The next day, Semchik was relieved to see I wasn’t an ice cube, and I was relieved to get into the real warmth of the barracks’ dining hall and shove as much goat meat in my mouth as possible.

“How was mucking out stables with Filipp Artyomovich?” I asked around a mouthful.

Semchik raised an eyebrow. “You mean Ratty?”

“I told Aleksandr Artyomovich I wouldn’t call him that anymore. Look, I don’t want you getting into fights on my account. We need to make peace with them.”

“Who said the fight was about you?”

“Not you, because you won’t tell me anything, but you tell me most things, so I have to be a little suspicious when you decide you’re not in a sharing mood.”

“Am I not allowed secrets?”

“You never had any before.”

“Not everything is about you, Iyu.” Semchik, now sounding irritated in addition to suddenly having secrets, made to get up. It did not pass me that he used my proper name, either.

I grabbed his wrist. “Just tell me you’re not going to pick any more fights with him, hm, Semchik?”

“I don’t recall you having that same compunction at the border.”

“I told Aleksandr Artyomovich I’d talk to you. He’s going to talk to Filipp Artyomovich.”

“I’m glad you two have decided what I will do.” He wrenched out of my grasp. “And honestly,” he lowered his voice. “Can’t you call me Semyon Aksanevich?”

I laughed. I didn’t know what else to do.

He shook his head and walked away.

Any other day, I might have followed him, but I’d had no sleep and no meal until now, and I didn’t have the energy for whatever crisis Semchik was going through today.

If I were hoping for a quiet meal and perhaps a nap, I would be disappointed. Sofya Ivanovich and Nikolaj Ivanovich, the twins from Tsura, appeared shortly after Semchik left.

“How was the spire?” Sofya said, elbows planted on the table.

“Cold. Like everything else here. How was your hunt?”

“Fine, but we didn’t realize it was that kind of dance. Never even got the chance to switch partners.”

“If I’d known that was an option, I certainly wouldn’t have stuck with Sofka for a whole week.” Nikolaj elbowed his sister gently.

“Iyu Aksanevich, if you want another partner for next time, I’m available,” she said, elbowing her brother back significantly less gently.

“Sure, Sofya Ivanovich. Don’t think Sem—Semyon Aksanevich is particularly keen on working with me again, which is fine because he’s messy anyway. Always splattering ghosts all over me.” I was just talking aimlessly now, but Sofya and Nikolaj exchanged an obvious look. I thought that, as twins, they’d be better at subtle communication.

“So what happened, anyway?” Nikolaj said, leaning over the table.

“Yeah.” Sofya mirrored his posture. “All we heard was something about you and Aleksandr Artyomovich saving them from some ghosts?”

“Or Aleksandr Artyomovich stopping you from killing Filipp Artyomovich.”

“Or Semyon Aksanevich trying to kill Filipp Artyomovich.”

I snorted.

“Yeah, we knew that couldn’t be true.” Nikolaj laughed.

“Why not? Semchik could kill him if he wanted to.” I don’t know why this was the way my temper chose to respond.

There was that look again.

“Okay, sure he could,” Sofya said.

“Is that what happened?”

“No.”

“Oh… Well, if it was, you know why Filipp Artyomovich hates you so much, right?”

“Yeah, because I’m a bastard.”

“But why does he hate bastards so much?”

“I don’t know; cause he’s a pretentious, spoiled little prick. I don’t even know why it’s his business, it’s not like I’m going to inherit anything from Knyaz Aksana. I’m just her nephew.”

“Exactly! You’re not going to inherit anything because you’re a bastard—” Sofya began.

“Who are we talking about?” Chabas Lvovich popped up out of nowhere, mouthful of something in her cheek.

“We were talking about Filipp Artyomovich,” I said.

“Oh, right,” Sofya said. “Anyway, the rumor is that Filipp Artyomovich hates you so much because he’s a bastard, and he’s terrified of that secret coming out.”

“But isn’t Knyaz Artyom his father?”

“Well, obviously, that’s what they want everyone to think…”

“Iyu, you spent all that time around Aleksandr Artyomovich. He didn’t say anything about it to you?” Nikolaj asked.

“Of course he didn’t. If Aleksandr Artyomovich won’t talk to us, he’s certainly not going to talk to him,” Sofya said. “No offense, Iyu.”

“That is offensive, actually.”

“Well, you know how his family is. We don’t think any less of you, of course, but things are different up here.” Nikolaj shrugged.

“Which is why Filipp Artyomovich being illegitimate is so scandalous and interesting,” Sofya said with wicked glee.

