In all their exchanges thus far, Dinah had never shown a trace of fear. That had now changed.

"What deal did you make?" she hissed, stepping back so the stump and the lantern on it stood between them. She gripped her knife like she knew how to use it.

"That is for me to know and you to find out."

So far, it was an empty threat. Niccola's mind raced, and her heartbeat pounded like a war drum against the cage of her ribs. She had no weapon, and was not skilled at hand-to-hand combat like Dinah seemed to be. Ranged attacks had always been her preference: stones cast by hand or sling, or a bow and arrow for fun. She'd been slinging stones at would-be suitors from the time she was a child. She had no advantage against Dinah right now, except the fact that Dinah thought she did.

Only that wasn't true either. She did have another weapon at her disposal. For intimidation value, if nothing else.

Niccola threw back her head and loosed the harsh crackle of the language she used to speak with crows. Its half-human sound reverberated through the forest, and the whole canopy seemed to shift. The first few crows soon descended. They pulled up out of Talak range, perched on jagged bark and jutting fungi, or the snags of long-dead branches that still pierced the skins of these thick, old trees. After these few came more. Dozens, then scores.

"Call your kin," said Niccola. "Call them from all across the forest. There will be a battle here."

Crows at the edges of the flock scattered in all directions. It was only moments before more began to arrive. Niccola could not see them, but she felt their thoughts as hundreds massed into a swelling crowd. They would stay on the promise of even a bite of carrion, but there was more to this gathering. Crows were social birds, and inquisitive ones besides. Those from afar would come just for the interest of what was going on, if told about it by their companions.

From afar. This would benefit Niccola through more than just intimidation. She had eyes all across the forest through this flock.

Dinah had not moved. She had shrunk to a defensive posture, knife still ready and eyes fixed on the canopy as dead branches groaned in the darkness beneath the weight of birds. Niccola would have the upper hand for as long as she could keep Dinah on the defensive. She had to keep up this intimidation for as long as she could.

Then the first crow arrived with the vocal impression of the Calisian lowlands. Niccola reached out quickly. "What is happening at the forest's edge?"

What answered was a clamoring of mental voices so loud, she could not make out a single clear impression. Niccola switched her chant, calling for attention. The waves of low croaking that had rippled all the way up through the canopy went silent. Dinah took another step back. When Niccola had the flock eyes on her, she repeated the question, this time qualifying it for birds who'd come from the Talakova's edge.

"Humans running," was the immediate reply. Other impressions added a chorus of additional observations.

"Food dropped. Humans carry it, carry too much, drop it. Don't notice."

"Shiny humans make noise."

"Humans leaving their nests."

"Windows sometimes open. Fly inside."

"Lots of people."

"Shiny humans, shiny sticks."

"Food, food, food."

People leaving their houses? The shiny humans she knew: those were the City Guard in their leather armor with metal plating on the shoulders and chest. Shiny sticks were their spears. If they were making noise, they must be evacuating the lowlands—though on whose orders, she had no idea.

No, she had an idea. She just didn't want to tempt herself with that kind of hope.

"Do they come into the forest?" she asked, cutting through the flood of descriptions.

"Group gathers at edge of forest."

"Shiny humans. Shiny sticks."

"Only one makes noise."

Two crows fell into an argument about this. Niccola called out to them, breaking them apart. "Who is it?"

There was more arguing, from which came the only descriptors the crows seemed able to agree on. "Not shiny. Tiny shoulder dragon."

The hope struck Niccola so strongly, she might as well have taken a fist to the chest. He was safe, alive, free, in charge, coming. Pride was an understatement. Relief was similarly unsuited to describe the buoying force that tore through her, bringing her closer to tears. It was more than both of those. It was knowing—knowing—that from all the way across the Talakova, across realms and differences, through danger and capture and the fight they'd had, he had her back.

And if he was coming to capture her instead of Dinah, so be it. She'd take Dinah down with her.

"Circle around," she commanded the crows, but no sooner had the words left her mouth than Dinah broke from her paralysis and snapped something in the Talaks' language. The crows scattered skyward, their alarm-caws reverberating through the Talakova.

"Talaks! Danger!"

Dinah commanded the Talaks still. Now that Niccola was out of the Talak realm, she could no longer communicate with the forest spirits. Dinah, who'd learned their language or made a second deal for it in her decades in the Talakova, was not bound by the same restrictions. She killed more than her Crow-Moon offerings to bribe them. If she made a promise that rivaled Niccola's, Niccola would not be able to argue against it.

She had to show the Talaks she was winning. 

