Is that what the hunger is? That “wound” from the splitting? The Glass Tree’s hunger is in my head, and the Bone Tree’s hunger is in Varia. Is the hunger punishment for bisecting the Tree of Souls? I know it’s what’s been calling to me this whole time. Not the Glass Tree. Not the Bone Tree. But both of them. The thing they both are—the thing they both used to be. It’s been dreaming, reaching out to me through my dreams.

The tree of bone and the tree of glass will sit together as family at last.

I roll over again, chasing the Hymn of the Forest out of my head only to see Lucien’s sleeping outline is gone. His hammock is empty. Did he go abovedeck for some air? It’s not a bad idea, and I swing my legs over and stick my feet in my boots to follow him. He might need me. And even if he doesn’t, I need him.

We need each other, if we’re going to make it through this.

The salt air is crisper at night, gilded sharp by the full light of the Blue Giant, its cool incandescence completely unfettered by any mountains or hills or forests. There’s only the sea to soak it up, and the wood of our comparatively little ship. Lucien’s at the bow, watching the ship’s prow carve the water white. The helmsman nods to me, and I to him, the deck guard walking lazy circles and smoking a pipe, the smell of vanilla tobacco lingering on me as I lean on the rail beside the prince.

“It’s hard not to feel small,” I say. “In the middle of all this. Especially with a moon that big.”

The Blue Giant wordlessly looms on the horizon, dwarfing the ship, our sails, and casting a long shadow of us on the choppy water—a ship, and two people at its jutting prow.

“I wanted to be a good king,” Lucien’s voice comes out hoarse. “I wanted to—I saw what my father was doing to the country, and I didn’t want to be anything like him. I promised myself I wouldn’t close my ears to my people. I promised I’d use my power and wealth for good, not for fear.”

I want to reach for his hand on the railing, but this seems important. I don’t want to distract him. And, deep down, I don’t want to feel his unmoving hand. Not right now. Not when I’m afraid more than ever of losing him.