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“It won’t take a moment, sir. Not a moment. Just open your mouth and we’ll be about it.” The pudgy man reached up, placing one soft hand on Daine’s throat.

Daine screamed.

Xu’sasar drew knives and set the points against each side of the innkeeper’s neck. Daine had dropped the wounded crow, and his face was a mask of pain. His scream seemed to hang in the air, and then Xu’sasar realized that it was hanging in the air—that a wisp of silvery smoke had emerged from Daine’s mouth, and that the agonized sound was emerging from this floating mist. The smoke flashed through the air and into Ferric’s mouth, and the room fell silent again.

“If you don’t mind, miss, that’s rather uncomfortable.” It was Daine’s voice, steady and firm—but the words came from Ferric’s mouth.

Xu’sasar’s knives still pressed against Ferric’s throat. She looked at Daine. His face was pale and covered with cold sweat, but it seemed that the pain had passed. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. Finally he stepped forward and pushed her blades from the innkeeper’s throat.

“Thank you, sir,” Ferric said with Daine’s voice. “I do appreciate a man who keeps his word, even when he sells his words. Now let me show you to your quarters. Afterward, you and your companions are more than welcome to enjoy the hospitality of our common room.”

Daine shook his head.

“As you will, sir. Follow me.”

The innkeeper led them to the staircase that wound around the gray tree. As they crossed the room, Xu’sasar noticed a detail that had escaped her, and despite the many terrors she had seen, she felt a slight chill. The fires in each hearth burned merrily, but they were fueled, not with wooden logs, but with human bones, intact but blackened and charred. As they ascended the staircase, Xu’sasar saw that the bones bore the marks of tiny, needlelike teeth.

The room on the second floor was gray. The gray mattress was stuffed with withered hay and covered with a blanket of gray wool. A small, scratchy woolen carpet covered the floor, and the rug was as gray as the wood beneath it. The window was covered with dust, and the moon beyond cast a faint gray light across the floor.

Pierce set Lei down on the bed. “Her condition is unchanged,” he said. “Is there anything we can do for her?”

Daine opened his mouth. He blinked, then shut it again, lips twisted into a scowl. He looked at Xu’sasar.

“There is nothing to be done,” Xu’sasar said. She thought of the tales she had heard of the Keeper of Secrets. “We can only watch and protect her body. The struggle is within, and nothing we do can affect it. Nor can we see what she faces. The battle may already be over, and she may have lost. If this is the case, she will never wake, and we will know only when she starves to death.” She met Daine’s gaze. “It may be a mercy to end her misery.”

Daine shook his head, his gaze was hard. Xu’sasar could see his anger at the very suggestion, and she felt a strange pang of guilt. She did not know this Lei, and she barely knew Daine. With each passing hour, she felt ever more alone. She was the last of the Jalaq Qaltiar, and the voice of Vulkoor had forbidden her from following her kin along the paths of death. Her destiny had been bound to this Daine. These three were the only family she had left, and while she did not know Lei, she meant her no harm. She would have offered the same swift mercy to any member of her tribe suffering from a lingering ailment.

“That would be unwise,” Pierce said. “You may not care for Lei as we do, Xu’sasar, but she is our guide in this place. Without her, our odds of survival are slim.”

“I meant no disrespect,” Xu’sasar said. “Starvation is a slow death, and if her soul is already lost, I should not wish to watch her body suffer.”

Daine’s scowl deepened.

“Let us hope it does not come to that,” Pierce said. “My lady has a strong spirit, and I am certain she will rise again.”

Xu’sasar cast about her mind, searching for words of apology. In the end, she simply clicked her tongue