Lucius pushed open the hatch of the cellar where they had taken shelter for the night. Cold air spilled in immediately, sharp and biting. He knelt to one knee and offered Lucy his back. With no ladder and the opening set high into the floor above, it was the only way she could climb out.
She moved lightly, one small hand on his shoulder, the other gripping the edge of the hatch as she scrambled up. For someone who had barely spoken the night before, she moved with purpose, quick and sure-footed. Once she was clear, Lucius followed, hoisting himself up with a grunt.
Outside, the world was pale and still.
“You’re certain you’re ready?” Lucius asked, rising to his feet and brushing dust from his tunic. The chill gnawed at his skin through the cloth. “Bohemia’s a long way. A few months, at least.”
Lucy nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m excited that a good man like you will meet my other relatives.” She paused, pulling a thin, patterned headscarf from her coat pocket and tying it around her hair, tucking most of the strands of white out of sight.
Lucius offered her a faint smile—crooked and uncertain—then turned to open the creaking door. The hinges groaned, revealing a landscape blanketed in snow. The village, once eerie in its silence, now looked completely abandoned—a ghost of its former self beneath drifts of white.
He shivered. The cold was relentless for Lucius. And Lucy noticed.
“Is it cold for you?” she asked.
She was bundled in a fur-lined coat they’d found in a cellar storage compartment, the seams worn but sturdy. A second coat, larger and heavier, had been tucked beside it. Lucius now wore that one, though he’d hesitated when he saw the faded initials etched into the sleeve. He couldn’t read them—given that he was only a peasant less than a month ago, it made sense that he’d never learned. But he guessed they belonged to her father.
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“It’s nothing I can’t fight through,” he said, straightening. She smiled at that.
Lucius stepped out first, his new boots crunching into the fresh snow. Behind him, Lucy’s lighter steps followed. The world was hushed, save for the sound of their footsteps and the wind cutting through the ruined village.
They paused after only a few steps.
“That’s new,” Lucy said softly, pointing to the horizon.
There, just visible beyond the clearing, stood a smouldering ruin. Charred beams stuck into the ground, and parts of them looked to be snapped, like broken fingers. An outpost—what was left of it. Pillars half-burned. Smoke still curled faintly into the clouded sky.
Lucius stiffened.
“Was that where you came from?” she asked.
He blinked. “How did you know that?”
She shrugged, still watching the distant ruin. “You’re with the imperial levy’s, aren’t you? Where else would you get a general’s sword?”
Lucius laughed under his breath, caught off by her perception.
“Did you steal it?” she asked, her voice light.
“I’m no thief,” Lucius replied, his tone quieter now. “It’s not something I’d want to be remembered for.”
Lucy wasn’t oblivious to what he was thinking; she couldn’t read minds, but she was able to sense the amount of guilt in his voice and guess from there.
“There was nothing you could do,” Lucy said. “One lone man cannot fight a horde of vampires—or they’ll die.”
He hadn’t told her. Not about the vampires. Not even that he was part of the levy.
But somehow, she knew.
He looked at her, startled. She kept walking along the road, then veered off the path onto the snow-covered grass, heading east, as if she hadn’t said anything unusual. Her expression remained calm, unreadable beneath the scarf that hid her hair.
“How do you know that?” he asked, voice low.
She didn’t answer right away. Just kept walking through the snow, arms tucked inside her coat. Finally, she said, “I can tell.”
Lucius said nothing, but his steps slowed.
She never even asked if it was true. She didn’t need to. The words had landed with certainty, not guesswork. And that—more than anything—intrigued him.
