V.

Siegfried returns to collect Petra when the light outside is golden. For some time, he turns his back to her and speaks intensely to Faramund in a language she cannot understand. She does, however, sense that these two men are roughly equal in power. There is even some deference on the part of Siegfried, in the way he looks at Faramund, the way he toys with the clasp of his mantle as he speaks. Petra finds herself wondering what Faramund’s voice sounds like. Maybe he hasn’t one.

“Come,” Siegfried orders, gesturing toward the door. This time, Petra obeys. Made slow and fragile by pain, her immediate wish is to evade further force. She stares at her feet as she walks, passes through the coiled streets of Pettau with the heavy-footedness of a prisoner. Beside her, Siegfried creates a shadow so vast it swallows hers in it.