It was no wonder that in all the decades since the Catastrophe, no person in the Ring of Thirty had ever found Dinah. Niccola followed her silently as they moved deeper and deeper into the Talakova: farther, Niccola was sure, than any person alive today had ever ventured. The sky dimmed as the canopy thickened, rising ever higher over land that sloped down into the great bowl that swallowed all waterways in the Ring of Thirty. The Talakova was deeper than its outside dimensions would suggest. A crow could fly across the top of it in the span of half a moon, but as far as the best minds in the realms could tell, one that dropped from a tree in the middle would be lost to a time distortion that made the forest's depths as good as infinite, and would never be seen again.

Dinah murmured incantations while she walked. Niccola both did and did not want to know what those were for.

With the closing of the canopy, all sense of time's passing disappeared. Dinah procured a lantern from somewhere and lit it, casting a fragile sphere of light about them as the darkness thickened. Things with tendrils like vegetative spiderweb replaced plants on the forest floor. The crunch of leaves underfoot was gone. So too were the bird songs, frog calls, and insect trills that enlivened those brighter areas, but the silence here was no less alive. It was a breathing kind of silence, shifting and full of unseen things, unheard sounds, and presences that seemed to brush against Niccola's skin without ever touching her. The heavy smell of damp, moss, and rotting wood hung in the air.

And it was cold. Far colder than the forest's edge, and only growing more so the deeper they went. With the air so damp, Niccola was soon beset by a bone-deep chill, which gripped her with teeth that neither clothing nor the warmth of exertion seemed able to fend off. She gathered her skirts about her. Cutting their swish was only half the purpose. Frills of dark fungi now lurked around logs or trees, and she did not want to brush against them.

Niccola had no sense of how long they had been walking when Dinah finally lowered the lantern. They stepped out into a clearing that seemed to have materialized only when they reached it, and Niccola's whole world disappeared as a shriek rang out from its other side.

A familiar figure leaped up at the base of a tree. "Niccola!"

"Phoebe!"

Dinah did not intervene as Niccola nearly tripped herself running to her sister. Phoebe fell into her arms, sobbing hysterically.

"Are you hurt?" demanded Niccola. "Did she hurt you?"

Phoebe shook her head, incoherent. She was bound to the tree behind her, cuffed at the ankle and tethered by a length of chain. And she was not alone. Closer now, Niccola realized the forest behind her sister was dotted with other people, similarly chained. A rekindled hatred began to heat the cold that had permeated Niccola's body.

"How long have these people been here?" she murmured to her sister.

"She keeps taking them away."

"How often?"

"Every five days, I think? Sometimes sooner, if she's asking for other favors from the Talaks."

A six-to-one distortion. Five days would be every Crow Moon, confirming that Dinah's magic now required a death's worth of blood each moon. That aligned perfectly with how little she had aged when compared to how long she had been missing. It also meant Phoebe had been here for more than a moon, even in deep-forest time.

"I tried to escape," said Phoebe, with a hiccup that turned back into tears as she spoke. "But she talks to the Talaks, and they don't let me leave. She's..." Her breath shuddered. "She's sacrificed everyone else, except me. And then she finds more people, and sacrifices them, too. Niccola, you have to stop her."

"That's what I'm here for."

But something was wrong here. Niccola chased the feeling through everything Phoebe had said, wracking her brain until she realized what was bothering her. Dinah can't have been sacrificing a person every Crow Moon for two generations without someone in the realms noticing. Even if she picked off the poor, lone, and disadvantaged first—even if she moved from realm to realm to spread out the damage—there was no way seven-fifty to eight hundred people could simply vanish unexplained from the Ring of Thirty over the course of sixty-three years.

And why keep Phoebe alive when everyone else caught here had cycled through the Crow Moon sacrifices?

Phoebe was still crying as Niccola turned so she could see Dinah again. The woman had shed her coat and set down her lantern. She was perched comfortably on a stump in the middle of the clearing, one leg crossed over the other, and her chin resting on one hand as she watched them both with an amused expression.

