then forced herself to stillness again, biting her lip. She glanced up at her father, but he pretended not to have noticed, staring down.
The valley below had never in her people's memory taken on snow. The entire place had been warm to the touch, even in winter, as though the croach itself was some kind of massive beast, the heat of its body filling the air around it.
Now the Wax Forest stood covered in ice and rot. The old, dead trees were coated in something that looked like brown and sickly tar. The ground lay frozen, though here and there, other patches of rotten croach could be seen. Several of the trees had fallen. And in the center of the Forest, the hollow mound lay collapsed and dissolved into corruption, the stench strong enough to carry even to Kitai and her father.
Doroga was still for a moment before he said, "We should go down. Find out what happened."
"I have," Kitai said.
Her father frowned. "That was foolish to do alone."
"Of the three of us here, which has gone down and come back alive again the most often?"
Doroga grunted out a laugh, glancing down at her with warmth and affection in his dark eyes. "Maybe you are not mistaken." The smile faded, and the wind and sleet hid the valley again. "What did you find?"
"Dead keepers," she replied. "Dead croach. Not warm. Not moving. The keepers were empty husks. The croach breaks into ash at a touch." She licked her lips. "And something else."
"What?"
"Tracks," she said in a quiet voice. "Leading away from the far side. Leading west."
Doroga grunted. "What tracks?"
Kitai shook her head. "They were not fresh. Perhaps Marat or Aleran. I found more dead keepers along the way. As if they were marching and dying one by one."
"The creature," Doroga rumbled. "Moving toward the Alerans."
Kitai nodded, her expression troubled.
Doroga looked at her, and said, "What else?"
"His satchel. The pack the valleyboy lost in the Wax Forest during our race. I found it on the trail beside the last of the dead spiders, his scent still on it. Rain came. I lost the trail."
Doroga's expression darkened. "We will tell the master of the Calderon Valley. It may be nothing."
"Or it may not. I will go," Kitai said.
"No," Doroga said.
"But father-"
"No," he repeated, his voice harder.
"What if it is looking for him?"
Her father remained quiet for a time, before he said, "Your Aleran is clever. Swift. He is able to take care of himself."
Kitai scowled. "He is small. And foolish. And irritating."
"Brave. Selfless."
"Weak. And without even the sorcery of his people."
"He saved your life," Doroga said.
Kitai felt her scowl deepen. "Yes. He is irritating."
Doroga smiled. "Even lions begin life as cubs."
"I could break him in half," Kitai growled.
"For now, perhaps."
"I despise him."
"For now, perhaps."
"He had no right."
Doroga shook his head. "He had no more say in it than you."
Kitai folded her arms, and said, "I hate him."
"So you want someone to warn him. I see."
Kitai flushed, heat touching her cheeks and throat.
Her father pretended not to notice. "What is done is done," he rumbled. He turned to her and cupped her cheek in one vast hand. He tilted his head for a moment, studying her. "I like his eyes on you. Like emerald. Like new grass."
Kitai felt her eyes begin to tear. She closed them and kissed her father's hand. "I wanted a horse."
Doroga let out a rumbling laugh. "Your mother wanted a lion. She got a fox. She did not regret it."
"I want it to go away."
Doroga lowered his hand. He turned back toward Walker, keeping his arm around Kitai. "It won't. You should Watch."
"I do not wish to."
"It is the way of our people," Doroga said.
"I do not wish to."
"Stubborn whelp. You will remain here until some sense soaks into your skull."
"I am not a whelp, father."
"You act like one. You will remain with the Sabot-ha." They reached Walker, and he tossed her halfway up the saddle rope without effort.
Kitai clambered up to Walker 's broad back. "But father-"
"No, Kitai." He climbed up behind her, and clucked to Walker. The gargant placidly rose and began back the way they had come. "You are forbidden to go. It is done."
Kitai rode silently behind her father, but sat looking back to the west, her troubled face to the wind.
Miles's old wound pained him as he trudged down the long spiral staircase into the depths of the earth below the First Lord's palace, but he ignored it. The steady, smoldering throb from his