So far, the Dead Wood remains largely intact. Although I’ve spotted lights glimmering from within the dark of the trees, giving me hope that the souls might be breaking free, doubt continues to scratch at my thoughts.

Saengo is asleep the moment her head touches her pillow, and I’m glad. As soon as we’re able, I’ll have a light stitcher or flesh worker look at the remains of the infection and determine if it can be healed. For now, every healer still alive is too busy tending to the wounded, and I don’t want to pull them away from their work.

I’d like nothing more than to follow Saengo into sleep, but the constant prickle of worry keeps me awake. The Soulless’s magic lingers beneath my skin, molten fire as discomfiting as it is intriguing, and just as strong as when I first opened myself to it. It should have faded or weakened by now, surely. I don’t know what it means that it hasn’t.

There’s a light cough outside my tent and then a tentative, “Sirscha?”

I rub my eyes and sit up on my cot. Most of the tents that weren’t burned down had to be erected again. I glance at Saengo’s prone form. Although the courtesy is unnecessary seeing as she’s out cold, I leave the tent to speak outside.

Prince Meilek smiles faintly as I join him. It’s well after dark, but hardly anyone has gone to bed. Too restless or too uneasy. Too haunted.

As promised, he’d gone back for Phaut. Her body is to be returned to her family for a proper burial. I recovered her sword as well, abandoned near the stream. Her loss is a splinter lodged in my heart, the pain sharpening when I consider that for all my supposed power, I could not save her.

“Are you well?” I ask quietly. He’s spoken very little all day.

“I’ll be fine. Am I keeping you up?” He drags his fingers roughly through his hair. The sweat and dirt from the day’s labors make the already tousled strands stand on end.

“No. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

His gaze flickers downward, shadows and emotions playing about his mouth. “Let’s sit.”

I follow him to a nearby campfire. Two shadowblessed huddle in the grass near the fire. While they stare at us, they don’t speak.

“Have you thought about what you’ll do now?” he asks, voice soft to keep the shadowblessed from eavesdropping. I doubt they can hear us, anyway, over the low crackle of the flames and the murmur of other voices.

“Probably head to Mirrim.” I sit with my knees pulled to my chest. The clothes I’m wearing are too big, but I couldn’t stay in the shirt still stained with Ronin’s blood. “We might even get an audience with the emperor.”