"Enjoying your reunion?" she said, when Niccola met her eye.

"What do you want from us?"

"I imagine you'll find out soon enough." Dinah waved a hand at her and Phoebe. "Carry on. The child's missed you quite fiercely, I must say."

Phoebe squirmed in Niccola's arms. "Nicca? You're going cold."

"What do you mean?"

"Your hands. They're—"

Looking up at her at last, Phoebe stopped dead. Her eyes widened, and the blotchy pink of crying drained from the white patches that ringed her mouth and dotted her cheeks and chin. Niccola stepped back automatically.

"Nicca?" said Phoebe, her voice suddenly trembling. "What's wrong with your eyes?"

"My eyes?"

"They're..." Lacking words, Phoebe just touched a finger to her own. "They're Talak colour," she whispered.

Niccola had never seen a Talak. Not in person, face to face. They were invisible unless they chose to show themselves. But the horror spreading over Phoebe's expression made her realize just why Dinah had been biding her time. Nine moons. It wasn't up yet, but she'd walked into the heart of Talak territory with a magic-deal that remained unfulfilled. Buying into barrower magic cost a life, and the stakes of that were higher than simply not maintaining it. A person who didn't make their maintenance offerings simply lapsed. One who never paid the upfront cost in the first place turned into a Talak themself.

Niccola raised a hand, turning it over in the lantern-light. She could see straight through it.

"You're not my sister," said Phoebe. In an instant, she'd wrenched back, pinning herself to the tree she was chained to. "Stop imitating her. I won't fall for it."

"Phoebe—"

"Go away."

"Phoebe, it's me."

Phoebe screamed, "You're not my sister! Go away!"

"I must say," said Dinah, "the silver does look good on you."

Niccola whipped around. That must be what Phoebe meant by Talak colour. Yet Niccola was not the only one with silver on her now. It tinted the forest all around, shading the trees and etching each detail of the forest floor. This was different than the night-vision barrower magic gave her. This was stronger. Much stronger.

Niccola's voice shook. "It's not Crow Moon yet."

Dinah pulled out her dagger and began to polish it with the hem of her skirt, not even deigning to look up. "Perhaps not, but the Talaks are quite eager to see you. They've been drooling over that one"—she tipped the dagger-point in Phoebe's direction—"since the moment I told them you were in Calis close by. Quite kind of you to make yourself so available. Varna is a beastly walk away." She tipped the dagger again, this time admiring its gleam in the lantern-light. "I like my cabin in this part of the forest much better."

None of this made sense. Dinah had trapped Phoebe and held her here, then come looking for Niccola as well, presumably for something different than the ritual Crow Moon sacrifices. But why?

And did it matter? Niccola grappled with her too-fast breathing as Dinah sheathed the dagger and returned to her lazy posture, like she fully intended to sit here and watch Niccola transform. Phoebe was not lapsed. That meant Dinah was free for use to fulfill the requirements of Niccola's own magic-line. If only she could get that dagger. Niccola's eyes strayed around the clearing. There were no rocks—she suspected Dinah had cleared them on purpose—but not far off was a loose chain and open ankle-cuff, pooled at the base of a tree. Its other end was not connected.

"You are welcome to try," said Dinah.

Niccola snatched the chain and lunged at her. She was almost within striking distance when the air seemed to thicken. Creatures materialized on either side of Dinah. They were subhuman, near-transparent and outlined in silver, their eyes glowing fiercely in the darkness. Sharp fangs glinted as they hissed in unison. Niccola recoiled.

"Tsk tsk," Dinah clucked. "Forgetting the rules of the forest already?"

Had she truly turned so far already that Talak rules applied to her? That she couldn't touch a barrower? She couldn't have. These Talaks must be protecting Dinah for another reason. Niccola retreated several steps, enough for Dinah's bodyguards to close their mouths. One's eyes flicked hungrily between her and Phoebe. A snake-like tongue danced between its teeth.

