“Stop blowing your own horn and tell me what it said,” I snap. Gavik’s mouth twists into itself. He steps in to me, and I brace myself to tolerate his oily presence.

“The ‘Hymn of the Forest’—it’s not a religious hymn.”

“Then what is it?” I press.

“It was originally an Old Vetrisian bardic song,” he says. “In Old Vetrisian culture, bards were responsible for shepherding information among towns as they wandered the kingdom, singing for coin. They were given this song about four hundred years ago, around the collapse of Old Vetris.” Gavik inhales sharply. “It’s a warning song. It details how and why the kingdom fell apart.”

I frown. “We know why it fell apart—the emerging New God religion tore it apart.”

Old Vetris fell because of belief. The Old God and New God believers began to war, and that was the end of them. Everyone knows that.

“Yes.” Gavik smiles, but it’s not a pleasant smile. “But where did the split between the New and Old God begin? And why?”

“I have no clue.” I snort. “How does this have anything to do with the hymn?”

“Ten years ago, I met a historian of Old Vetrisian culture. A celeon, by the name of Muro—”

“Muro Farspear-Ashwalker,” I finish for him, swallowing hard. It feels like I’ve said that name so many times. Yorl’s grandfather is at the center of everything somehow.

Gavik narrows his eyes, but nods. “Sref and Kolissa asked his opinion on a sickness of Varia’s.”

“Her dreams about the Tree, right?”

Gavik blinks this time. “You’ve been investigating on your own. Did my clever little niece help you?”

“How did you meet Muro?” I ignore the patronizing surprise in his voice.

Gavik collects himself like an archduke, imperiously. “Muro gave an explanation to Sref and Kolissa. But they didn’t believe him. I saw him as a man of learning, and as he was leaving the palace, I convinced him to tell me his theory.”

Gavik proceeds to tell me about the Bone Tree needing to feed on magic from a witch, and luring a powerful witch in through their dreams when it gets hungry. At one point I let out an impatient sigh.

“I stalled for a day for you to tell me things I already know?”

He pulls out the diary suddenly and points to the coded passages with one knobby finger. “Muro told me there isn’t just one Old Vetrisian tree. There are two.”

I knit my brows, my nightmare resurfacing of those two naked tree rosaries. “Two?”