“Enjoying the scenery.” He glares at me. “I’m helping you. Why else would I be here?”

“I don’t know if I can trust you.”

His lip curls, but he says in a clipped tone, “I saw you ride out from a seclusion of trees with the Evewynian prince. Thought it was a tryst, but too many dead bodies. Unless you’re hiding some bizarre tendencies, in which case, keep them to yourself.”

“Theyen,” I begin, impatient, but he continues.

“I overheard something about an attack and figured you were in trouble, so I followed. Does that satisfy you, or would you like a full itinerary of my day?”

“I don’t have time for your condescension right now.”

“Then you’ll have to trust me. I don’t offer my help to just anyone. By the way, you look even more atrocious than normal. Were you strangled?”

I throw up my hands. “You’re impossible.”

“You must know that you’ll never make it to Spinner’s End before the trees find a way to grab your beast.”

The branches scour through his shadows, splintering the amorphous beings. They re-form quick as lightning, but even Theyen looks nervous.

“You can take us directly to the castle?”

“Yes, but not more than one at a time.”

I dismount. “Yandor first.”

He opens his mouth to argue and then changes his mind. “Fine. Hand me your pack mule.”

Yandor huffs and stomps as I give Theyen the reins. Within moments, they disappear into the gate. The shadowy doorway disperses in their wake.

One thick root shoots past Theyen’s shadows. I slam my boot down on it. It recoils, sinking into the earth with the dry hiss of shifting soil. A boulder sits a few paces into the water. Gripping the stone, I climb onto its rough surface.

The shadows break apart, too far from Theyen now for him to maintain control over them. Roots lift like legs, shedding layers of papery skin. My breath comes shallow and quick. The trees moan as their crooked trunks warp, stretching skeletal branches at my head.

Something tugs at my sleeve. I spin around, but the boulder doesn’t allow much room to maneuver. I don’t want to use my craft unless absolutely necessary. Doing so could hurt Saengo.

The trees crowd ever closer. Fingers protrude from their innards, stretching the bark like a wet membrane ready to rupture. I imagine them breaking free, decomposed bodies clawing out from their earthen prisons. I immediately regret the thought. Something thin and cold scratches my forearm. I swipe out, breathing hard, and try to make myself as small a target as possible.

Where in the names of the Sisters is Theyen?

Roots slide through the water, circling the boulder like riverfiends converging on their prey. I hop onto another boulder, a larger one, but that brings me too close to a waiting knot of branches. They clamp onto my arms like barbs.