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Martha giggled at my side, and I slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently in. She mirrored the gesture, wrapping her arm around my waist. Both of us expectantly looked up at Arianna.

Arianna returned my earlier eye roll with one of her own. Then her gaze shifted toward Martha, locking in on her like a hawk. “Well,” she said, deadpan, “this little vampire is going to have to track her bonded down for us.” If I hadn’t been standing so close, I might’ve missed the flicker of emotion that crossed Martha’s face. Her nose twitched. Her upper lip curled in the faintest of snarls, barely there, gone in a blink.

“What do you mean, my bonded?” she asked, her voice low. “My husband?”

Exchanging a look with Arianna, the corner of my mouth tugged upward. “Well,” I began softly, “for vampires, it’s called a Velsera bond. It’s… deeper than marriage. Sacred, even. It’s said that your souls sing for one another.” I tried explaining it in a way I knew she could understand. But the bond was far more than words could ever explain. Even if I did have the right ones, it would still probably be wrong. I hardly understood it myself.

Martha shook her head, like she was chasing off a thought she didn’t want to catch. Her brows furrowed as she breathed out, her voice steadier than I expected. “Well,” she said, lifting her chin slightly, “let’s go find my husband.”

We let Martha take the lead. Her nose lifted into the air, tasting each scent that drifted around us. The look on her face told me this was going to be a long night. A blend of confusion and hesitation flickered in her eyes, and a faint blush bloomed across her cheeks.

Rubbing my hand over the thick wool covering her shoulders, I reassured her silently. She released her grip on me in turn. With a gentle motion, I waved toward the sidewalk, urging her to take her place at the front.

Ahead stretched a bustling walkway dusted with fresh snow. Tea-lights hung across every doorframe, casting golden halos around the shop entrances. The people who passed wore clothes similar in shape to mine, but there was a stark contrast in quality: coarse, simple cotton dresses with no embellishment. Yet what stood out more were the faces. None of the women wore veils. Their eyes, wide and unhidden, shone freely in the dim streetlight.

I only had that freedom in the human realm, where we followed their customs. There, I could let the court’s hazy rules fall away from my face, if only for a moment. If only I could be that unbound by tradition. But of course, the Elguto women weren’t held to the same standards. They weren’t considered ladies by the realm’s definition. As cruel as it sounds, no royal cared who they married or who they were bonded to.

Martha led us down the long stretch of icy road, her eyes flitting from one fogged shop window to the next. She studied the civilians inside, and a few returned her gaze with narrowed, suspicious stares.

Arianna glanced at me as Martha lifted her nose to the air again, her expression flat. “Does she actually know how to track?” she murmured. She genuinely looked concerned as she gaped at Martha peering through another shop’s window.

“I told Valentina I’m having trouble distinguishing Mark’s scent,” Martha replied, glancing up at her with frustration carved into her features. Her fingers dragged through her hair as she turned away from us.

“What do you think he smells like?” Arianna asked, her tone unreadable.

“It’s like a warm fire... a burning musk, I guess. I don’t really have a better word than fire. As soon as I woke up from the transition, that’s what I smelled on him. It felt like it matched whatever was coursing through my veins.” Her voice dropped into a thoughtful murmur as she searched for the right description.

I tried recalling his scent for myself, but I drew a blank. If I were being honest, I’d been completely consumed by Alexander. He was the only scent I ever really paid attention to. His skin carried the perfume of a spring garden, kissed with sun and wildflowers, warm, radiant, comforting. I’d been missing it since we brought him here. The Woukme dulled his scent, buried some of the parts I loved most. I was just grateful when he was close; I only caught it in fleeting moments.

Arianna lifted her nose into the wind, sampling the air as Martha described it. She paused, then inhaled again. “Ah,” she muttered, almost amused. “I see. There are about twenty vampires in this area that carry that same scent.”

