Donaia is very glad we didn’t end up using this scene.

Yeah, the zlyzen were going to show up a bit more . . . dramatically. But we just had too many characters there, and it was going to traumatize the ever-loving shit out of Donaia to see Ren taken away by the monsters that killed her son, and so we scrapped this in favor of a quieter approach. Which did break some of the immediacy of “dancing the kanina -> zlyzen,” but it worked out better on other fronts, so.

* * *

In the aftermath of Kolya’s disappearance, Ren didn’t know who she should go to. Grey resolved it by squeezing her arm and then taking Alinka and the children into the kitchen, a quiet family conference that didn’t so much close her out as release her to handle other things. The two of them, working in tandem.

“Thought they was supposed to be ghosts, like,” Sedge muttered to her. “Not people you could see through and hug.”

“They are,” Ren said, distracted, gaze sweeping the room. Much of the festive mood had faded. Donaia was leaning against Scaperto, dabbing her eyes; of course, she’d known Kolya, and was no doubt reminded of Leato. But in that moment, Ren’s aunt wasn’t her main concern.

She found Vargo sitting at the top of the stairs. The dampness on his face might have been sweat only, but the vertical trails along his cheeks said otherwise. He held Peabody cradled in his palms, and didn’t look up as Ren sat next to him.

She didn’t expect him to say anything. Vargo was the sort to talk around his feelings, unless he was having them. Then, he preferred not to talk at all.

But after a few moments, he tapped his temple and said, “It’s too loud up here, without the old man to talk sense into me.” When Peabody raised up and down like a bouncing bean, Vargo stroked his fuzzy thorax. “Yeah, I know. I admitted it. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Don’t you mean too quiet?” Ren asked.

“No.”

Which made sense, when she let herself consider it. Ren said softly, “Anger’s easier to take, isn’t it. You know what to do with that.”

His only response was a gentle bump of his shoulder against hers, silent acknowledgment of the point. Then, as if even that was too much, he tucked Peabody back in place and stood. Holding out an ungloved hand for Ren to take, he said, “Come on. I en’t dragging you down on a day like this.”

For his sake she accepted the hand, though she tried not to put much weight on it. That was a thing they needed to discuss, too . . . but again, not today. Together they went downstairs to the quiet parlour.

The too quiet parlour. Ren knew even before she walked through the door that something was wrong.

All her guests were crowded into a corner of the parlour, the fighters among them at the front, bare hands ready to defend. And in front of them —

A charred, spike-jointed line of zlyzen.

Ren jerked, reaching for the knives she wasn’t wearing, ready to defend her family from the monsters. Donaia had fainted, and Scaperto was crouched over her. Ryvček had Mevieny’s stick in hand, Sedge had Koszar’s cane, and Varuni had apparently brought her chains, the links coiled in her hands to throw.

But they stood at stalemate. No claws raked; no withered throats snarled a threat.

The zlyzen just looked at Ren as she entered. And one — the one Ondrakja had given the knot-charm to — paced slowly up to her, body crouched low.

“Ren!” Grey had returned at the other door. He made to leap past the nearest zlyzen, ready to throw it aside if need be . . . but it skittered out of his path, clearing the way for Grey to cross to her.

The leader of the zlyzen dipped its head in a sideways nod. Almost doglike, as if it were encouraging her to —

“It wants me to follow it,” Ren whispered. She felt it like a tug on the thread that joined them, a line that shimmered putrid purple in the remnants of her aža sight.

“Tell it to fuck off.” Vargo backed up a step, dragging Ren with him. “Tess, how much red you got upstairs? Fabric, thread, ribbons.”

Tess’s head emerged from behind Pavlin’s blue-coated shoulder. “Just floss. Maybe some ribbons? Most everything’s at my shop.”

“Wait,” Ren snapped. Swallowing felt like downing a slug, but she controlled her breathing, keeping her eyes on the zlyzen. “They . . . they are here because of me.”

Grey was at her side now, hands flexing for a sword he wasn’t wearing. “Ren –”

The zlyzen, attacking Branek at the labyrinth, but not harming Koszar. She hadn’t expected the creatures — but hadn’t she prayed? Hadn’t she tied herself to them during Veiled Waters, strengthened that connection when she and Vargo retrieved Tricat from the dream? “Trust me,” she said, gripping his hand tight. “They mean no harm to me. I know not why, what they want me to see, but . . . I must go. Into Ažerais’ Dream.”

“Then I go with you,” Grey said. Not without fear — he’d grown up with stories of zlyzen, and seen them tearing Leato apart — but his voice brooked no argument.

Nor did Vargo’s. “Fucking pisspot hell. You go, we go with you.”

“Me too,” Sedge said, from behind the zlyzen.

Ren’s throat ached as she shook her head at her brother. “No. You are needed here.” Watching Tricat. Not for anything would Ren risk carrying that into the dream. And besides, Sedge had taken no aža.

Tess’ clutch on Sedge’s arm silenced his protests. Ren looked at Tanaquis — her quiet, withdrawn cousin, who all this time had been sitting in the corner where everyone now stood herded, one hand pressed over her heart.

Tanaquis nodded. “I’ll look after them.”

Not the people. The medallions she and Vargo were leaving behind.

Ren took Grey’s and Vargo’s hands in her own. Feeling the threads that connected them all, and from her to the zlyzen.

Then, drawing on those threads, she stepped through into the dream.