Page 74 of Kingdoms of Night

It was all white, perfectly smooth, with a glassy surface and a little notch on the side, where the lid currently sat. There was hardly anything else around here. What was this doing here?

Although something about it struck her as odd, she picked it up. How could it be so perfect? Something about it plucked at her, almost as if it wanted her to take it, but why?

Wait—why was she even wasting time? Kopo had headed off to find Annette, and she had to either find Lalko or figure out why the Tue-Rah brought them here and then find Lalko. Despite being an interdimensional portal, the Tue-Rah sometimes did things on its own and for reasons no one fully understood. Now, which direction had Kopo gone—?

Myrrh and cloves.

She stopped. That cologne was back on the air, so strong even she could track it.

Her gut tightened. Whoever it was, they had to know what had happened to Lalko. She crossed over to her bag, placed the teapot inside, drew her obsidian dagger, and followed the scent.

It was so clear even if she wasn’t a shapeshifter or a hunter. Almost too clear. Possibly a trap.

She followed the brick path to the edge of the clock tower. The scent grew stronger with each step. Around the corner, the path snaked through a green patch with a white cracked fountain in the center. And there—right in front of the stone fountain—stood someone who just had to be involved.

Slim and gangly, he had shaggy black hair with a bright swash of turquoise that ran from the longest strands over his eyes to the nape of his neck. Vivid maroon-and-black tattoos coiled and swirled over his neck and hands, changing shapes subtly as if he were a Tiablo illusionist.

He stood with his arms folded, his silvery-turquoise velvet jacket and black trousers impeccably tailored, his pink boots shiny. A colorful charm necklace similar to hers hung around his neck. Except instead of the slim reeds and the little blowpipe and animal charms, his had bits of polished sea glass in shades ranging from magenta to chartreuse and metal charms she didn’t even recognize. His silver-blue eyes practically danced with delight.

Was he—was he waiting for them? Did he know where Lalko was? She clenched her hands into fists.

Kopo appeared from the other side of the square, ash-blond hair streaming over his shoulders. Blood beetle or not, he cut an impressive figure with that red scarf draped around his neck like a bull dancer’s silken flag. Flood plains, he wasn’t just impressive. He was stunning. Especially his eyes. All emerald green and gritty with determination. If she hadn’t sworn never to open up to anyone else ever again, that flutter in her heart might have suggested she was attracted to him. But of course she wasn’t. She was just observing him. He was half a head taller than she, probably close to six feet in height or a smidge over but rather lean and well-muscled. His coarse-cotton white shirt was tucked into his belt, emphasizing his tight waist and setting off his deeply suntanned skin. The black pants he wore hadn’t been cut to fit him though, and they were even more worn than the shirt. With his physique, he could be a dancer or a swimmer or just about anything he wanted to be. From that purposeful stride and deep scowl, it looked like he wanted to be someone pounding that fae’s face into the ground.

“You.” He pointed at the newcomer. “You know where Annette is?”

The newcomer tilted his head, a big smile spreading over his face, though he did not show his teeth. His turquoise hair covered one eye entirely and half of the other.

Trouble, definitely. She squinted.

What did these markings mean? Her own told the story of her destiny and the fulfillment of that destiny. They were fixed and vivid—as destiny was supposed to be—but his moved. That wasn't just for show. Maybe not even for a story. But what did they mean? Those weren’t Tiablo marks. He had the air of—what, exactly?

“Answer me!” Kopo rushed him, nearly reached him. He lunged the last few steps like a bull charging at a gate.

The newcomer danced out of his way, laughing and spinning on his polished pink boots. “And what should I say when you introduce yourself so rudely? No ‘hello’? No ‘how are you?’ No ‘shall we pass the time of day or stroll away on paths apart?’”

Kopo snarled. “What did you do with Annette?” He pounced again, striking the ground hard.

The newcomer laughed louder this time as he easily dodged him. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked forward before darting away. He stayed merely a pace or two ahead of Kopo. “Did you come to dance with me, friend? There’s a lovely young lady here, and yet you’ve been even ruder to her. Why? You prefer my company? If you want to dance, then dance we will. I do love dancing!”

“Tell me where she is!” He seethed. “What have you done with her?”

This newcomer was someone who liked attention and confrontation. Maybe he was half joking when he called it a dance, but he and Kopo essentially were dancing. This stranger was even striking poses similar to a waltz at points, though Kopo kept clenching his fists and then swatting at him.

With both so entirely focused on one another, she had time to find her own solution. Obviously this fellow knew something about the girls. It was just a matter of making him talk.

She opened the bag and removed the pot of venom. Bless Naatos and his obsession with mastering immunity to all forms of venom and poison.

The palm-sized pot ofveruvenom was practically full. She set it on the ground, then removed the central reed—her blowpipe—from her necklace. It was time to summon a feathered thorn plant from the earth. Hopefully she’d get the thorns she needed to shoot and deliver the venom.

She fluttered her fingers over the ground as she channeled her energy down and hummed the words and brought the image of the feathered thorn plant into her mind. So clear and precise, its leaves delicately veined in red and glistening with dew in the morning sunlight. “Honina tinlore etodni nwimae tawa ku.”

The earth stirred beneath her fingertips. She glanced down.

Chamomile? It looked nothing like feathered thorn plants!

The small white flowers and the spindly green stems pressed up against her hand, a beautiful bounty, but not what she wanted. She scooted over to another patch and tried to summon a feathered thorn plant once more. The summoning call was different. What was interfering with her power?Why wasn’t it working? She repeated it. Louder this time.

This time a leathery-leafed yerba maté plant sprang beneath her touch.

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