“Twenty?” I echoed, my eyes widening. Elguto sharing a bloodbound so closely, I’d never heard of that. That number didn’t sit right in my gut. I wondered if my father knew about this. I’d have to bring it up with him later. It wasn’t a crime to want family, but something about this many sharing blood set my intuition on edge. Or maybe… maybe it wasn’t intuition at all. Maybe it was my own internal prejudice, rearing its head and warning me against anything that wasn’t neat and wholesome.

Arianna gave a nonchalant nod, her tone flat. “Yes. Maybe even more. But their scent is like the fire tearing through the woods. Foul.” Disgust curled her words by the end of the sentence.

Before I could respond, Martha bolted her feet, carving through the snow as she took off in the opposite direction we’d come from. The snow lifted around her in a spiral from the sheer force of her sprint. She cut down a side street, rounding a corner, and vanished into the shadows.

We didn’t hesitate. Both Arianna and I lunged forward, chasing the trail she carved toward the city’s center.

The harsh winter breeze sliced through the streets, slipping between buildings where no tealights flickered, leaving shadows thick and undisturbed. Each layer of the city was built from brittle bark and ancient stone. If the fire ever crossed André’s River, the entire district would go up in flames. Ahead, the statue of Ameega loomed over the city square, and her presence pressed down on us like gravity. She had to stand at least forty feet high, twenty wide, crafted from bronze that had rusted under the relentless seasons, leaving her surface blotched with streaks of dull red. Yet even weathered, she held her poise, a monument of somber grace. At her feet, people lingered as if it were an ordinary night, huddled in groups, murmuring quietly beneath the blanket of cold.

At the end of the street, Martha paused. Her eyes flicked toward a dimly lit shop, and without hesitation, she stepped inside. We didn’t wait. Both Arianna and I picked up our pace, trailing after her as the wind hissed behind us. When we reached the door, we pushed it open, not with a bang, but just enough to slip inside unnoticed.

The shop was deceptively deep, far larger inside than it appeared from the street. Martha was already tucked behind narrow rows of trinkets from the human world. There were books with unfamiliar titles, snacks I’d never seen before, and rows of strange supplies I couldn’t even name. A few vampires lingered throughout the space, their scents bleeding into the warm crackle of a fire near the shop’s hearth. The mingling aromas muddled the air, making it nearly impossible to isolate the foul, smoky musk Martha had described. It was like my nose had gone blind.

Arianna, on the other hand, looked entirely unbothered. She likely already knew where each vampire in this room stood, but she wouldn’t give that away. She savored the game more than the solution. Her body moved like a shadow gliding down the aisles, quiet and deliberate. Every gaze that met hers faltered with discomfort.

Even I caught wandering glances in my direction. My silk veils and refined fabrics stood out like fresh gold among rusted bronze, a polished jewel dropped in a pile of dust and ash. Their gazes curled into quiet snarls as they looked me over. My heart recoiled beneath my chest, but my expression remained composed, untouched.

I drifted closer to Arianna, just as Alexander had asked, suddenly grateful for her presence. The cold in their eyes burned at the edges of my soul, a silent push daring me to leave their territory. But I held my spine straight and eyes forward, moving through the shop with practiced poise.

We spotted Martha at the far end of the store. She was hovering near a man whose stature mirrored Mark’s, slim like an athlete, with deep, shadowy hair and a tall, lean frame. Not as towering as my father, but shorter than Alex. He wore a long black tunic with puffed sleeves beneath a thin, tattered wool jacket. His slacks were dusty brown, worn and faded, and his boots were cracked and stained with dried mud.

Martha hesitated, then tapped the man’s shoulder, certain enough, or so she thought. He spun around; aggression already coiled in his frame. His shoulders squared, his chest lifting with a puff of air as he glared down at her.

“Don’t touch me, bitch,” he snarled, dipping his head low to meet Martha’s eyes.

Martha stumbled back, her spine colliding with a neatly stacked tower of bottles. They toppled in a messy cascade, crashing to the stone floor. Bottle caps popped off on impact, releasing a stream of vivid purple fluid that spread like ink across the cold surface. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, one hand pressed to her chest. She dropped to her knees, fumbling to gather the scattered bottles with shaking fingers.