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circumstances, Draken began to doubt such distinctions mattered much. The swim had surely washed the last of his honor away. He was condemned to Akrasia, banished, lost.
    And merc work might enable him to track Lesle’s killer.
    “Get up,” he said gruffly. “Take me to the Queen. Gods willing, she’ll pay well for what I’ll give her.”
     
    ***
     
    Not long after, the foliage gaped to reveal a dirt path stirred by many hoof-prints. Foliage and grasses on either side of the trail had been trampled in places. One of the giant, pearly trees rested in a wide clearing alongside the path. Draken had the sudden insight that Osias’ bow had been honed of wood from such a tree.
    Fruits had fallen, stems still intact. Someone on horseback hadn’t been as respectful as the undergrowth; hooves had trampled the fallen fruit, leaving half-moon gouges in the bare soil. Draken knelt to examine the fresh breaks. The fruit oozed a pale yellow juice. The smell reminded him of Lesle’s favorite flower, the quinnex. She’d planted masses of them to bloom every summer. Their scent had mingled with the smell of her blood the day he’d found her.
    “That is an Ocscher Tree,” Osias said. “The fruits make the fair wine you shared with me, but the greens are poison.” The tree hung thick with the golden fruits, shining amid the leaves like small suns.
    “Someone passed by here recently,” Draken said, indicating the broken fruits. “In a hurry by the looks of it.”
    Osias nodded and they pressed on, meeting no one on the path. They walked on in silence as Draken’s stomach complained of hunger, his mind worried, and his limbs aching.
    And then, with no warning, the trees and the path ended.
    The world ended.
     

Chapter Four
    A head lay a simple flat darkness, a black as black as Draken had ever seen, as if all light had extinguished and left behind sightless, alien void. The grasses and trees stood in sharp relief against it, brilliant greens and grays and the shining golds of the Ocscher. But when he switched his focus to the blackness, he felt his pupils widen painfully, as if he’d stepped into endless night.
    His hand crept up to sketch a protective sigil over his chest. “What in Ma’Vanni’s name is that?”
    “The Palisade around Auwaer,” Osias said. “It holds fair and interferes with my senses. Someone could walk upon us without warning.”
    “I’ll scout,” Setia said.
    She curled her fingers around the lowest branch of a tree and pulled herself upward. She shimmied through the branches and climbed across to another higher tree, disappearing among the thick branches. When she dropped back onto the ground next to them she spoke in a hushed, warning tone.
    “Greens are thick about us.”
    “Royal Escorts,” Osias said grimly. His pupils were enormous, irises ugly purple rings against the whites. “I suppose we’d best be off, and find the proper entrance. Escorts cannot be trusted, not with Draken. Not just yet.”
    Draken heard the arrow as it cut a swath through the leaves, but he didn’t see it until it paused mid-flight in front of his own heart, quivering. Osias reached out and plucked it from the air. His sleeve slipped back, revealing a wide, dull metal band on his forearm.
    Osias’ irises inverted back on his pupils and flooded the whites. His entire eye swirled purple-gray. It was so alien, so wrong , it was sickening to see. Draken took a step back, swallowing hard. Osias started to nock the arrow on his bowstring.
    Setia moved closer to Osias and laid her small hand on his arm. “They think Draken is alone. They do not see us yet through your wards.”
    A sound as deadly as the hiss of a hungry snake filled the forest and green-cloaked soldiers materialized around them, circling them with glittering sword points. Leather armor peeked between the folds of their green cloaks, black braces clad each wrist, and heavy black boots graced each leg to the knee. Silent and still, the company far