Three hours later, one of the insects returned. He followed it to a mossy trail. When he looked up, he saw the scullery girl clinging to the tangled branches of a tree just across a clearing on the other side of the trail. Taigan did not look directly at her at first, wondering if she thought she was spying on him. If so, she was doing a terrible job of it.

But the girl did not move.

He met her look.

She scrambled down the tree, much more quickly than he expected.

Taigan moved across the clearing after her.

A cold dagger of pain plunged into his chest. He threw out his right arm, too late. The bone-strung branches of the tree that dominated the clearing closed around him like a vise. Throwing out his arm had been a mistake; the bone tree snapped his arm clean through, torquing it backward and shoving it against his body.

He grunted. Tried to find leverage by kicking away with the heels of his boots. But the tree lifted him cleanly from the ground. Its bony fingers drove into his flesh like knobby needles.

His skin burned. Punctured flesh and organs tried to knit themselves back together. It was like boiling from the inside out.

As he struggled to center his mind, he saw the girl creeping toward him, skirting the edge of the clearing.

Taigan showed his teeth. “You’re less stupid,” he said. He tried to rip his arm free. The bones of the tree dug deeper. His flesh bubbled. The air was filled with the smell of burnt meat.

“I have a proposal for you,” Lilia said.

He wanted to mash her face in, Maralah be cast to Sina’s maw.

His songs for concentrating Oma were elusive, broken to pieces like the bones of his arm. He found his focus briefly and sliced his good arm free. He reached for the girl.

She darted back.

Another bony branch curled up from the ground, pulling his arm back. He hissed.

“We both need things,” Lilia said.

“You’ll need a fine surgeon,” Taigan said, “when I have done with you.”

“I know the Woodland,” Lilia said. “I don’t think you do, though.”

“If you think this tree can kill me, you know very little.”

“You won’t be conscious much longer, no matter how strong you are. That’s a bone tree. It’s poisonous. Like most things here.”

“Where’s your little friend?” Taigan asked. “You think a parajista can hold me when I burst free of this?”

“I think we can help each other,” Lilia said. She spoke loudly but stayed at the edge of the clearing. He had seen enough young people bluster to recognize it. She was alone, then. He wondered how such a slip of a girl had freed herself of a parajista, and then considered his own predicament. Well.