I’d killed someone.

  Not just someone, a Third Ring cultivator. Someone who could take on a small army, had he been given another few months to adjust to his strength. True, he’d been an arrogant fool, but that was everyone who cultivated. Myself excluded, of course. And Azalea, who made up for the lack of arrogance with an overabundance of “fool.”

  Desiccated wasn’t an exaggeration, either. Kobel’s corpse looked not only drained of blood, but enfeebled. His hair was washed out and brittle-looking, skin sallow, and nails cracked.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to pity him. I felt nothing but a sense of accomplishment and a deep satiation. My body was bursting with energy, pressure…

  Wait.

  This feeling—it was almost familiar. Before I’d felt it in my core, when my divine tree was ready for growth. Now, vitae danced under my skin and through my bones. It was exhilarating and confusing in equal measure and the moment I prodded at the feeling, I fell back into my Garden.

  Order was gone, buried under a twisted tangle of mostly choking vines. Somewhere in the midst of this morass, I was held in place, vitae forced through me from tendrils that dug into my skin.

  Earlier, I hadn’t the vitae to steer this chaos, but now the very vitae that worsened it gave me that strength. After all, this was my Garden, not some overgrown wasteland.

  From the end of one limb, I conjured a thread. Then another, and another, spider legs moving, weaving, guiding.

  Don’t choke out the light or the understory dies. Slivers of sky appeared again, a duller crimson. The pulse was there, slower. A heartbeat right on the edge of action.

  Don’t grow only flowers. Cut, trim, reuse the dead material. Threads hemmed, supported, weaving trellises and tracing paths.

  Don’t overgrow such that this body’s vitae can’t sustain. A garden fence, gleaming strands that threaded above the foliage toward the hilltop. In a daze, I let myself weave, over choking vines and a dead stump. A trunk took shape, then branches, then smooth, shining leaves and flowers of shapes I’d seen only in Mother’s private garden.

  The tree formed, threads snaking under dirt and overhead, along the borders of paths and out to the silken fence ringing my Garden. Vitae coursed through it, thrumming along strands and flowing down lines in the dirt.

  Reverently, I laid a hand on the “bark”; I couldn’t feel the strands, only a smooth, warm sheen. That smoothness gave way to roughness; the heat from within became a sort of sun-warmed comfort. And when I looked up, the silken tree had exploded into resplendent color with black-green leaves and blood-red flowers. Combined with its ghostly bark, it looked like a foil to my old divine tree.

  Honestly, it was that and more. Because its roots no longer ended with itself. It was a part of a Garden. Not isolated, connected. A cog in the machine, to use a newer turn of phrase.

  I blinked at its radiance, and when I opened my eyes, I was sitting on the ground, still next to the body. Stars shone down from overhead—it’d been an hour at least. As I stood, I plucked a leaf off my shoulder; the motion was precise, and the leaf’s texture felt more real than anything I’d held before.

  “So this is what it’s like,” I half-muttered.

  “What what’s like?”

  I jumped, honed in on the sound, and pinned Azalea to a tree with four spider legs before I realized what was happening.

  “Oww…” she stared at the rivulet of blood running from one shoulder. “That’s my bad arm too—it’s, uh, you in there, right Slate?”

  “Correct.” I let her drop, heart racing, as I narrowed all my eyes. “Intentionally scaring me is not advisable. What are you doing here—and how did you find me?”

  The annoyance rubbed at her bandaged arm’s shoulder and winced. “You didn’t come back for a couple hours, so I went looking.” She gestured at the half-destroyed forest around me. “Finding this wasn’t hard, though I didn’t know you’d be the cause.”

  “...Right.” I looked away.

  “So, how was it?”

  “How was what?”

  “Your first kill.” She kicked the corpse. “Drained him good, by the looks of it.”

  I strained to keep my voice level. “How are you okay with this!?”

  She shrugged, then winced again and took a deep breath. “Well, I mean, this guy was a bastard back at the sect. Bet you didn’t know, but us girls had this creep marked.”

  “That… I’d say it makes me feel better, but it doesn’t.” I looked over at the corpse. “I don’t feel much at—what happened to his clothes?”

