And now, after all this time, the Dead Wood has begun to expand far more quickly than in the past, casting Ronin’s power into doubt.

“Have you ever seen the Dead Wood?” Prince Meilek asks, breaking the silence.

“Only from a distance. Even Kendara didn’t want me getting close to that place.” That’s saying something, considering all the ways I nearly died under her care. “She sent me mostly on tasks in the west, like in the mountains or to port cities like Byrth.”

“Byrth,” he says with a sudden smile. “Once, when we were children visiting with our parents, Mei and I sneaked off to watch a drake race, and I bribed the drake master to let me enter.”

How strange to think of him and Queen Meilyr as children, misbehaving as children do. “Did you win?”

He shakes his head. “I fell off short of the finish line. Half my face was bruised for the rest of our trip. My parents were outraged. But Byrth’s market was a wonder. Father bought us candied plum blossoms.”

“Candied plum blossoms?” I’ve never heard of such a thing.

“They don’t sell them in Vos Talwyn.”

I look down at my hands clasped around Yandor’s reins. I miss the busy streets, the statues of the Sisters, and the sense of history on every corner. Would I ever see Vos Talwyn again?

Reading my expression, he says, “You needn’t worry. Ronin has granted you both safe passage.”

“Can … can such a thing be guaranteed?”

“I know it seems unlikely, given how persistent the trees have become in recent years. The woods have always spread, just very slowly. Ronin’s control isn’t absolute, but it’s always been enough to ensure the safety of his guests.”

“Don’t you think it’s odd? After nearly three centuries, what’s changed that he’s only now …” I don’t finish the suggestion that Ronin is losing control. It’s a dangerous thing to voice.

Prince Meilek opens his mouth but then pauses. I wait, wondering what else he knows that I don’t. The prince of Evewyn is obviously far better informed about foreign leaders than I am. To my disappointment, he doesn’t speak. Instead, he calls for one of his Blades to feed us, and we eat as we travel.

We’ve only a few hours of daylight left when the Dead Wood at last appears as a dreary bramble beyond the next farm. Fear rises within me, heightened by Saengo’s alarm that presses, insistent, against my back.

Prince Meilek pulls ahead of me. Sab Hlee is little more than a smattering of tents and a few collapsible buildings. The Dead Wood lies beyond, crouched against the sky like a resting spider.