The old woman patted the top of a barrel, then picked up one of several jars from the table beside her. She looked at Felitïa, said something, and gestured at the barrel. Maneshka touched her arm and also gestured to the barrel.

“Oh, I see,” Felitïa muttered and went over to the barrel. It didn’t look very sturdy. She held her breath as she sat on it. She exhaled when it didn’t collapse.

The old woman opened the jar, stuck in two fingers, and scooped out some of the thick lotion within. She came forward and began to apply it to Felitïa’s forehead. It stung and Felitïa flinched. The old woman said something that sounded admonishing and continued to rub the lotion into her forehead. The stinging subsided after a few moments, though every time the woman moved to a new area—Felitïa’s cheeks, chin, neck—the sting returned briefly. Felitïa soon got used to it though.

One thing Felitïa had failed to consider when she agreed to accompany Maneshka on this trip was that, once they were out of the library, they couldn’t actually talk to each other. She was enjoying wandering around the village, but the lack of common language was proving a little awkward. She wished she had time to learn the local language.

Still, it was nice to be away from the library. Studying could be a fulfilling thing, but at the moment, it was frustrating because she wasn’t learning anything. Hours and hours of it, mixed with reports to Cerus called for a break once in a while. A part of her felt guilty with every break—worry that she was somehow letting Corvinian and Quilla down by not spending every moment of every day in deep study—but she also knew that she had to rest once in a while or else she’d exhaust herself and nothing would get done.

Besides, she had time to kill before meeting Cerus again. He had agreed to go with her to the Ninifins to protest their treatment of Sinitïa.

By the time the woman had finished Felitïa’s arms, she was feeling a lot better. Not only had the sting of the lotion faded, but so had the sting of her sunburns. The old woman held up the jar and said something.

“Yes, please,” Felitïa said and took the jar.

The old woman smiled and held out her palm.

Felitïa grimaced and reached for her purse, dumping a few coins into her hand. She didn’t have any local currency and had no idea how much she was being asked for. So she proceeded to show the herbalist the coins in her hand.

The old woman squinted, a hint of exasperation flowing from her. After a moment, the herbalist picked up a couple of coins and held them close to her eyes, turned them back to front. Then she took the remaining coins from Felitïa and pressed another bottle of lotion into Felitïa’s hand.

“Thank you,” Felitïa said. She hadn’t expected the second bottle, though she supposed it was because she had held out more money than she’d needed to. Such were the communication problems.

She placed the jars and her purse in her scrip, and hopped off the barrel. “Where to next?”

Maneshka took her arm and led her along the streets of the village, along the edges of the gardens and along the rows of trees—coconut trees Felitïa had learned—near the rice fields. Everyone seemed to know Maneshka. As they went, people called out to her and Maneshka responded, sometimes stopping to talk. This would then involve Maneshka introducing Felitïa, which would then make Felitïa feel a little awkward because she couldn’t understand what they were saying. One thing she did clue into after the first couple, though, was that Maneshka was not introducing her as a princess, to which she was very grateful.

The heat was unrelenting as usual, and Felitïa wished she could get away with wearing clothes as light as Maneshka’s. But other than that, Felitïa found she was enjoying herself. Even the language difficulties began to feel less awkward and more just a challenge for her to overcome.

As they neared the edge of the village by the path that led back to the quay, Felitïa felt a surge of surprise and a touch of fear from Maneshka. Similar feelings filtered in from other people nearby. Maneshka pointed towards the top of the valley.

Coming over the top of the valley, along the path was...a storm. Felitïa wasn’t sure how else to describe it. Not a storm from the sky, but a a storm that seemed of very contained volume, spread out over the path and moving along it. Swirling clouds of...snow? She was sure it was snow.

There were yells about her and people in the rice fields were rushing back towards the village. Other villagers darted about, trying to round up chickens and goats. Maneshka called out to them. As best Felitïa could tell, Maneshka was trying to call for calm, though Felitïa could definitely feel the nervousness and fear coming from her.

Snow. As the strange storm got closer, there was no doubting it. It was a storm of swirling snow. And within it walked a couple dozen or more winged figures.

“Isyar!” Felitïa said. The storm made sense now, as the local heat would be deadly to Isyar.

Maneshka understood the word and began calling out to the villagers, and Felitïa felt the librarian’s fear abate.

There was an Isyar at each of the two front corners of the approaching the storm, and as the storm got closer, she could see that there was another Isyar at each of the back corners. All four of these Isyar were engaged in what looked like a complex dance—legs, arms, wings all partaking in fluid motions as the Isyar seemed to float across the ground, bouncing and spinning at various intervals. Their movements reminded her of Jorvan’s when he cast a spell, although much more complex. Most remarkable was that all four of these Isyar were moving in perfect unison, every motion copied perfectly by the others.

The remaining Isyar walked in the centre of the storm area. At their front were a row of Isyar wearing slender swords at their sides.

The villagers’ panic had subsided and many were now gathering around Felitïa and Maneshka to watch the Isyar’s approach.

The calm was short-lived, however, broken by gusts of wind and the sound of flapping wings. Armed Volg soldiers flew down and landed on the path between the village and the Isyar. Panic gripped the villagers again, who grabbed their children and rushed for their homes.

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Maneshka pulled on Felitïa’s arm and urged her to come away. Felitïa shook her head and squeezed Maneshka’s hand. “No, please wait. I want to see this. I need to know what’s happening.”

Maneshka pulled a little less strongly for a moment, but then sighed and nodded.

