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“I need to chop down a few trees.”

The silence that hangs on the dark, cool air almost makes me want to vomit.

I am in over my head.

I shouldn’t be here.

This is the Wizard’s world and I’m just an impostor skipping through it.

But no. No. I belong here just as much as he does.

And quietly, a voice deep down in my soul says, Maybe more than he does.

I haven’t brought it up but Blue’s words keep echoing in my head.

The divine shall not permit the might of false idols.

He was insinuating that Rook was not the son of a god.

But if he is not the son of a god, then where did he get his power?

Everyone has told me that men do not inherit magic, and especially not the kind of power the Wizard possesses. It’s why he so quickly gained prominence.

It doesn’t make sense.

“You have the Tinman’s axe,” Basil says.

“Yes.”

“So you have the chopping part covered.”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever been to the Ancient Forest?”

“No.”

“The trees are big.”

“I figured.”

“And violent.”

“I heard.”

Is it obscenely naive to think that the fighting trees might recognize me as the daughter of a god and give me some leeway? Though I’m sure once I start chopping them down, they’ll feel a certain way about it.

All of this seems impossible. Why did I decide to do this again?

When we approach the forest from the south, several of the trees groan like a pirate ship riding the high waves. And then they turn toward us.

“That’s not creepy or anything,” I mutter.

The darkness is growing thicker with the setting sun beyond the cloud and the barren trees, creaking like a haunted house, are making the hair on the back of my neck stand.

I am definitely, definitely way over my head.

Suddenly all my reasons for being here feel flimsy at best.