The assassin roared behind her over the sound of the flames.

Ghrasia saw more fire licking up the outside of the building. She gritted her teeth and thrust her hands into the fire. She smelled burning flesh as the flames seared her hands – and her bonds. Pain throbbed. She twisted her hands until the singed cord snapped.

The assassin fell out the door, clawing his way toward her. His creatures were still hooked into him, bloody and beaten. One’s arm looked dislocated.

Ghrasia jumped onto the ladder and climbed down, hissing through the pain of her scorched hands. She slid the last few feet and stumbled onto the porch of the second house. She pushed inside and saw the room was dominated by a large table. Various types of plants lay dissected on its surface. She smelled rotting flesh, too, and found bits of birds and rodents mortifying in cages hung from the ceiling. She heard a rustling sound and saw a line of twelve tiny cages set along the floor. A single Dhai character was painted on the outside of each – initials. Inside the cages were sparrows. Tirajista-trained sparrows could be compelled to return to the same locations – or even the same person – time and again.

What had he said about his brothers and being a messenger?

She heard the assassin screaming. Heard him trampling down the ladder.

Ghrasia bolted from the room, favoring her injured ankle, and slid into the lowest house. She banged open the door. So long as she stayed out of the assassin’s sight, it would be harder for him to net her in some cone of air.

She hopped down the front stairs and rolled onto the bare ground. She kissed it. Looked up at the long lines of grub cages running up and down the big trees. Under the cover of the bonsa trees, it was almost full dark, but she could see their outlines in the dappled shadows.

Ghrasia climbed onto the vine at the base of the bonsa tree and began kicking over the worm cages. They dropped to the ground and burst. She followed the long line of the vine, spiraling up and around the tree, staying out of sight of the assassin. She could hear him screaming at her from the ground.

Then she heard another sound.

Ghrasia pressed her back to the tree behind her and held her breath. Her injured hands burned as if they were still on fire.

A crashing, keening cry came from the woods. She felt a blast of air nearby. She clung to the tree and prayed the assassin was too injured to concentrate properly.

Hungry walking trees burst into the sea of wriggling grubs like a sentient tide. Their limbs moaned and creaked. A lashing tendril whipped the tree she hid up on, narrowly missing her face.

The assassin screamed. The air felt heavy. Ghrasia heard bursting trunks. Shattered branches.

The air pressure normalized.