Kendara once sent me into the home of a minor lord to retrieve copies of the man’s ledgers. The lord in question had been in Vos Talwyn at the time, and his estate was barely guarded. When I’d questioned the morality of stealing from the queen’s own lords, she’d said that sometimes one had to work around the law in order to best serve it.

“She is a loyal subject,” I say. She’ll do what she thinks is best for the kingdom. “Besides, it’s only treason if you’re caught.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“You can’t. You can’t risk missing any treatments with the healer.”

She tosses up her hands and storms over to the balcony where she braces both palms against the glass. “If the rot doesn’t kill me, this confinement will. I can’t breathe here. I need to do something. To be useful.”

The set of her shoulders tells me she’s not looking to be comforted, so I remain where I am by my bed. I’ve changed out of my gown, which lies in a pool of spidersilk in front of the armoire.

“As soon as I have the information I need to destroy the Dead Wood, you won’t ever have to come back here again.”

Saengo’s hands curl into fists against the glass. “We used to be a team.” Her voice is soft, but the words still cut. “Now all I am is a piece of you. A shadow tethered to your soles, looking at your back.”

Her pain is a hard knot at the center of me. My nails dig into my stomach, like I might be able to tear the feeling away. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I did this to you.”

She looks back at me. Sadness sharpens her eyes and the lines of her mouth. “I don’t blame you. You didn’t know what you were doing. But maybe you’re right that I should stay. I think I need to be alone.”

With Phaut’s help, I’m given an audience with Ronin later that afternoon. Leaving Spinner’s End would be impossible without his assistance.

She takes me again to what had once been the throne room. I approach the broad, sweeping stairs leading up to the dais where Ronin stands. The doors shut behind me with a resonating clank. A fire burns low at his back. A hazy heat ripples the air around his tall figure. He’s dressed in a plain gray shirt tucked into loose black pants and a matching jacket. The table from the last time I was here is gone.

“You seem troubled,” Ronin says. He speaks in that same soft voice that’s much too difficult to read.