But chaos reigned in the trees above her. Cries of "Enemy!" tore through the flock like echoes amplified a thousand times. The enemy was Dinah as much as the Talaks, she realized. Dinah commanded the predators of the forest, tenuous though that command was. For as long as that remained the case, the crows would be of little use against her.

Unless...

"I need a brave crow," Niccola called out to the trees above. "The woman carries a knife. I need someone to distract her so I can get rid of it. Try to steal the ring of shiny metal bits she carries."

A call to bravery was enough to lure out a handful of individuals. These were the kinds of crows that would swoop down on a fishmonger's shop just to see if they could steal a fish. They were bold and inquisitive, and no doubt more amenable to a challenge than their kin. But this was not yet enough to convince them.

Niccola sweetened the deal. "If I defeat her, she will lose control of the Talaks."

Crows perked up. Now it was a challenge and a reward. One began to hop and fly from branch to branch, circling around behind Dinah. She was still speaking to the Talaks, eyes darting side to side with an expression on edge, like she could sense them circling her. Niccola wished she could see them. Then Dinah spun, shouting wide and sweeping an arm towards Niccola. And the crow dove.

The keys were attached to Dinah's belt by little more than a hook. In a flash, they were loose, and the crow was flying—only to be wrenched beak over tail as the chain on the key-ring reached its end. Dinah lunged for the crow, knife out. Niccola crashed into her shoulder-first. Dinah's knife went flying. They crashed to the ground together, Niccola using her bodyweight to pin Dinah flat. The woman writhed, clawing and hissing like a feral cat. She was not strong. If anything, she had the frailty of her true age, despite the time distortion of the Talakova.

Yet she knew how to fight. Niccola never had time to use her upper hand before an elbow slammed into her throat. She reared back on reflex. Dinah twisted out from under her, snatched the knife, and bolted across the clearing. Niccola screamed a warning. Phoebe flipped onto her back and kicked wildly. Dinah veered sideways. She was after easy prey. Her wild eyes fell on a woman cowering under the next tree, and she pounced.

Niccola saw the knife flash. Dinah slit the woman's throat, chanting something in the Talak language as she did so.

Presences converged on Niccola. Then Dinah was behind Phoebe, too, and Phoebe's tear-streaked face twisted in a scream—Niccola's name. Dinah clapped a hand over her mouth. Phoebe bucked backwards. Niccola's heart nearly stopped, but her sister was fighting, clawing at Dinah anywhere she could reach. Dinah was going to kill her. Niccola lunged towards them, but something grabbed her ankle. She crashed face-first to the dirt. Dinah unlocked Phoebe's chain, then yanked Phoebe after her. They vanished into the darkness of the Talakova's understory.

The Talaks closed in. Dinah had bribed them into the fight. "We have a deal!" Niccola screamed to the clearing around her, but they wouldn't understand. And she didn't have a deal. Only an agreement. It was in that moment that she understood—truly understood—why Calis feared magic so deeply. At any moment, she would feel claws on her back, on her neck, dragging her under—

But the Talaks had not struck again. Niccola nearly wrenched her neck looking around her as she scrambled off the ground. Her elbow smacked wood. She'd fallen next to the stump where Dinah had sat only minutes before. Dinah's lantern still sat on it, oil-fed wick glowing serenely behind its crystal glass. It was starting to burn low.

Talaks were afraid of fire.

Niccola nearly tripped on her skirts as she grabbed the lantern. On her feet, she swung it in a wide arc. Its guttering fire flared. The Talaks' presences drew back. Niccola held them at bay as she moved towards the edge of the clearing. Here were all the sticks Dinah had cleared from underfoot, or out of reach of her prisoners. Niccola set the lantern down and snatched up several: broken branches and the long-dead, uprooted spikes of baby trees. She snapped them to the same length and tore a strip off the hem of her dress to bind them.

These wouldn't light. Not yet. Niccola moved again, this time to a rock jutting from the forest floor. She laid the bundle on it, then snatched a loose stone and pounded the branches' longer ends. Their bark and wood began to flake. When she'd beaten them to a feathery texture—pausing to drive back the ever-encroaching Talaks—she fumbled with the lantern's side door until it clicked open beneath her shaking fingers. Niccola thrust her makeshift torch into the flame.

The torch caught just as the lantern gave its final sputter and ran out of oil. Now the clearing was empty of Talaks. Niccola got shakily to her feet. Phoebe was gone. Kidnapped-gone. Taken by Dinah once again. Niccola had no weapon save for sticks and stones, and a light that would last at most an hour before she had to make another one. That would take time she didn't have. She circled her sister's prison-space, and jumped in her skin as she stepped on something that jingled.

She looked down. Phoebe, in all her fighting, had torn loose what the crow had not managed to. Dinah's key-ring lay in the leaf litter at Niccola's feet.