“Sofya Ivanovich, you shouldn’t speak so loudly,” Chabas said. “I could hear you passing by, and there are Artyomoviches all over.”

“So what?” Sofya said with all the confidence of the most powerful man in the world’s granddaughter.

I knocked on the table to call her attention back. “Why do people say that? And if that were the case, wouldn’t he want to not draw attention to bastards at all? Keep it off people’s minds?”

“You being here at all puts it on people’s minds,” Nikolaj said.

“Who’s his real father supposed to be?” Chabas said, voice low and half turned away from the three of us but clearly too interested to disengage completely.

Sofya shrugged. “I don’t know. He doesn’t look like Knyaz Artyom or even Vasilij Artyomovich.”

“Who’s Vasilij Artyomovich?” Chabas asked.

Sofya and Nikolaj both gave her scandalized looks that made me glad I wasn’t the one who said it. “You should know that if you know anything!” Sofya said.

“Oh, you mean Filipp Artyomovich’s brother?”

“Yes, his brother the knyazhich! Don’t they teach you anything in Akassiya? He hasn’t been around since we’ve been here, but you’ll know him when you see him,” Sofya said.

“Yes, just look for the servants scattering in fear before him,” Nikolaj said.

“He’s so handsome.” Sofya sighed.

“Well, then he really can’t be related to Filipp Artyomovich,” I said.

They laughed loud enough to draw attention from other hunters, and I remembered only belatedly my promise to Sanya.

***

A week later, it was our turn to go back to the borderlands. I did not speak to Sanya in that time except when required, and Filipp Artyomovich kept his distance from me but seemed stiltedly courteous with Semchik, which was better than I ought to have expected but still did not satisfy me. I saw, even from across the training yard, how his lip curled when Semchik turned away. He didn’t look at me at all, so he couldn’t sneer at me.

I heard whispers about him, too, but that wasn’t interesting, and I didn’t find them credible, anyway. I couldn’t really tell if he looked like Knyaz Artyom under the knyaz’s beard, but they seemed enough alike to me: imperious and obnoxious, puffed up with their own sense of worth. There were whispers about everyone. That’s what you got when you put together a bunch of wealthy teenagers who’d never had to do any hard work in their lives. Rumors and cruelty and fights and sex, though the Artyomoviches did everything they could to prevent that last one. If young hunters started returning home with fresh, new bastards to worry about, their parents would stop sending them, imminent ghost incursion or no.

When we went back into the field, Yelena once again partnered me with Sanya, though this time I didn’t complain so much. I did tell Semchik that if he felt like punching Filipp Artyomovich again… and I trailed off, because I didn’t know what advice to give. He rolled his eyes. He never used to roll his eyes at me. Who was I, Aksana?

This is what I was complaining to Sanya about as we tramped across the mountain, fresh off the cart, looking for a place to set up camp.

“They won’t fight again,” he said from three steps ahead of me, his face pointed resolutely forward.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“I talked to Filipp Artyomovich.”

“Okay, and I fully believe that you can control him from a distance, but what if Semchik hits him first?”

Sanya didn’t respond.

“He’s big now,” I said, stomping dramatically on the crunch frozen ground. “Semchik. He can beat Filipp Artyomovich up.”

Sanya hmmed.

“Of course, Filipp Artyomovich could use myortva to level the playing field, but even in that Semchik is probably stronger than he is.”

Sanya stopped and began to take his pack off.

“Is this a good place? It feels a bit too open, doesn’t it? No, you’re right. It’s perfect. What do you think? Are you really trying to tell me that you think Filipp Artyomovich would win a fight against Semchik?”

“Go gather wood while I set up the tents.”

“Gather wood? Sanya, you always take the best tasks for yourself. Let me set up the tents, and you go gather wood.”

“You will ask for help. I can do it myself.”

“Is it so bad to ask for help? Is it so bad to do things together? I could set up the tents myself, but it’s better when you have company.”

“It’s slower.”

“No, it’s not. Are you in a rush? Do you have somewhere to be? We can gather wood first if you like, so we can get the fire going if you get cold. Okay, Sanya, don’t look at me like that; I know you won’t get cold. I won’t get cold, either! Thanks to you. Fine, then. Fine. I’ll go get the wood. I hope you’ll be happy by yourself, Sanya. Don’t come crying when you miss me!” As I sauntered out of camp, I cast a look over my shoulder, and I swear if I’d been one second quicker, I would have caught him smiling.

***

In the morning, we went hunting. I was surprised by the heady feeling it gave me, something close to euphoria. Sanya and I fell back into our old fighting formation easily, like two streams merging to make a river.