  “Revenge. And looting. Didn’t have much money on him, and only a couple weapons, but I found these!” She produced a ring of several keys, some of which looked worn and old. “Think one of these might be our ticket into the inner sect’s library?”

  A closer look at the keys had me shaking my head. “Maybe, but I doubt such simple locks would match. My best guess is that they’re for the mine.”

  “The mine?”

  “Nearby. There’s some technique stopping sound from getting out.”

  “And in, I hope,” Azalea added. “How long ago’d you do this? Body was still warm, I think, and I don’t know what that means.”

  I cursed under my breath. “Too long ago. I’m… lucky they didn’t find me.”

  She leaned closer. “Oh? The great and perfect Slate making mistakes?”

  My cheeks burned; the insult stung worse than it ought to have.

  “Sorry,” Azalea said before I could reply. “I’m surprised there’s a mine here. Is it a secret? Are you going to get in trouble with your parents?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “It’s not a secret. There shouldn’t be a mine here.”

  “Then it’s a secret.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She stuck out her tongue and hefted the keys. “Let’s investigate then. If they haven’t come looking, we’ve probably got some time.”

  “No, I need to return home and report this to Father.”

  “Looking like that?”

  I froze, sequestering several thoughts away into a corner of my mind. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “...Right. You know, if this is an illegal mine, all we’ve got are these keys.” She leaned forward and—oh damnit I knew that grin. “Wouldn’t it be useful to find out what they’re mining and who it’s for?”

  I hissed out a sigh. “I suppose we ought to see if we can find a ledger and an ore sample. They’ll realize something is wrong soon and destroy what evidence they can. But you are to be silent and we will only take what is necessary. If there are others guarding this place, we will leave immediately. Am I understood?”

  “Loud and clear!” She stuck her hand against her forehead in the poorest imitation of a salute I’d ever seen.

  Rather than correct her, I turned to march away, then stopped by the body. “I’ll need to think of a story.”

  “Oh, I’ve got one, how about—”

  “I will think of one.” Already, the basics were laid out. “A loud fight, I snuck by when the demon was sated, and I snatched whatever we found.”

  “Killjoy.”

  “What?” I didn’t turn around, instead jumping into the nearest unbroken tree.

  “Never mind,” Azalea mumbled as she leapt up to follow.

  ***

  Sound returned the moment we slipped down into the sharp-edged canyon. The roar of the river, which had been present, intensified. Over it, I could somehow hear the murmur of voices inside the bunkhouse.

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  My legs’ immediate instinct seemed to be a head-first descent; I disagreed and went feet first. Azalea climbed down slowly behind me, cradling her injured arm.

  We landed in the shadows behind a dilapidated-looking outbuilding, near where the river tumbled into the ravine and the mine plunged into the mountain. From the bottom, we could see no stairs or ramp up the sides.

  In fact, the only exit seemed to be a dock at the far end where the river calmed; a rickety boat bobbed up and down in the water. Next to it, three small barges were also chained to the stone and mortar dock. My sharp eyes spotted a large lock on one of the chains. There were no ore carts about, and no tailings either. From this angle, I couldn’t see into the shed where the tracks led either.

  “Do you know anything about mining?” Azalea whispered.

  “A bit,” I replied tersely. “We need to see whatever it is they’re mining.”

  “And a ledger,” she added.

  With the eyes I had now, I could clearly see both the building and Azalea at the same time. Blinking a few eyes closed, Azalea came into sharper focus.

  “I think we can slip in and out,” she said with far more confidence than her injury should have allowed.

  “I don’t,” I answered. “But I do think we need to move.”

  “Let’s check the mine then. There’s bound to be ore in there, right?”

  More eyes opened just so I could enhance my glare. “I’m not even going to bother explaining to you how stupid—”

  The sound of voices cut our conversation short. The two of us pulled up against the side of the building, shadows sticking to Azalea like a cloak.

  “...still out playing around!” One voice, high and feminine, complained. “I hate that we’re always doing his job!”

  “Quiet,” the other, masculine and reedy, hissed. “If he hears you—”

  “He’s not around!” The first shot back. “Ugh! I hate this stupid assignment, I hate all the interruptions to my training. And I hate checking every damn corner just because that one—”

  “Cass,” Reedy-Voice said sharply, voice suddenly serious.

