The wind picked up suddenly, blustering its way among the trees, causing bits and flakes of ash to roll and glide along the ground. All at once, it was unbearably cold. All at once, Shaeyas felt trapped, stuck out in the open.

She didn't want to be here; she wanted to be at home, snuggled up in her cot with Venkas by her side. But that wasn't going to happen. There was no home, not anymore, and there was no Venkas. Both had been burned down to mere skeletal remains. There was nothing left—no home to go to, no husband to hold her and make her feel safe. She was in a new world, now. An uncertain one.

The only thing of certainty she had left, her only security, was Tavlen. But there was something different about her right now, so unlike the grandmother she used to know and depend on. In all honesty, Tavlen was starting to scare her. It was difficult to read her expression, partly because of the soot and ash that covered every inch of her, including her face. Her face was tense and tight though, that much Shaeyas could see. And there was something in her eyes—something dangerous, something unfamiliar to Shaeyas, something she didn't understand.

And what had their prisoner said? What had he called her? 'Mother?' Some turn of phrase Shaeyas didn't understand? Some kind of joke?

Of course, no one was laughing. If anything, Tavlen's expression had hardened. A dark aura was settling over her, something Shaeyas might have described as a killer's intent, if she didn't know better.

Mother.

She hadn't misheard. It was clear as can. He'd been speaking West Common, the same as them, and there could be no misunderstanding. Not that it made any sense. Though, in at least one way, it had to be true. This person--this thing--was a ghost out of Tavlen's past, a product of her past life as tangible as any actual progeny.

"I was told I'd given up the right to be called that," Tavlen said, still holding the knife firmly pressed against the prisoner's neck in a less-than-motherly way.

"You don't cease to be a mother just because you leave your responsibilities behind," he said. "You still have a child. You merely abandoned him."

"Venkas was more a son to me than you ever were," Tavlen said, flames licking high in her eyes.

"Venkas, Venkas..." the hostage said, biting his lip. "I'm afraid it doesn't ring a bell."

"You know very well who he is," Tavlen said. "He was a precious member of my family, and now he's dead."

"Good point," he said, shrugging. "Given your track record, perhaps I'm better off."

As if of its own accord, Shaeyas' dominant hand reached down to grip the handle of the knife holstered at her belt. Her knuckles shone white, but she didn't draw it, not yet, despite how much she wanted to. Despite how much she wanted to plant that knife in this goblin hybrid's throat and watch him choke, she knew she couldn't. Arlen and Adalen might be safe for now, but that could change. They needed to know how it was that goblins had come here, and why. They needed to know the full extent of the danger, and if it could be put to an end.

Tavlen leaned in close to the prisoner, baring her teeth as she spoke. "You're going to regret saying that."

He held her gaze, serious, yet seemingly unafraid. "I'm sorry about what happened. It was not my intention. No one was supposed to get hurt. You have my word."

"And yet, someone did," Tavlen said bitterly. "Where's Kallen?"

"Kallen," the hybrid said, tasting the name on his tongue. "I rather like it. Local naming conventions are so quaint. You must have liked them alright, I suppose, seeing as you chose those place. I rather wonder how it was you were able to assimilate yourself into the local culture so perfectly. How did you do that, exactly?"

"My husband," Tavlen said, almost growling. "Where is he?"

The hybrid shook his head disapprovingly. "A 'Joining' is for life, Tavlen. Only if your mate dies can you Join again in Bloodweald, and only in the same clan. That man was never your husband."

Snarling, Tavlen flicked the blade sideways along the hybrid's neck—not enough to pierce the jugular, but enough to send a little spurt of blood arcing through the air as she swiped.

What followed was a scene so shocking, so unlikely in Shaeyas' mind, that she could only stand there and stare as it unfolded, uncertain how she should react.

The hybrid took a step back, eyes wide, pressing the palm of his hand over the wound. It was that step backward that put him off balance just a little bit, just enough for Tavlen to hook one foot behind his leg while she pushed him in the chest, knocking him onto his back. He made an oof sound he hit the ground, and the air was knocked out of his lungs.

He started to rise, but Tavlen was already on top of him, straddling his torso. The hybrid was beginning to struggle, perhaps forgetting that he was unarmed and outnumbered, perhaps reacting on reflex, some primal urge for survival. He reached up and grabbed Tavlin's hair by the end of her long ponytail looping down past her shoulder. He pulled, trying to yank her head sideways, throwing her off balance so he could get her off of him. But she tilted her neck and upper body, bringing her face toward his wrist and biting down on it.

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The hybrid screamed, bucking with his hips, trying to throw her off. But Tavlen dug in. Her knees and hips were wrapped tight over his torso, and she was gripping the hem of his cloak with one hand, holding herself close. She opened her mouth, red blood gleaming on her teeth and lips, dribbling down her chin, and headbutted the hybrid in the nose. The hybrid grunted, and his head fell back against the ground, his nose spurting with blood. He lifted his head, trying to rise again, and Tavlen headbutted him again. This time there was a loud crunch and pop, and the blood really started to flow, a slick trail running down the lower half of his face.

Tavlen raised the knife, looking like she was about to plant it in the hybrid's chest.

"Wait," the hybrid said, putting up his hands. His voice was muffled from the broken nose, but Shaeyas could still hear the words. "Wait! He's alive!"

