Page 147 of Kingdoms of Night

She had already set her pack down. “I have a tea for headaches and weakness.”

She moved quickly and precisely, pulling out some of the cuttings she’d taken throughout their journey and measuring them out. She then popped them into the white teapot. When she twisted the lid, it flashed with color, and then an elegant painting of blue and purple violets with delicate leaves unfurled over the white porcelain.

“So kind of you,” the beggar rasped. He held the seed cakes in both gloved hands, the knit ends frayed on three of the fingers, didn’t eat them. “Very kind of you both indeed. Such a sweet young couple so obviously in love to take pity on an old man.”

Feron scoffed. This old man had to be blind, but he wasn’t about to start listing the many reasons Idalno wouldn’t waste her time on him.

She shot him an icy glare.

He jerked his head back. It wasn’t as though he’d made the comment. Let her flash freeze the old man.

She stiffened as she leaned over the teapot, then squared her shoulders. Whatever words she wanted to say she seemed to swallow. Instead she adjusted the lid and then organized the contents of the pack before she closed it. All the while she avoided looking at him. “This will only take a minute. What were you doing here? Did you get lost in the labyrinth? It doesn’t seem like an easy place to get out of.”

“No, it isn’t,” the beggar said miserably. He still hadn’t eaten the seed cakes. “I was tracking a man who had a donkey head instead of the head of a man. And I found myself lost. Don’t know how long I’ve been here.”

Faerie was a dangerous place. Strange as the man was, Feron couldn’t help but wonder if this was the fate that awaited him and Idalno. How long before they would go mad? Every attempt to cheat or solve the labyrinth had resulted in failure.

“Here.” She poured the tea into the canteen lid. “Drink this. And if you like, you can join us.”

Feron snapped a scowl in her direction. He knew she was mad, but did she have to go mad?

“Join you? Join you for what?” He accepted the black lid in one hand, and the steam rose around his face, twisting along his gnarled features and greasy hair. But he didn’t drink the tea. “Help an old man understand.”

“We’re here to rescue two children.” His stomach roiled. Something was off with this man. He was familiar but wrong, and Idalno was much too close. “Have we met?”

The beggar moved both the cup and the seed cakes to one hand and then pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing an exceptionally dirty face and dark, almost-black eyes. Heavy bags weighed down the fragile skin beneath his eyes, and numerous lined tattoos marked his cheeks and jaw. Bruises mottled his cheeks and neck, some yellowed, others purpled against his all-too-pale skin. Sores lined the edges of his brow, a long jagged cut at the top of his forehead welted and livid. His light-brown hair was matted and unkempt. “Have we? I’ve been here so long. Might have forgotten. What should I call you? You can call me Hob.”

“That looks like you’ve got an infection.” Idalno held up a finger. “Just—let me step back to where there’s a hedge. There’s earth there. I can draw up the right plants.”

“Idalno.” Feron sighed. The bad feeling wasn’t lessening. “Idalno, don’t—”

She turned on him, eyes sharp. “If I get in trouble, I’ll scream, all right? I’m just going to be there.”

She pointed to one of the portions cut out of the stone where three topiaries grew. Before he could say anything else, she strode away, her steps clipped and her posture sharp.

He sighed again, his shoulders dropping. She was impossible. His skin prickled; someone was watching him. Turning, he noted Hob had him fixed with an intense gaze.

Hob motioned for him to come closer. He didn’t want to, and yet he found himself obeying until he was close enough to see the pitting in the man’s teeth and the pock marks in his skin.

“Tell me, young man,” Hob whispered. “This woman, I see how you look at her. How she looks at you. And you both work so well together. It’s obvious you care about her. You worry for her. Why not admit your feelings?”

He scowled, offended not only by the man’s foul scent but also his brazenness. “Because she deserves someone better, safer,” he said darkly. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”

“Oh.” Hob clicked his tongue. His eyes suddenly seemed far too bright. “Such a shame. Is that what the young woman wants?”

Nosy old man. “Any woman would. And trust me, I’m more suited to being a lone wolf.”

“If being alone is what’s best for you, then it shall be so.”

Want? If the world worked onwant, on what was best, then no one would suffer. Butwantwas just a daydream, and if he was going to do right by Idalno, he had to consider the reality.

A heavy floral scent suffocated the air. Feron started to jump back, but turquoise flashed in front of his eyes and suddenly he tumbled into darkness.

* * *

IDALNO

Idalno returned to the end passage with the two doors, plant cuttings in hand. She halted, realizing Feron was nowhere in sight. Hob had resumed hunching over on the ground between the doors. Beneath the afternoon sun, he cast quite a long shadow. “Feron?”

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