Zaj serpents are native to Kazahyn, but the Dead Wood’s expansion stranded a colony of them in Evewyn a decade ago. I recall, with an echo of irritation, that Kendara wanted the scales for no other reason than to decorate new sheaths for her prized swords, Suryali and Nyia. As I tie the laces at the collar of my new nightgown, I wonder if Prince Meilek has told Kendara that the attack was meant for her, and if she’s tried to find her own answers.

Would he also have told her what I am?

I perch at the edge of my bed and try out the words in my head: I am a shaman. I wince. They don’t fit right. Too tight, constricting enough to make my breaths grow shallow. That’s not who I am.

Saengo is already in her bed, so I slip into mine, tugging the thick blanket over my legs. The maid blows out the lantern on her way out, leaving the room in darkness. The half moon outside the balcony doesn’t offer much light.

After a while, a sound disturbs the quiet—short, muffled gasps. Her anguish echoes in my chest like a fresh wound. Silently, I rise from my bed. I cross the room and lift the corner of Saengo’s blanket so that I can slide in beside her. She’s curled on her side, away from me, her face buried in her pillow. Her body trembles faintly.

My heart breaks, the pain a knife beneath my ribs. I don’t speak, but I put my arm around her, letting the force of her quiet sobs rock against me.

Saengo has always been meant for so much more than the life of a soldier. She’s supposed to travel and have adventures and claim her own fate. And then if she wants, she’s supposed to fall in love and get married and become the Lady of Falcons Ridge. She’s supposed to grow old, happy, and content after a life well lived.

I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my face into the pillow as I listen to her mourn all the things she’s lost. All the things that I’ve taken from her.

ELEVEN

Hands in the dark. Bones with too many joints breaking through skin. Nails splinter and peel, clawing, clawing—

My eyes open. The drapes enclosing the bed shroud me in darkness.

I rub my forehead. Why does my sleeping mind torment me? My throat feels dry, and my tongue sticky. Careful not to disturb Saengo, who is burrowed into the blanket, I slap the drape aside so I can sit up. Maybe the dreams are related to what Ronin said about how my craft can resonate with spirits. Evidently, I disturbed those in the Dead Wood when I awakened it.

Are the spirits trapped there trying to ask for help? If so, they could stand to be less creepy about it.