Tavlen froze, still braced with the knife handle clutched in her fist. "He'd better be," she said quietly, almost whispering.

"He is. It's like I said. I didn't come here to hurt anyone. That wasn't my intention."

"Then where is he?"

"By now?" For a second, it looked like he was doing calculations in his head. "Halfway to a port west of the Blackwater."

Tavlen took a moment to absorb that. She was still holding the knife overhead, as if ready to plunge it downward at any moment, still deciding if she had the willpower to keep herself from doing so. "And why would he be doing that?" she said.

"Because," the hybrid said, "he has some help."

"Help?" she said skeptically. On a whim, she glanced over at the net. Captive goblins were all clustered together in crouched, sitting positions. It was a well-designed net, used for capturing all manner of wildlife, and it seemed like they hadn't figured out how to get free of it just yet. One of the goblins had taken to gnawing on one of the lines, but he froze sheepishly as Shaeyas' eyes met his.

"He's being escorted, let's say," the hybrid said.

Tavlen let out a sigh. Whatever had happened, whatever had come over her, it was starting to dissipate, just a bit. "You mean kidnapped?"

With one ear on the conversation, Shaeyas began alternating between checking the net and scanning the surrounding tree line. At any minute, it was possible the scout goblins the hybrid had sent ahead would realize they were following a fake trail and would head back. When they did, it was unlikely they would respond well to the situation before them.

They needed to get the relevant information, quickly. They needed to decide what the next move was, and soon.

"I need you back in Bloodweald, Mother," the hybrid said. "We need you. The curse is getting worse. The bloodline is getting thinner and thinner. Soon all the purebloods will be gone. Do you know what that means?"

Tavlen snarled. She was getting heated again. "Is that really what this is about? I left that life behind me a long time ago, Dagger. None of it matters to me anymore."

"What about Kallen?" The hybrid said. "Does he matter to you? Because in three days' time, maybe less, he'll be on a ship chartered for the Blood Isle. If you ever want to see him again, you have no choice but to return. It's out of your hands, now."

Movement in the trees, high up in the branches. Visible, but impossible to track. Subtle shadows winking amid the trees—here, then gone, there, then nowhere.

Something whistled, shot down from overhead. Shaeyas ducked and skirted to one side. An arrow sprouted in the ground just next to her feet. She crouched, making herself a smaller target.

"Grandmama, I think it's time to go," she called out.

Tavlen hesitated, her fist still hovering, holding that knife.

Shaeyas had no choice but to keep moving, heading toward the treeline. Two more arrows leapt out of the trees, one landed in Shaeyas' wake, and another narrowly missed Tavlen, bouncing off an ashy rock with a twang.

"Grandmother!" Shaeyas yelled.

It was as if some taut line holding Tavlen in that position suddenly snapped. She broke away, standing and taking off at a run.

Once Shaeyas was sure her grandmother was close behind, she went into a full sprint, head down, moving as fast as the complicated forest terrain would allow. She could hear the footfalls of her grandmother directly behind her.

How much time passed as she ran, Shaeyas couldn't. Eventually she had no choice but to stop and catch her breath.

She slowed, coming to a stop next to a thick oak and slumping against it, feeling the scratch of the bark against her face. Gasping, she turned to see her grandmother bent over with her hands on her knees, heaving to catch her own breath.

Shaeyas sat with her back against the trunk. The danger, the killing--she wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel. At the moment, she mostly felt...high. Light. Adrenalized. It was terrible, all of it--but the particular ordeal she'd just been through had been a distraction, in many ways. As long as her priority--her focus--was to stay alive, she couldn't afford to think about Venkas. And that felt...well, not good. But better, somehow. Like she was keeping the true brunt of her grief, the terrible reality of it, at bay somewhat. For now.

"So," Shaeyas said, between gasps. "My uncle seems nice. What's his name? 'Dagger'?"

Tavlen glanced up at her, hands still on her knees. "Never call him that, Shaeyas."

"Dagger?"

A glare. "You know what I mean. Don't talk about him like he's a part of our lives."

Shaeyas frowned, feeling her brows knit together. "At this point, I truly wish I could say he wasn't."

Tavlen's jaw clenched, and she looked away.

For a long time, neither of them said anything. The forest was near-silent, save for the distant call of finches, and Shaeyas and her grandmother's labored breathing.

Finally, Tavlen pushed herself upright. "We can't stay here. We have to keep moving. The children will already be halfway to Stenibrook. We should catch them if we can."

Shaeyas looked up at her. "Just like that? We're not going to talk about this?"

"There's no time," Tavlen said, stepping past Shaeyas. She was stiff. Focused. But distant as well. Like her mind was half here and half somewhere else.

Shaeyas stood, grabbing her forearm.

Tavlen turned, first looking at the hand that held her, then into Shaeyas' eyes. "Shaeyas, I...I don't have time for this. I need to head west. I need to find Kallen before he gets on that ship. Or I'm going to lose everything."

She looked so old, so fragile, teetering on the edge of something.

And yet.

"Grandmama," Shaeyas said. "I deserve to know."

Something in Tavlen's posture sagged, and her lips drew in a tight line. And something gave.

"Tonight," she said, looking more defeated than ever. "After we've made camp."