“Aza was here. And also not.”
“Then we starve,” said the farmer.
“Then we tax,” said the baker.
She was not wicked. But she was never, ever where you expected her to be. aza lukava
The bridge was finished before winter.
In the village of Krive Staze—Crooked Paths—there lived a woman known only as Aza Lukava. No one remembered her real name. Lukava meant cunning, and Aza had earned it honestly. “Aza was here
“Did I?” she asked.