  Cass gave no reply; my eyes went wide. Oh no. The voices were down by the dock, between the foreman’s office and the bunkhouse, but they’d been getting closer. Before I could think of a plan, Azalea’s hand grabbed mine and my vision dimmed as shadow melded over the two of us.

  Next to me, her red eyes glinted in the darkness and I jumped with her from crevice to shed to the inside wall of the mine. Neither of us dared to risk a look outside; Azalea pulled us down the tunnel, following the tracks.

  I’d been in a mine before. I’d spoken to miners in Graystone; I liked to think I had at least a cursory understanding of mining operations. This mine was decidedly not like that. There were no adits, no forks, no chambers. Just a single tunnel, lightly twisting and headed down.

  Ahead of us, I could pick out the faint sound of pickaxes hitting stone; behind us, the echo of unguarded voices. At some point, I’d switched to leading, Azalea trailing behind me. When I turned, I saw her look from over my shoulder over to my eyes.

  “Spooky,” she whispered, then immediately used a technique I recognized. The echo of her words faded. “Glad one of us can see in the dark.”

  I blinked; there were lanterns, but very few. Despite that, the tunnel was lit up like day. The single tunnel. With no places to hide.

  “Spooky?” I said back to her with an unfortunately literal hiss. “That’s the first thing on your mind right now?”

  “Your eyes glow.”

  “Azalea.” I stopped, spun around, grabbed her good shoulder, and shook her. “We’re stuck in the mine now. If we can’t find a hiding place, and we can’t take those two, we’re dead.”

  To my surprise, Azalea scoffed. “Cassytha’s a bootlicking pushover. We can take her.”

  “You know her?”

  “Not directly! She’s from Shimmering Shadows too. Used to be an outer disciple—and not a very good one—until she suddenly broke through and became inner sect. Happened the year before we got there.”

  “And you know this…”

  “Because I like gossip!”

  I narrowed my eyes—all of them. “For blackmail, no doubt.”

  “Of course!” she chirped. “Don’t tell me you’re the only one at the sect who didn’t use it.”

  “I do not openly admit to engaging in such behavior, no. Regardless… this is a clue.”

  “Yep!”

  My eyebrow twitched—or the spot where it used to be did. Now wasn’t the time to explain the clue to her, and I had the infuriating hunch that she had neither figured it out nor intended to do so on her own. Yet she’d had the presence of mind to track me down on the mountain. A clear case of either obsession or selective incompetence.

  “Let’s ambush them!”

  A hiss escaped me, the sound instinctive in a way that was both deeply unsettling and comfortable. “I… fail to see how that is possible.”

  Azalea’s red eyes glittered in the dim light. “Set up a web and pretend to be mining if we can’t hide.”

  My jaws set and… that is a strange feeling. With a click of too many fangs somewhere I settled again on a glower. “Never mind my eight giant spider legs, we do not look like miners.”

  Azalea shrugged. “I’ll pull us into the shadows again.”

  Not yelling at her was exceptionally difficult. “Behind what cover?”

  “Support beam or something.”

  “And if there are none? Or if we must pass others first?”

  “Then you and I need to try to look like miners!”

  Once again, I sent a well-practiced glare her way. Azalea, frankly… actually stood a chance of blending in with the miners. Lean and wearing patchwork robes, all she’d need to do was cram her hair into a bun again. Plus… she was human. And therefore, provided she kept her head down and wasn’t recognized by the two people getting distressingly close inside the tunnel, she would not cause a loud and noticeable atypical panic.

  “Would they recognize you?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Probably not.”

  “Fix your hair then, just in case.”

  “No problem boss. But, we should really keep going,” Azalea whispered as she pulled her hair up.

  “I know that,” I snapped, tugging her hand and pulling us into a sprint again.

  Human. If we wanted a chance of ambushing them, of not blowing our cover and alerting them at best or calling reinforcements at worst, I had to look human. When I tried to imagine myself, the image kept slipping and distorting, calling out all my worst features.

  Fine, then. Doesn’t have to be me. Probably shouldn’t be me.

