From that point on the spikes never went away. Tall ones, short ones, occasional huge ones—they were all over the place, set back from the path or running right up beside it.

Two more switchbacks, she decided as she once again changed direction. Two more switchbacks, and if she hadn’t found a pattern by then she would head over for a closer look.

“Impressive, aren’t they?”

Thalias jerked, nearly twisting her ankle as she spun around toward the voice. Set back ten meters from the latest curve in the path, beneath the gently waving branches of a group of trees, was a carved wooden bench. Seated at one end was an old man, his skin pale with age, his eyes unusually bright as he peered out of the shadows. His hands were folded together in front of him, resting on the top of a walking stick that was as elaborately carved as any of the spikes Thalias had seen. “Yes, they are,” she replied, her heart beating a little faster. The first person she’d seen since Thurfian disappeared…

He might have been reading her mind. “No, I’m not part of the Trials,” he said with an amused and rather conspiratorial smile. “They don’t know I’m even up here. Probably tearing their hair out looking for me. But I wanted to speak with you in private, and this seemed the best way to do it.”

“I’ve been here for two days,” Thalias reminded him, trying to get a clear view through the dappling of light through the tree leaves. She’d seen that face somewhere before.

“Oh, I know,” he said. “I’ve been watching you. But while it may have looked like you were alone, you never were. Not until they sent you up here.” He waved a hand around him. “Besides, there’s such a rich sense of Mitth history on this mountain. Makes it the best place to discuss the future of our family.” His waving hand stopped at the group of spikes Thalias had just been studying and extended a finger to point at the largest one. “What do you think?”

“I—don’t know,” Thalias stalled. He looked so familiar. “It’s impressive enough. But I don’t—”

“Impressive?” The old man gave a snort. “Hardly. He was a grandstander who always put his own glory above the family. At some point, you see, bringing in Trial-borns and turning them into cousins becomes less about the family’s needs and more about impressing those who are dazzled by mere numbers.”

“Yes, of course,” Thalias said, an electric jolt running through her as she realized what she was looking at. Someone of Mitth blood—a syndic, Councilor, or some other upper-level Aristocra—was memorialized here. The large spike, surrounded by the memorials of those he’d brought into the Mitth from other families.