Pain wraps me in thorny arms as I collide with the earth and barely avoid being crushed under Yandor. He’s on his feet almost instantly, claws ripping and teeth flashing. I’m slower to rise, lashing out at the nearest root and shouting with fury at the trees and at myself for leading us into this death trap.

Why do you keep trying, Sirscha? You’re nothing special. You always fail. Why would this time be any different?

I haul myself into the saddle, fighting against the roots that try to drag me back down. If I die, then Saengo dies as well. Prince Meilek will have betrayed his queen and sacrificed his birthright for nothing. What did the shamanborn in the Valley of Cranes escape for if not the hope of something beyond death and imprisonment, the very things Queen Meilyr and Ronin would gift to Thiy should I fail here?

I might be a soulrender, but I am not the Soulless, and his legacy isn’t mine. I have done things no other shaman can claim. I turned a human spirit into a familiar. I freed souls trapped within the Dead Wood. And now I’m going to stop Ronin and save Saengo from the rot. Me, Sirscha Ashwyn, a girl with no true name.

And I am not nothing.

TWENTY-THREE

The moment I’m situated again, Yandor leaps into the water. His claws shred through the roots. The rocks underfoot look unwieldy and treacherously slick, but he somehow keeps his footing. I press my lips to his neck and murmur my thanks for his bravery.

Shadows explode in our path. I gasp, yanking on the reins. Water splashes my legs as we skid to a stop. The shadows amass into a blackness so impenetrable that even the surrounding trees look hospitable in comparison. I turn Yandor, heels kicking into his sides, although he needs no encouragement to run. A figure with snowy hair emerges from the darkness.

Startled, I shout for Yandor to stop on the bank. Around his feet, shadows leap into the night, shielding us from the trees’ attacks.

I whisper, uncertain, “Theyen?”

“About time,” his voice snaps as he steps into the moonlight. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for hours now. I almost resorted to knocking you off your damned beast.”

“Sisters, save me,” I mutter, breathless with relief.

“No, that was me,” he says, gesturing to the black doorway.

“How are you here?” The roots rustle underneath despite Theyen’s shadows. Yandor dances to the side, snorting impatiently to get moving again.

“Shadow gate. It’s how I’m able to travel to and from Spinner’s End without needing to pass through the Dead Wood.”

At that, I study the shadows anew. The very center of the gate is solid black, absorbing all light. The edges tumble and simmer in liquid black motion.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, wary again.