I watch the crown princess of Cavanos teeter for the first time, uncertain and unsteady. She stumbles, clutching the back of the couch to brace herself. The shock of accomplishing what she’s been after all these years—what she faked her death for, what she has nightmares of, what she killed her bodyguards for, what she tortured a valkerax for, what she became a witch for—must be crushing.

“Most probably the jungles of Gutroth,” Yorl offers from the corner of the window he’s staring out. “And the Golden River.”

“We can’t go there today.” Varia regains herself admirably quickly and whirls sharply around to him.

“No,” he agrees. “It’s too far a journey to make by noon, even for a teleport spell.”

“Then I wait,” she asserts. “I wait for the Tree to go somewhere near Cavanos, and I leave the instant it arrives there.”

“Agreed.” Yorl nods. “The paperwork you promised me—”

“Patience, Yorl,” she insists. “You’ve been waiting for five years. Surely you can wait for another few hours.”

“I’ve enjoyed our time together as much as you have,” Yorl snarks. “But my grandfather’s legacy has waited fifty years—it cannot wait another moment more.”

“When I get the Bone Tree,” Varia recites. “That was our agreement. No sooner and no later.”

Yorl lets out a feral snarl. “I gave you what you wanted! I gave you everything I promised, down to the letter. I did the impossible—I did what no polymath in a thousand years has been able to do, and I deserve what is mine!”

“Settle. Down.” Varia’s voice is cold. “Or I’ll have Zera here settle you down for me.”

She could do it—and I know that better than anyone. I’d have no choice but to lash out at him. I flash an apologetic smile at Yorl, who’s suddenly looking at me warily. He spits what sounds like a swear and folds his arms across his chest.

The waiting is always the worst part.

I learned this in Nightsinger’s woods, waiting for something to happen for three years. The nothingness drives you mad eventually, the way it did to me—talking to animals and trees and constantly throwing jokes to entertain myself in the dead air of the forest. Varia spends the time packing some clothes and other essentials into bags: parchment, quills, candles, dried food. Where has she been keeping these supplies tucked away in her room? She’s packing like she’s never coming back.

“Is your wife not joining us when we leave?” I ask lightly.

Varia looks up sharply at me, then snorts. “No. She’s staying here in Vetris, where it’s safe.”