I cringe. “Possibly. But there’s something back there, something that feels a lot like the Dead Wood. Whatever that is, it must be tied to the trees. Maybe it’s tied to Ronin’s power, too, and if it is, then it might be what’s causing him to lose control now.”

“I have a theory,” says a low voice.

I leap to my feet, hands reaching for weapons that aren’t there. Saengo quietly slips Kendara’s letter into her tunic. At the end of the bookcase, shoulder propped against the corner, stands Theyen.

“How long have you been there?” I demand. Sisters, I allowed myself to become so distracted by the letter that I hadn’t heard him approach.

“Not long,” he assures with a knowing smile that makes me itch to duel him again. “Long enough to overhear you’re planning to enter that maze. I thought you’d want my help with that.”

He doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed for eavesdropping. Although I’d like to tell him to go away, I’m curious, despite myself. “What sort of theory?”

He straightens off the bookcase and holds up the book in his hand. “Specifically, I have a theory about Ronin’s power. Do you remember this? I was reading these fables the day we met.”

My eyes narrow on the familiar cover. “What’s your point?”

“In ‘The Tale of the Woodcutter’, he tries to claim the power of the gods by ordering shamans to consume their familiars. Now look at this.”

He flips through the pages, then holds up an ink drawing of a creature that’s part man and part wolf. I have to get closer to see the details. The creature on the page is bent over, his hindquarters that of a wolf but ending in human feet. His face is a hideous mixture of wolf and man, long fangs gouging through torn cheeks.

Theyen says, “It’s a story about a shaman who sought the power of the gods by forging an unnatural bond with his familiar. He drained the spirit blood of his wolf familiar and drank it, combining with the creature. Although misshapen beyond recognition, he thought himself the most powerful of beings. But the transformation was too much, and it soon killed him.”

He flips the book shut, but the image remains branded in my mind. I glance back at Saengo. She looks unsettled, her fist pressed against the base of her throat.

“You think Ronin did the same as this shaman? That he … consumed his Spinner?”