  All the stories of demons I had read, the legends I had heard, the stage plays I had seen, the demon could disguise as a human. Oh, there was always a flaw: an odd scent, webbed fingers, a hidden third eye, fangs. All things that were key characteristics of their true forms. They would hardly be creatures of nightmare if they were inept at hunting their favored prey.

  Prey.

  Vitae rushed through roots, up tendrils, out flowers, and my body thrummed. Spider legs twitched as silk burst from their tips. A form for the hunt. The strands wrapped around me, spinning and pulling tight. Prey said something irreverent; I moved a leg and fixed their mouth with sticky silk.

  The hunt.

  No memories, no rigidity; deception, allure, one bite. My additional legs bent down, pulled taut, pulled in. Vision shrunk to blackness, balance shifted, and I saw the floor. My mind skipped as my knees hit with twin thuds.

  The hand that caught me had pink nails, perfectly trimmed. Skin too perfect, like a stage play actor with too much makeup. Next to me, the pr—Azalea mumbled and stumbled. I had to turn my head to look at her—it felt off. When I did, she had a thin strip of webbing stuck across her mouth; she tugged it off immediately.

  “Slate, what—”

  “I think I hear a disobedient rat,” Cassytha sing-songed down the tunnel. “Or would it be ‘bat,’ I wonder? Oh what a shame it would be to be caught slacking.”

  The footsteps behind us sped up. Azalea and I leapt to our feet and started running. I’d learned to move silently as part of my sect training, and I’d always struggled. Now? It felt effortless.

  When I blinked, however, my vision cut off jarringly. I didn’t need a mirror to know I had a human face, with human eyes and a human jaw. No one needed to tell me my eight new appendages were hidden by the technique. Unfortunately, I could also feel a distinct bounce in my chest with every frantic step. This isn’t my body then; I probably just hid the demon bits.

  The whole thing felt like I was wearing too-tight clothing, like my skin wasn’t quite skin—too smooth. Literally too smooth, like silk. It is silk.

  In front of us, the sounds of mining grew loud enough to clang off the walls and vibrate my teeth. The voices and footsteps behind us kept pace, unburdened by the need for silence. Soon, they’d pass where we’d been. From the taunting Cassytha kept sending our way, and the lack of protest from the guy she was with, we might be lucky. They might not think too hard about this.

  Up ahead, the tunnel widened, then spilled out into an immense chamber. What I thought was a trick of the eyes brought on by my technique turned out to be a very real reddish glow. It came from a floor-to-ceiling pillar of stone in the center of the chamber, one the color of old blood.

  Where it led was where the miners worked. No more than two dozen, probably fewer, men and women were chipping away around the base of the pillar, down in a trench deeper than two men and wider than two carriages. All the way around… must have been nearly the length of a horse racing track.

  Each was dressed in the same drab, dirty outfit, and each swing of the pickaxe sparked against the stone like they were striking flint. Very few managed to chip a piece off, and those that did added to the small pile by their feet. Two half-empty minecarts sat on each end of the track that split and wound its way around the whole operation, on the narrow shelf dug into the rock beyond the lake of red stone.

  Azalea grabbed my hand and pulled me inside. Though focused on their tasks, a few of the workers looked up, staring at both of us. Mostly me.

  Did my technique fail?

  I looked down as Azalea pulled us toward the trench. Instead of the bland training robe with the back cut out, I wore… a memory. Pale red with a gemstone pattern more suited to Mother’s family and wide, soft silk hems. My father had gotten rid of the robe two summers ago. This one wasn’t sized for a child, but an adult. And the heir apparent shouldn’t wear such—

  Power.

  The moment Azalea pulled us into the trench, behind the pillar and out of sight of the tunnel, all other thoughts ceased. I placed a hand on the red stone, between two bewildered miners.

  Warm.

  “S—uhh, Silk?” Azalea hissed.

  “Silk?” I whispered back, feeling the rough texture of the stone and the vitae that thrummed inside.

  “Y-yeah, that’s your name, right?”

  I frowned. No, of course not. Why is she calling me that?

  This vitae was ancient, furious… familiar. Slowly, I looked up at the chamber’s roof. At the top of the pillar, the stone practically dripped with power-filled…

  Oh… Oh no.

  Right?