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Tallu held himself stiffly, pulling away from me bit by bit. I felt my lips pinch, and I wanted so desperately for him to look at me, so desperately for him to forgive me in a way I couldn’t quite forgive myself.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it and I reached out, clasping his hand in mine.

“Tallu, I will try not to run off without you again.” I meant the words, as much as it hurt me to admit them.

“Will you?” he asked, his eyes searching my face.

“Yes,” I said.

He nodded slowly, then wrapped his fingers around mine. He looked toward Naî. “Do you know where we are going?”

“I can feel something,” Naî said, but her tone was uncertain.

I knew what she meant. Something ahead of us gnawed at me, like a loose tooth after a fistfight. It ached, the pain piercing up into me.

The closer we got to it, the more it hurt, and I wanted to stop, but couldn’t help wonder what it was.

Suddenly, Naî stopped, tilting her head. “Do you hear that?”

She whipped her head to the side, and I followed her gaze, because I did hear it. There was a flute playing somewhere deep in the forest. I recognized it. I had heard it once before.

Movement between the trees startled me, and I spun, using my hand to pull Tallu behind me, but it was only Lerolian and the other blood monks, seemingly none the worse for wear despite the sudden change in location. Lerolian raised his eyebrows.

“What happened to the two of you? If I didn’t know better, I would think you were sneaking off for some intimate relief. Even I am getting sick of all the gossip and the constant hovering of your servants.”

“It sounds like the children’s flute,” I said.

Lerolian frowned, tilting his head. His brows drew together. Silently, without being told, he and the other blood monks turned, traveling further into the forest, following the sweet sound of the music.

We moved more slowly, more cautiously, checking every footstep for traps.

It was the only thing that saved our lives when the creature from the trees landed in front of us. When we had first arrived in Tavornai, everything had been monstrous: the swamp, the plants, the colors, but most of all, the actual monsters.

We had never gotten a good view of them. The darkness had concealed them from us, and they blended seamlessly with the plants they hid in. Now, looking at one up close, I felt grateful that this was the first time I had seen one.

It was massive, easily as tall as my chest, and, although it walked on four legs, its paws had fingers like a human. Its pelt was made of leaves and moss instead of fur or scales. Along its back, sharp spines rose, standing up and dripping purple sap.

Its tail was a long, corded vine that wrapped around itself before crashing forward, clearly trying to trap us. I shoved Tallu, trusting that Naî could take care of herself, and he and I landed hard on the soft, wet earth. I rolled up, drawing my sword, and the creature was already in front of me, moving so quickly I barely had time to shove my blade forward before it opened its mouth, revealing teeth two layers deep, sharp and glittering with the same purple sap that flowed along its back.

The creature grabbed hold of my arm with its mouth, but Tallu let loose a bolt of electricity, the brilliant crack of it sending birds flying from the trees.

The creature shrieked, spinning around, releasing my arm and using its tail to wrap around his leg, pulling him off balance. As Tallu fell backward, his next bolt of electricity went wide, striking the trees above us.

I leapt at the creature, shoving my sword deep into its back, but that did nothing. The creature spun on me, and I was dragged with the sword as the plants and the leaves that made up the creature’s body pulsed, drawing the blade deeper and deeper as the creature consumed it.

I dropped my hold on the sword, shoving my shoulder into the creature’s side, branches and twigs snapping when I hit. It threw the creature off balance long enough that Tallu was able to cut the tail with his own sword. The creature yowled, bleeding purple onto the ground. Where it dripped, the soil turned black.

Holding up two hands, I circled around the creature, getting between it and Tallu.

“Friend, I know we are in your territory and we apologize for that. Perhaps we can come to an agreement that doesn’t involve me or my husband becoming an appetizer.” My animal speak still felt rusty, even though the ravens said I was back to near fluency. I smiled closed-mouthed at the creature, while avoiding looking it directly in the eyes—too many predators saw that as a threat. “Do you understand me?”

I felt nothing in return. Animal speak was an exchange, and both of us had to want to communicate with each other. Instead, all I felt from the monster was hunger. I tried again, slipping into Northern.

“Friend? Can we come to an agreement? I promise he and I are all lean meat and bone. We would be too tough of a dinner.” I risked looking up into the creature’s eyes. It sat back on its haunches, watching me suspiciously.

This time I could hear something buzzing in my head, but instead of familiar words, it felt as though I was seeing memories—green, red, shadows on the forest floor. The creature wrapped its tail closer, and I saw that the end Tallu had cut off was already regrowing, splitting in two and sprouting thorns.

I swore, hoping that the creature wasn’t just toying with its food, that there was actually some hope for communication and it wasn’t just waiting until it had become an even more deadly thing.