A crow cawed, and its harsh cry sent a chill down my spine. I searched the empty gray sky for the bird. Not finding it, I shivered and clutched my cloak around me.
If we poked through the rubble, we’d find dead villagers. I was sure of it. Tears clouded my vision, and I blinked them back. Wrenching sadness wouldn’t help survivors.
Zane leaped from his horse and drew his sword. Remy landed on the ground and drew two swords. I sat on Buttercup’s broad back and fought to keep my tears in check.
“Stay here,” Remy ordered.
I nodded my agreement, and the two men disappeared among the smoking remains of what had once been homes and shops.
The blackened timbers told a bleak story. There was nobody here—no one left. Emptiness yawned, threatening to swallow me.
I leaned forward and stroked Buttercup’s neck.
Buttercup whinnied as if she understood my need for contact.
Minutes passed, and I waited. With each passing moment, the fissures in my heart grew larger. What had happened here? Why would soldiers destroy a place like this? And if soldiers hadn’t caused this destruction, who had? Not nians. Those monsters hated fire—I’d learned that firsthand.
Also, the silence was wrong. After so much destruction, there should be carrion birds or scavenging animals. But nothing stirred except that lone crow. What could kill an entire village and leave even the scavengers afraid to approach?
I shivered as the breeze blew stray snowflakes against my cheeks. The wind carried an unexpected sound.
Buttercup flicked her ears.
I should stay put. Remy had been clear about that. But the sound … it was so faint, so fragile. What if someone was hurt? What if they died while I sat here doing nothing? I urged Buttercup toward the edge of a snowy field.
“Hello?” I listened. Hard.
There it was again—a soft cry.
I dismounted, taking a moment for my legs to regain their strength. When I was sure I wouldn’t fall, I searched for the source of the sound.
Snow and ash crunched beneath my boots as I scanned the field.
There! There was a small mound in the snow. Someone had constructed a tiny shelter out of sticks.
I fell to my knees and peered inside.
A baby wrapped tightly in blankets mewled weakly, its tiny voice barely audible over the wind. The child was impossibly small and frighteningly still.
“You poor thing.” The child’s lips were tinged blue, its skin pale and cold as marble. I scooped the baby off the frozen earth—so light, like holding a bundle of twigs—and gasped at how cold its tiny body felt against my hands. I opened my cloak and pressed the infant against my chest.
Where was its mother? I glanced back at the smoking remains. Had she hidden her child and then died? No mother would willingly leave her baby. But a desperate woman might have hidden her child as a last resort.
I screwed my watering eyes shut and held the baby tighter.
“Haven!” Zane sounded panicked.
“Over here,” I called.
The baby stirred in my arms.
Remy reached me first. His expression was stark, and he snarled at me, “I told you to stayput!”
For half a ridiculous second, I thought he’d worried about me. Not likely. I shook my head, dispelling the thought, and opened my cloak, revealing the tiny bundle. The baby’s eyes were closed, lashes dark against translucent cheeks, and its breathing came in shallow puffs that barely fogged the cold air.
“It’s a baby.” Remy’s shoulders tensed as he glanced between the infant and the surrounding destruction. “What are we going to do with a baby?”
“We’ll take it to someone who’ll care for it.”
