Lucien’s gaze softens. No. No, Zera. Stand strong. You will not love him again. You can’t. Your heart is more important than anything in the world—than even love.

“I’m returning it,” I correct myself, sniffing haughtily, “until you can find me a better parting gift. Something made of gold and with a few more gems on it, preferably.”

Malachite bristles. “You insolent little—”

Lucien suddenly laughs. The sound is amused, but not in that hollow way he reserves for nobles. It’s sincere, and light, and yanks at the very marrow of my resolve. Malachite looks as shocked as I am.

Lucien smiles at me, taking the kerchief from my hand with the slightest of bows. “Very well. I’ll keep an eye out.”

I fight the flush moving up my cheeks and round on my heel, striding toward Gavik with the page clutched in my hand.

16

16

Flesh will
Feed its
Furnace

Gavik hears my footsteps on the cobblestones and looks up. His bread basket is nearly full this time, a few drifters gathered around it as he hands them the loaves. In that moment I remember his true name—it was on the pipe wall where the valkerax skeleton was, too. The Man Without Mercy. If only they could see him now. When Varia is done with him, he’ll have plenty of mercy—one way or another.

“What are you doing here?” Gavik asks, his voice suspiciously lacking irritation. Perhaps sensing the impending conflict between us, the drifters take their bread and scatter as I approach.

“I have a gift,” I say lightly, throwing the diary at him. He catches it in his basket, picking the breadcrumbs off as he opens it. His aged face contorts as he scans a few pages.

“This—this is my diary.”

“And here I thought you were the clever minister of the bunch,” I say. I point at the ancient page where he’d copied down the translation of the hymn, and he squints at it. “You’re going to tell me what this means. It’s called the ‘Hymn of the Forest.’ Half your diary is in code, so I couldn’t figure it out myself. Which is why I’m here.”

Gavik knits his brows. He reads through the hymn and then shakes his head.

“That is indeed the song about the Bone Tree I know. Part of it, at least. The other parts—it must be in these coded passages, along with why it’s so dangerous.” He frowns. “I can— Yes, this looks like something I can solve. But it will take time.”

“You made up the code in the first place.” I snort. “Don’t you know it already?”

“I don’t remember anything of my old life. All of it is hazy, except that one sentence of the hymn. This code looks complicated. However,” he says with a sneer, “you’re correct. If I wrote it, I can unwrite it. But I need time.”