Page 65 of Kingdoms of Night

“What are you doing, little coya bird?” It wouldn't do much good, but she steeled her voice. Her mask would at least hide the—

Lalko pushed the mask up onto the top of her head, careful not to snag on the elaborate braids and ornaments still fastened in her thick black hair.

“Why you crying?” Lalko rubbed at Idalno's cheeks.

“Just something in my eye, lovely.” She forced a smile and tapped Lalko on the nose. “You shouldn't be worrying about me. Have you seen all the food they put out for us to eat?”

“Are you sad?”

“No. Just my eyes.” She blinked dramatically. “All the incense and perfumes and food. It smells incredible, but it makes my eyes burn.” Just because Lalko was hard to fool didn't mean she should be told everything. She'd likely grow up to be a healer or comforter of some sort. But that didn't mean she needed her older cousin pouring out her own woes. “It's a beautiful day. Why aren't you playing with our cousins?”

“Because you're sad.” Lalko tilted her head so that her silky black braid slid over her shoulder. Then she pulled something out of the beaded pouch attached to her red waistband. “For you.” The little purple flower had been badly mussed, half the petals twisted off.

“Oh! For me?” She took the bruised flower with two fingers and then kissed Lalko on the cheek. “This makes everything better. My eyes are all healed.”

“Put it here.” Lalko pointed to one of the elaborate braids on the side of her head. “Pretty.”

“Like this?” She tucked the flower in and then cocked her head, shifting her hold to accommodate her little cousin’s weight. “What do you think?’

Lalko beamed up at her. “You're happy now?”

“Yes. You fixed everything.” She kissed Lalko on the head and set her on the ground. "Now go play with the others. And eat some honey pila rolls for me!" She motioned toward the other children kicking around the red-and-orange ball, filling her voice with all the cheer she could.

Lalko balled up her fists and ran, shouting for her cousins to wait for her.

Nowthatwas happiness. When you fixed a problem and got to run in the grass and eat all the honey pila rolls and spiced cocoa nuts you could cram in your mouth.

Those days were long gone for her.

Sighing, she started to turn. At least now she could disappear for a bit in—

Oh, blood beetles. Not him.

CHAPTERTWO

FERON

Without so much as a glance backward, Feron leaped from one mossy rock to the next, deftly avoiding the mountain stream. He landed among the slick dead foliage, precarious despite its warm golds and browns, something his soles knew well. For many more autumns than he could count—and he could count pretty high—the beeches and red oaks of this forest had been his escape. He’d sought them out and hidden in their shade, climbed their height, learned their formation. He didn’t need some stranger to lead him through here.

Behind him, Brennan Karandis Marcel’s footsteps pursued his own, lighter and surer footed than he would’ve expected of a lord, even one who was a werewolf. Those steps closed in quickly, butthathe had expected. It was a rare lord who could stomach staying behind a peasant, after all.

“I’ve been at this a lot longer than you have,” Brennan bit out.

“I’ve known this forest—and my niece—longer than you have,” Feron shot back under his breath. Besides, even if he hadn’t been a werewolf as long, it wasn’t as if they could compare noses. If they had been tracking a stranger in a strange place, maybe he’d believe this lord was a better choice. Except he’d never willingly go anywhere with any lord, much less this one.

He caught a whiff lower on the trunk of a red oak wrapped in mistletoe. Annette had been here, without a doubt. Despite the roughness of this path, at four years old she had become just as familiar with these woods as he had at her age. He breathed in deeply, taking in her scent, sorting where it led.

The wind rustled through the trees, the oldest of the red oaks creaking and groaning as they swayed. The dying dusk light wavered on the fern fronds and stagnant water pooled on clumps of dead leaves. The sun would set soon, and the night chill would set in.

Brennan caught up to him and inhaled lengthily, his dark eyebrows creasing together. “We could work together to find her, if you’d stop being so damned cantankerous.”

“Cantankerous,” Feron repeated through clenched teeth. “That’s a big word. Are you sure I know what it means?”

While Brennan grimaced, Feron took off after Annette’s scent. It was getting late, and if she hadn’t taken her cloak, she’d catch cold.

He didn’t really know what that word meant,cantankerous,but it probably meantstubborn. He’d been called that once or twice, by people he actually cared about. This lord was not one of them. Whatever he had to say didn’t matter, especially when Annette was out here, and there were greater dangers than the dusk and the cold among these sylvan sentinels. Roots, vines, and ravines grew in threat with the dark to human eyes. Not to mention wolves, lynxes, boars…

He listened for any sign of her, straining his werewolf hearing as far as he could, but there was nothing. She’d gotten a big head start, after all.

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