A least a dozen Volg warriors had landed and were moving to form lines on either side of the path. The Isyar procession had paused, although the ones at the corners continued in their dance, maintaining the snowstorm.

More Volgs landed, joining in the lines. Then two more Volgs arrived and began walking towards the Isyar. One was Agranim. The other... Oh gods, could it be?

Felitïa would never forget that mixture of black and grey fur, the white beard, and especially those gold horns twisting around.

He was the one who had taken Corvinian, the one who had nearly torn her mind to shreds.

Felitïa found herself shaking, grasping at breath, heart thumping, losing her footing. Maneshka bent over her, putting her arms around her and speaking panicked words.

Felitïa hadn’t thought much about what she would do if—when—she saw the Volg again. Part of her had wanted to believe the next time would go much better. She would just approach him and be able to fight off whatever he did. Now, she could barely stand—and he wasn’t doing anything to her at all. He hadn’t even noticed her.

Or had he?

As he and Agranim approached the Isyar, he turned his head in her direction.

Impo—

It was just a moment and he turned away again, continued towards the Isyar.

He had started to say impossible; she was sure of it. He was surprised. Even at this distance, with Maneshka’s fear drowning most other things out, she’d felt his surprise. It was gone in a flash, but it had been there.

He was surprised she was alive.

Her fear was making the Room uncooperative. The walls were not obeying her the way she wanted them to, so she took a moment to concentrate on some breathing exercises. Get her fear under control, block Maneshka’s. Use his surprise to her advantage. If he was surprised, then she was stronger than he had expected. She had never figured out just what he had done to her mind, but it was clear now that he had intended to kill her. Yet she had survived. There was less reason to fear him now.

As she calmed the shaking in her body, the Room’s walls came under control, and she began to search through the swarm of mental presences—villagers, Volgs, Isyar—looking for his. But there was no sign of him. He must have blocked her somehow. That was why his words and feeling of surprise had vanished so fast.

She dismissed the Room, straightened up, and offered Maneshka a comforting smile. She then focused her vision on the Volg. If telepathy wasn’t going to work, maybe a spell would. The distance might be a problem, but she was certain she could manage it. She curled the fingers on her right hand, used her pinky to push aside the interference of the Volgs between her and him. Just a gentle probe to establish a connection. It wouldn’t do anything, and most people wouldn’t even notice it. However, he wasn’t most people.

He turned his head just a little, before refocusing on the Isyar.

That was all she’d wanted. And all she dared at the moment.

Agranim and Corvinian’s abductor stopped just in front of the chaotic swirl of snow. The armed Isyar parted and four elderly Isyar hobbled forward. The Volgs and Isyar began to talk—and Felitïa wished she could hear what they were saying. Not that she would understand them. She probably wouldn’t, so it was a pointless wish. She continued to watch, however, determined to see this all the way to the end.

After several minutes, sounds came from behind. Both she and Maneshka turned to see Sanalog soldiers rushing through the village streets. They hurried past the two of them and took up positions along the road facing the Volgs. Felitïa felt Maneshka relax somewhat.

Behind the soldiers came Kindanog and Adranaska, who was breathing heavily from exertion. It didn’t stop him from screaming at the Volgs as he approached them. He continued after he reached them, waving his arms about at the Volgs. Whenever he turned to the Isyar, however, he toned his motions down considerably. The three groups continued to talk for several more minutes.

Finally, Agranim turned and yelled out an order. The Volg warriors all turned to face the village, then began to march in the direction of the village and the Nabrinja. At a word from Kindanog, the Sanalog warriors moved with them, keeping their eyes on the Volgs the whole time. Agranim and Corvinian’s abductor followed behind them with Kindanog, and then the Isyar began to move again as well. Adranaska moved to the side of the path to let them past.

As Agranim and Corvinian’s abductor got close, Felitïa took Maneshka’s hand and moved to the side of the path, but not far. She wanted to be close when they passed. She just hoped she wasn’t putting Maneshka in any unnecessary danger. Perhaps she should have let her leave. Why had she pressured her to stay?

Agranim turned to sneer at her has he got close, but the other Volg put a hand on his shoulder and said something to him. Agranim growled and looked straight ahead again.

Hello, Felitïa said to the other Volg.

He didn’t respond.

I know you can hear me, and I want you to know, this isn’t over.

He remained unresponsive, and soon he and Agranim walked out of sight.

Felitïa nearly collapsed once he was gone. She and Maneshka clung to each other for support. “I’m sorry,” Felitïa said. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

They were both hit by a blast of cold air as the Isyar reached them, and snow whipped at their bodies. It was refreshing against the heat at first, but by the time the Isyar had passed, Felitïa was shivering. The snow melted fast in the hot sun, however, and her wet clothes would dry fast as well.

At the very end of it all, Adranaska panted along. Felitïa stopped him as he approached. “Who was the Volg with Agranim?”

Adranaska’s lips twitched. “Prince Castroff. He speak for Volgs here. Volgs call the meeting, yet their king not come. Ill they say. So Prince speak in his place. He is... I do not know word in your language. Bad. Now, excuse me, Highness. I have duties. Everyone here now. Meeting will start soon.”

Felitïa nodded and let him pass. “Thank you.”

Prince.

Given his arrival with Agranim, Felitïa had guessed he was someone important, but she hadn’t expected prince. At least it confirmed that the same Volg behind Quilla’s kidnapping was the one behind Corvinian’s. She needed to find out more about him, what exactly his abilities were, how much of a threat he really was.

She sighed. Yet another task. It seemed like every time she learned something new, it just created a dozen more questions. Oh well. One thing at a time.