When the first trio of ghosts went down, I drew an empty jar out of my coat and began swiping through the dissipating mist with it.

I felt Sanya’s eyes on me, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m trying to catch some of it,” I said, making a final swipe that ended at the jar’s stopper.

“I know,” he said, sheathing his sword.

“I can’t tell if it’s worked.” I shook the jar by my ear and, of course, heard nothing.

“It hasn’t.”

“How do you know? Have you ever tried?”

But he was striding forward again, deeper into the fog.

I hurried to catch up. If I didn’t, he wouldn’t wait, and then there’d be no one to watch his back. He’d be torn to pieces, undoubtedly.

When we returned to camp that night, after we’d checked the talismans, built the fire back up, and eaten dinner, I retrieved the jar from my coat and held it, covering as much surface area as I could with my palms and staring hard at it. I tried to feel for energy in it, rotten or not, but the thick ceramic jar did not conduct well.

“Anything?” Sanya said, startling me. I was so used to his quiet, to having to poke and prod incessantly to get even the smallest reaction from him. I wasn’t sure he’d ever started a conversation with me before.

“I can’t tell,” I said. “I’ll have to open it, but I’m worried if I do have anything, it’ll escape.”

He nodded. He was sitting halfway around the fire, cleaning his sword. “It’s not doing any good trapped in the jar,” he said, eyes cast down on his work.

“You’re right about that.” I sighed. “And besides, if I waste… whatever this is, I’ll just get some more tomorrow.” I inched closer to the fire to have the most light I possibly could, as though my sight would do me any good here except to let me see the energy escaping. I clenched the jar between my knees, put one hand on the stopper, and kept the other poised by the lip of the jar, ready to catch any gnila that might come out. I took a deep breath, yanked the stopper out, and thrust my hand over the opening.

Nothing. Not so much as a tickle in my palm or little wisps of black smoke seeping through my fingers.

I held my hand there for a second, feeling for anything, half convinced that if I moved my hand, it would still escape. But there was only more nothing, so eventually, I took my hand away, and nothing followed it but its shadow. “Dammit.”

Sanya held up his sword and inspected it. “You’ve been in the remains when the ghosts dissipate.”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever felt energy in them?” The question sounded rhetorical, but his tone sounded genuine. Not that it was much different than the tone he always spoke in. Sanya had one facial expression (neutral-irritated) and one tone of voice (neutral-tired. I’d never seen him tired, but he always sounded tired).

“No,” I said miserably.

He nodded and wiped the blade one more time before putting it away.

“Okay, I get it. But they have to have some kind of energy. They’re animated, aren’t they? They move around somehow.”

“Gnila.”

“Right, and you certainly felt it when it hit you. There was that black goop and all. Of course! Next time one of us gets hit, I’ll just collect that.”

“Don’t try to get hit.”

“I won’t, Sanya! I’m just saying that when it happens—if it happens, I’ll collect the goop this time.”

“It’ll disappear.”

“Maybe. But maybe not if I trap it. Or maybe I’ll have just enough time to, you know, examine it. See if I can get anything out of it.”

“It’s poison, Iyu Aksanevich.”

“Right! So what happens if you don’t draw it out? Like you did. And can I see your arm? What does your arm look like? Is it all healed?”

Slow exhale through the nose. “It spreads. Yelena Artyomovich has talked about this; you should listen.”

“Listen, I know. I listened! I just want to hear it from you. I just want to talk it out with you.”

He hmmed a little more forcefully and more clipped than usual, which I recognized as his version of a laugh.

“What! I like talking with you. It helps me think. I’d like to know what you think, too, but you don’t tell me what you think, you just tell me how things are.”

“You need me to remind you of how things are.”

“Sanya! I think that was a thought.”

“No. That is how things are.”

“Okay, tell me more about how things are with the ghost wounds. Remind me.” I put my chin in my hands and leaned towards him.

He shifted away. “It spreads through your body. If you don’t get it out, your blood will go bad, your organs. Depending on where you are hit.”

“And it kills you?”

“Yes.”

“That could be useful,” I said.

“Iyu Aksanevich.”

“What! We have to kill things sometimes. We could use ghosts to kill other ghosts, maybe. We’re so conservative with myortva here, imagine what we could do if we didn’t have to be.”

“You can do what you need with the myortva you have.”

“Sanya! That’s not the point, Sanya!”

He did not ask what the point was.

“And I can’t. There is a lot I want to do that I can’t with the myortva I have, and anyway, aren’t you curious?” I leaned in.

His eyes only met mine for a moment, and then he looked back down to stoke the fire, but it was enough.

I grinned to myself.