Without waiting for his response, I climb out the window and land silently on my feet. I’m far less confident now that Theyen refuses to use his magic, but there’s nothing for it. It doesn’t take long to scale the castle and make my way to the walled garden maze. Within minutes, Theyen joins me. Once we’ve ensured we’re alone, we enter through the arched doorway.

“This is charming,” he mutters under his breath.

We walk slowly, alert for any guards who might patrol back here. We haven’t gone far when Theyen says, “I heard a story this morning.”

“Not one about woodcutters, I hope.”

“There was a fire in Vos Gillis some days ago. Apparently, a handful of shamanborn used the diversion to escape from a guardhouse.”

My stomach tenses, the only outward indication of my surprise. “Is that so?”

“Indeed. It wasn’t the best test of your skills.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Don’t insult me,” he says, with a slow roll of his eyes.

I suppose it doesn’t matter if he knows. I’m already a criminal in Evewyn. “If I’d done nothing, those shamanborn might be dead now.”

The cobbled path takes us beneath the same stone arches I passed the last time, branching into more walled gardens.

“Don’t pretend as if you went for them. You went for yourself.”

I turn sharply to face him. “Haven’t I already told you not to speak as if you know me?”

“But I do.” He crosses his arms. “Oh sure, part of you went for those shamans. You’re surprisingly softhearted. But you went mainly because you had something to prove.”

“To whom exactly?” I ask.

“To yourself.” His voice would have been almost kind if not for the patronizing tilt of his nose. “And to the shamanborn who escaped the Valley of Cranes for you.”

My irritation diffuses. There isn’t any single, simple reason for why I chose to free the shamanborn. For them, for myself. Afraid of being nothing, but equally afraid that I might not be worthy of anything more.

“Don’t claim ownership over their choices,” he says. “Breaking from prison, entering the Dead Wood, escaping to Vos Gillis—they did those things for themselves, not for you.”

I’ve no intention of discussing this with him. However, he does have a point. Most of the shamanborn who escaped likely didn’t care whether I exist or not, only that an organized prison break meant freedom. Taking responsibility for what happened would be stripping from them the choices they’d made and the courage it had taken to make them. Still, that doesn’t mean I should have done nothing.

He doesn’t wait for my response. Instead, he steps ahead of me. “Shall we?”