained steadily trained on Nikha. “Good thing I never liked him, I suppose. Now, let’s get this over with. Turn around.”

Nikha knew what came after that. “I refuse.”

Pleskanina was just as upset. “Please, Dimitri!” she hissed. ”It’s bad enough what we’re doing already. There’s no need to drag it out-”

“What sort of deviant do you take me for, woman?” Magadan’s mustached face went dark. “I assure you I’ve no desire for that, but neither do I have much care for this…” he glanced down at Nikha, who was giving him the sort of look that might wilt flowers, “…creature. I merely want to save us some trouble. Spare your sensibilities. So turn around, girl.”

“No!” She didn’t know how she was getting out of this, but Nikha knew she definitely wasn’t backing down for this awful man.

“Please, Dima, the least you can do is let her die with a little dignity-“

“What does that matter? Dead is dead, Yevgenia.” Nikha’s eyes roamed the vicinity while they argued. There was a carving knife on the counter, long and sharp and just within reach. She didn’t dare go for it yet. Hopefully Kemp would do something soon.

“It matters to me, Dmitri, even if it doesn’t to her.”

“Fine,” Magadan spat. “Have it your way, Yevgenia. Stand clear. And you, girl, one more time: please turn around!”

“Never. If you kill me you’ll have to look me in the eyes. You coward.” Her hands were shaking, but she stared up at him just as she’d promised.

Magadan hesitated, then shook his head. “Annoumenos save me from wilful women. You-“

There was a thump from the room outside. Pleskanina and Magadan turned toward the door, and just as they did they heard a gunshot. It was all the distraction Nikha needed. She snatched up the carving knife.

“What has the fool done n-“ Magadan’s voice choked off as she put the blade into his chest. She thrust it in at an upward angle beneath the ribs, just as she’d read. It was plenty long enough to reach his heart. She pulled it free with a savage wrench and he crumpled to the floor. The gun fell with him, and as she tried to reach it she felt Pleskanina behind her, fingers brushing against her ponytail-

Nikha jerked aside faster than she’d ever moved, whirling about and slashing with the knife at once. The blade sliced across Pleskanina’s outstretched palm and grated against the bone. The woman wailed and fell backwards, smashing her head against the corner of the counter. She fell bonelessly to the floor, unconscious or dead. Nikha was already moving, going to see if Kemp was okay. She ran past Pleskanina and barged into the dining room.

Yeskov was slumped against the wall, hands clasped over a wound in his gut. Kemp sat on the floor too, half under the table. His pistol smoked in his hands, and he was staring at Yeskov with a dazed expression. “Kemp!” she called, making him jump. “Are you alright?”

He shook his head, glanced at the gun in his hands like he’d never seen it before. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay. Are you? What did they-“

“I’m fine. Kemp, they were going to eat us!”

He scrambled to his feet, eyes wide. “E-eat?”

“Yes! They’re cannibals. And they were certainly lying to us earlier. You should reload.” She thrust the kitchen knife through her belt, retrieved her rifle, and stomped over to Yeskov as Kemp fumbled a fresh round into the Blitzen. The viscount managed to look up at her, face clammy with shock. She crouched to meet his eyes, her gaze like knapped obsidian.

“Tell me what happened. The truth, this time.”