Her and Phoebe. What did she and her sister have in common?

They were Varnic royalty. So were their late parents. But what would Dinah gain from luring them into the forest when she could simply poison them like she had the Varnic queen and king? No, she wanted something. Something, it seemed, that could only be attained by capturing Phoebe and then tracking Niccola down. Something that set the Talaks slavering. Something that would not be damaged by Niccola's own transformation—but which that transformation seemed key to. Why else would Dinah have gone through all the trouble of luring her here with the promise of seeing her sister?

"Tell me," said Dinah. "What are the nicest walking paths in the Varnic part of the mountains? I'd love to see them someday."

"I'm sure you have already, have you not?" said Niccola coldly. "Or do your wings not take you far enough for casual exploration?"

"Ah, but wings and feet are quite a different experience, don't you agree? Walking is far more enjoyable when one's form is built for it, without fear of capture by a neighborhood cat."

"Then go in human form. Surely you are aware that most walking paths in Varna are isolated enough that you would be at low risk of being spotted."

Dinah's smile faded. Niccola's mind whirred in search of ways to prolong this conversation. She needed time. Somehow, this all fit together: her and Phoebe, the death of their parents, the recent rise in disappearances, and how long Dinah had been gone. The situation was a puzzle, and she was tantalizingly close to an answer, if only she could wring more clues out of this woman. Dinah, for her part, seemed willing to talk to one she believed would soon be as good as dead.

"There's a particularly pleasant trail beginning not far from the palace stables," said Niccola. "It runs far into the mountains. With luck, you will find a wildcat and never be seen again."

Dinah's look lost the last of its amusement. She did not seem prone to boasting, but perhaps goading would prod her to reveal secrets. Niccola had little left to lose, anyway.

"Make sure to stop by the palace rookeries as well," she continued, smiling. Sarcasm took its turn. "The crows simply adore things that reek of Talaks. You might collapse the whole Varnic economy simply by walking its streets. Is that not what you wanted when Madeira invaded?"

"I am collapsing nothing," snapped Dinah.

"Really? Yet you've killed or kidnapped most of the Varnic royal lineage, with the intent to lure its final member into the forest alone."

"Thus proving that I would make a better ruler of your realm than that demi-queen who let herself be lured." The disdain in Dinah's voice stung like snake venom. "You made my plans unreasonably difficult, for one so willing to walk out on her own people for the sake of a single princess. Or was your motive revenge? I daresay you have little to chastise me over, as you enjoy your final days in human form."

She spat the final words with unexpected bitterness. Niccola's mind sifted through this new information at flying speed. She had made Dinah's life difficult. Had Phoebe been the sole target at first, then? That would explain why Dinah made no attempt to take Niccola, too, right after Phoebe's kidnapping. Niccola had even been in the forest as she followed the wayfinders along her sister's trail. She should have been an easy target.

And the bitterness about human form. Dinah was bound to the forest, forced to take captives and bleed them dry every Crow Moon to sustain her magic-line, waiting while the world outside forgot her name and face. Perhaps counting on the Calisian royal family to erase it for her. And she wanted to get out. To return to human form in the outside world, and take over the empty Varnic throne with the intent to rule, not destroy. And somehow, Phoebe—then Phoebe and Niccola both—were instrumental to that solution.

"I am tired of this," said Dinah. She stood and set her lantern on the stump beside her. In its light, Niccola saw her bare arms for the first time. They were riddled with scars. Dinah turned to the Talaks still standing sentinel on either side of her. "Take her," she said.

Something cold ran up Niccola's spine as the air around her thickened. Dinah was fading. Niccola spun around for Phoebe, only to find her sister also turning ghostly against the tree where she stood pressed. The silver outlines of the forest shone through Niccola's own body, brighter with every heartbeat that passed. Her breaths came short and fast. She had to kill Dinah. Yet by the time her eyes fell upon the stump the necromantic had stood beside a moment before, she was alone in the clearing.

Alone except for the Talaks.