The voice wouldn't shut up.

The voice talked and talked and talked.

Whenever Eli tried to quiet the voice, another stream of babble issued forth, like water rising from an artesian well. And whenever he tried to focus on the sparks, the colors and shapes, the sounds and scents, all seeped together with no boundaries or edges. Without solid ground to anchor his sleeping, delusional mind.

Until, finally, the sparks coalesced into a single comprehensible point.

An unmoving perspective that floated in the middle of ... of a workshop. Chivat Lo'sworkshop, with the books and benches and alchemical counter and weapons rack.

Nothing looked different, except for the corpse on the floor. Which was wrapped to the neck in blankets, with a pillow snugged beneath its head. He saw a bowl of water on the ground nearby, with flower petals floating on the surface. And on the counter, instead of flasks and herbs, a whole meal waited: biscuits and grilled cabbage, melon, and ...

And no meat.Huh.

Before he could think about that, a spark showed him the wave-bladed knife an inch from the corpse's upturned palm. Strange weapon. From the jungles of north, a long piercing dagger that opened a terrible wound in--

The corpse's fingers clenched.

Oh!

That wasn't a corpse, that was . That was him lying there with his head on a pillow.

At the thought, his eyes opened and his vision bloomed into another perspective and he felt ... he felt okay. Warm and clean and comfortable. Maybe a tiny bit lightheaded, like after an ale or two, but not impaired, like after eight or nine.

The single point above him divided into two when he separated the sparks. He remained unmoving, except for his hand inching toward the dagger, as the sparks checked the workroom. To his relief, he was alone. Well, except for an corpse, which was wrapped in oilpaper in the corner.

After a moment, Eli grabbed the dagger and stood. Barefoot and naked to the waist. He was still wearing his trousers, though. Which he considered an absolute triumph. He hadn't woken up completely naked that time.

As he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, the spark showed him a note on the counter.

"What in the third moon?" he said aloud.

After the sparks completed another circuit of the workshop, Eli peeled back the oilpaper to check the wrapped corpse. Chivat Lo's body was covered with fragrant dust, maybe some kind of preservative. The paper only contained him, though. There was no sign of the girl 'Mulch.' Was 'Laranya' her real name? That didn't make sense. Mulch had poisoned him, blindfolded him, bashed his skull, then leapt in front of his blade to save Chivat Lo.

So would she tuck him in to heal? Not without a stake in his heart. Which meant there was a third person.

He couldn't imagine who, though. And he couldn't imagine why they'd write a note like that. Judging from the light, he'd slept for the entire night. If the third person had wanted to hurt him, they could've killed him in his sleep. Which meant that everything was safe, right?

He wasn't sure about that, but he was pretty hungry. So he ate the melon and biscuits, and drank the watery wine.The mysterious third person had apparently chosen outfits for Eli, because a stack of clothes was arranged in the front of the cabinet. Chivat Lo had been slightly taller than Eli, though a good deal skinner, so the person had chosen baggy clothing, which fit pretty well.

The cabinet also contained armor. Mostly treated leather, though he found some brigandine, too, and a coat reinforced with a rough hide he didn't recognize. He grabbed a belt for the wave-bladed dagger then finished the biscuits and left the workshop, following a spark through the concealed door into Chivat Lo's apartment.

Where sparks showed him hallways and rooms, furniture and paintings and--, motion.

The girl. Mulch. Kneeling in the bright, comfortable room, facing away from him. Wearing another billowy dress, though this one was a pale blue. Her plaited hair swung as she cleaned ash from the hearth with a scoop, and the comb or hair-tie at the tip of her braid danced with her movements.

He padded silently to the doorway.

She hummed as she worked. She looked so innocent and oblivious, and her backside moved so enticingly in the light fabric of her dress, that Eli he was being played. She'd devised this scene with him in mind, to make herself look harmless and fetching.

It was working, too.

Even though she'd almost killed him, he didn't feel any threat from her. He didn't trust that, though, so watched her warily, in silence, from behind, while the sparks patrolled for danger.

The soles of her bare feet were filthy and the braided cords around her ankle were green like vines. He didn't recognize the song she was humming. There was something foreign about the tune, a sweet and lilting harmony--or maybe it something .

He needed to remember her swinging that sword at his neck. And how she'd thrown herself on top of Chivat Lo, to take the blade for him.

The sparks didn't find anything suspicious in the apartment. Chivat Lo's bedroom was shabby and opulent at the same time. The compartment in the wall where the incense had been burning, the poison smoke which had been covered by the scent of durinberries, was now empty and--

A thought occurred to Eli. poison smoke? First the smoth that hurt the trolls, and now this?

