“There aren’t any omajistas,” Lilia said.

“Not many,” Taigan said. “Not yet. We’ll take off that ward tonight. I suspect it plays a role in reducing your sensitivity to Oma.”

Lilia gripped her wrist. “I’m not an omajista, or a blood witch, or anything like that.”

“Nor are you a woman grown,” he said, “but you will be.”

“I’m nearly five years past the age of consent!”

“In Saiduan, you’d still be a veiled child. Please, your chatter hurts my head.”

Lilia considered him the way she might a kindar piece on a board. What was his strategy? Surely the Saiduan didn’t want to kill her. But she couldn’t imagine they would keep her in their care when they found out she wasn’t gifted.

Dusk came much sooner under the massive canopy of the trees. Lilia only saw the dim lights of the way house when they were nearly on top of it. The way house was a large, sinuous thing hollowed out of a vine that wrapped its way up the trunk of a bonsa tree that must have been a thousand years old. For the last hour, Taigan’s pace had quickened. He glanced back more often. Now that the way house was in sight, she worried he might go past it.

“Are we stopping?” Lilia asked.

“Someone is following,” he said.

“So we aren’t stopping.”

“We must. They’re worse at night, and harder to sense.”

“Who?”

He led the bear into the light of the way house. “Come now, get down.” He called up at the way house. “Hello there; send someone out!”

Lilia thought it was very rude.

Taigan reached up to grab her.

She batted his hands away. “Ask first!”

“Do you want help off the bear or not?”

“Yes,” she said, and held out her arms.

When he pulled her off, she dropped to the ground and said, “See? Was that so difficult?” It took her a moment to find her balance. Her legs were sore. She clung to the side of the bear.

The sanisi muttered something in Saiduan, and she wished she’d paid more attention in Dasai’s classes.

Lilia walked toward the light of the house. She heard the hiss of the sanisi’s blade.

She expected to see something terrible as she turned – a rogue walking tree or some slithering nightwalker. Or, worse, the sanisi’s sword impaling her. But the attackers were human. Three men stepped out of the shadows, moving so quickly, she did not have time to scrutinize their faces. They bore the blue-glowing bonsa blades of parajistas in their fists. As they raised their arms, though, she saw the hilts were not wrapped around their wrists the way the militia’s did.

No, these blades protruded from the men’s wrists – hungry, snarling brambles that grew from some dark seed implanted in their flesh.

She panicked.

She’d seen those weapons before.