“We almost did not come up here,” the woman who carried the banner told the gate guards. “Those trees weren’t on your road when I was here last! How —” Looking past the guard’s shoulder, she saw Briar. “Oh. I thought Rana made that up about you growing trees from nothing. Never mind. I bring messages for Prince Parahan and Princess Soudamini, and Captains Lango and Jha!”

Only when Lango identified the newcomers as General Sayrugo’s warriors did the guards open the gate. The messenger and her guards led their horses inside. Briar felt distantly sorry for them. They would soon learn of their own losses: the slaughter of Captain Jha and his company. At least they had been soldiers. They had known they were expected to die in war. Evvy had not. She had been dragged here by Briar and Rosethorn. She had not wanted anything to do with the emperor. All she had wanted to do was see the mountains.

Evvy slept a lot. She dreamed, too, and they were the strangest dreams of her life. The fluorite bear was in most of them, trundling beside her from her head to her feet, watching as snakes made of backbones and skulls unwound her bandages. Lions made of ice and packed snow licked her feet. A spider at least twice her size leaped down from a roof she couldn’t see and bandaged her feet in its webs.

In some dreams, when the bear wasn’t present, a woman with a white eye painted on her forehead came and argued with her about food. Usually Evvy would drink the soup brought by the woman just so she would go away. Evvy knew that dreams didn’t work like that. People didn’t go away because you did the things they wanted you to do in dreams, but these dreams were as odd as the strange things that she saw in them.

In one, she asked the fluorite bear, “Which is weirder, the nine-headed snake, or —” Suddenly she was wide-awake and saying, “— the giant spiders that come from above?” She sat up and looked around. She was definitely awake. She could feel her ragged clothes against her skin. She could smell herself. When had she last bathed? “Can you smell me?” she asked the bear.

“No,” it said gravely.

“Oh, good.” Swallowing, terrified of what she might see, she made herself look at her feet. They were there, looking like her ordinary, everyday feet. She wriggled her toes. They were stiff, but not painful. “I dreamed the Yanjingyi yujinon flayed my feet and killed everyone in the fort, but that part was so real,” she murmured. “I dreamed they killed my cats. And then I came here and a big spider wrapped my feet in its webs. I know that part was a dream.”

“It was all real, Evumeimei Dingzai,” the bear told her. “I called to you so you might find safety here in the mountains. The webs dropped from your feet a sunrise ago, when your feet were healed.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks. “My cats really are dead?”

“Once I understood why you called for them in your dreams, I showed their images to one of my snow leopards,” the bear said. “She went to the dead pile behind the stone cave. She found the seven little cats that matched your dreams in the pile.”

Evvy turned over on the soft pile of rags where she had been sleeping and wept harder.

When she finally dried her eyes and sat up again, she found the bear had not moved. “I don’t usually cry like this,” she told him belligerently. “Just so you don’t go thinking I’m some kind of watering pot.”

“What is a watering pot?” he asked.

“It’s a jar. You put water in it and pour it on plants so they grow.”

“Is not the rain enough?”

Evvy rubbed the dried blood on the back of one foot. It flaked off. “People have plants in their houses. They use watering pots for indoor rain.” Slowly, grimacing because she was so stiff, she drew one foot up onto the opposite knee so she could look at the sole. It was puffy with scars that crisscrossed the flesh, but when she poked them, they were merely sore, not as painful as they had been when she had fled the fort. “You cured them.”

“The webs of the peak spider cured them,” the bear explained. “Forgive us for keeping you in slumber. We felt that it would be less unnerving for you if you did not see how you were healed.”

“I don’t care about how I was healed,” Evvy said bitterly. “I care that I was hurt in the first place. I care that they killed all those people in the fort. I care that they killed my cats.” She opened and closed her hands, remembering the feel of the stone-cold dead cats under them as she crawled over bodies, looking for clothes. “What did the villagers ever do to deserve dying like that, tell me! They had little ones with them, babies, and those imperial qus killed them and dumped them in a pile to rot!” She glared at the fluorite bear, who had cocked his head knob once more. “What! You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“I do not know what crazy means,” the creature said in his slow, thoughtful way. “What I think is that we healed the hurt in your feet and the hurt in your body, but now your spirit is sick. I want to heal that pain for you, but I do not know how. I can heal the meat creatures of my mountain, but I leave two-legged meat creatures to their own kind.”

“Do you always talk this way?” Evvy demanded. She wasn’t being polite, or grateful, but if her cats were dead, why couldn’t this thing just have left her to die? Briar and Rosethorn have each other, she thought. The memory went through her like lightning. Briar and Rosethorn! If the enemy got around General Sayrugo and her troops, or killed them all, to reach Fort Sambachu, maybe they caught up to Briar and Rosethorn, too! How will I ever know?