That couldn't be a coincidence. Either Chivat Lo had supplied the marquis's alchemists, or the other way around. Eli didn't know what to with that idea, though, so after a few more seconds he just stepped into the room.

The girl heard him. She paused and seemed to hold her breath while he crossed the room.

Then he sat at the couch and she finished cleaning the hearth.

When she finally turned, her face was smudged with ash. She looked young. Young enough that she hadn't lost the roundness in her face, but in a few years all that pretty softness would turn into striking beauty. High cheekbones, a rosebud mouth, a faint scar on her pointy chin.

"Um, how was the melon?" she asked. "I wasn't sure what kind you like best."

"Good," he said. "Thanks."

"So." She exhaled. "Apparently I'm still a little scared of you."

"Yeah, I might blow powder in your face then bash your head in."

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know , though."

"You don't know why you're a little scared of the man who killed your master? The man whose head you tried to lop off before you, what, tucked him in for a good night's sleep? And now he's sitting here with a blade and you're unarmed?"

"That's why I gave you my holly dagger. As long as not scared--or, I guess angry--you're not going to hurt me."

"Why wouldn't I be angry?"

She skooched closer to the couch, sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking up at him. "You're a little angry, but ..."

"But what?"

"But I'm young and pretty and female. You won't hurt me unless you have to."

"You sure about that?"

"Well, I'm definitely young and female!"

He snorted a laugh. "And now you're fishing for compliments?"

"See?" she said, though he wasn't sure what she meant. "Okay, um ... I'm not sure how to say this, so first, my name is Laranya."

"Chivat Lo called you 'Mulch.'""He called me worst things than that. He wasn't ..." Sorrow showed on her face, and she trailed off. "I don't want to talk about him. So second, you saved my life."

"When did I do that?"

"When you killed him. I was--I couldn't stay with him much longer, not and stay rooted. I already tried once to--to jump off the roof, but I couldn't face the ..." Her frail smile turned sadder. "But I would've, I think, and soon, and that scares me more than a little."

Eli felt his eyebrows draw together. "He made you serve him?"

"I volunteered. And third thing is--"

"You ?"

"And third," she continued, "is that when you save someone's life, you owe them."

"What?"

"You heard me. When you save someone's life, you owe them."

"You've got that backward. If I saved your life, owe ."

"No. You owe me. If I was dead, I'd be dead. That'd be the end of it. But I'm alive because of you. Everything I do now, and everything that's done to me--that's on your head."

"I don't think so."

"I am in your keeping, Eli. Your honor demands it."

A realization bubbled up from deep in Eli's mind, from something he'd read in his years as a scribe. Her cheekbones, her humming, her faint accent. The fact that she spoke so confidently about honor and--and how she'd used the word 'rooted.'

"You're a ," he said.

"Do I look like a naked plant lady?" she demanded, her tone turning sharper.

"So you're ... a dryn?"

"It's pronounced dryn," she said, though he couldn't hear the difference.

"You're from the Glade," he said, trying to remember what he'd read of her people.

"I am."

Despite the nickname, dryns were fully human. They lived in jungle treehouses, though, and wore vines and leaves. According to the monograph he read, they worshipped the trees and were shy of outsiders. So naturally people started calling them 'dryads.' Which apparently they didn't appreciate. The girl's sharp reaction actually comforted Eli, because if she'd just been trying to sweeten him, she wouldn't have let her annoyance show. Oh! Although ... dryn hunted with blowguns and poison darts, just like Chiva Lo had used; so he couldn't trust her too much.

"And fourth," she said, "when you--"

"Hold on," he told her. "Maybe I saved your life, but you saved mine too. Last thing I remember, you were standing over me with a bloody sword, about to chop my head off."

"Yes, well ..." She looked faintly abashed. "I was, er, released from my obligations to Chivat Lo when he died. So then I didn't attack you. Well, that time. I'm sorry about, um, earlier. When I attack you."

"Uh-huh," he said.

"So I didn't save your life, there at the end. I simply didn't take it."

"And I didn't save your life. I simply took ."

She sniffed. "Grassfolk know nothing of honor. So save my life. So you owe me, like it or not."

"I'm not a dryad."

"Neither am I, you hedgehead! Now can I please tell you number four?"

"That depends. How many numbers are there?"

She made a face at him. "And fourth is, the serum that you drank? The green liquid? Chivat Lo concocted that to remove inhibitions."

"What does that mean?"

"That after two or three drops, people cannot stop talking. They admit ... everything. Every secret, every shame, every ... everything. And you swallowed enough to kill an ordinary man. Eli, you drank so much that--"

"You know my name," he said.

"I know everything." She chewed at her lower lip and looked up at him. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. You talked to me for fifteen, sixteen hours. I know everything."