“Be careful,” I yell at Kaan, despite not being able to see him from all the way down here, trying to become one with the stone.
“Always,” he bellows before Rygun hefts off the plateau’s edge, his tail the last part of him to slither from the burrow as he plummets from sight.
The booming thud-ump of dragon flight has me spinning to see Rygun soaring toward the east, Kaan saddled between his massive wings, a cluster of spears notched by his boot.
My heart bangs against my ribs like a gallop of hooves.
Snarling, I flip up my hood and whip my head back around, large stones shifting beneath my heavy-booted stomps to the Loff’s lapping tune.
Chase death, Elluin Raeve—
I slap myself.
Hard.
It’s all some strange, fucked-up coincidence. Or perhaps someone messed with my head while I was knocked out. Fiddled with the threads of my brain. Tied knots where they shouldn’t exist. Patched me up incorrectly.
That must be it.
That has to be it.
I come to a red-stone wall that stretches from within the jungle, across the shore, and disappears into the Loff’s ruffled depths, many luminous warding runes carved into its stumpy height as well as a bunch of painted words:
Shrugging, I leap it and continue on, whistling my calming tune to distract myself from replaying Kaan’s caustic words in my head.
If there’s a hushling living somewhere over this side of the fence, I’ll be gobsmacked. Being one of the few folk who’ve likely gotten within swiping distance of one and lived to tell the tale, I know full well no warding runes can hold them off. They’d step right over those things with their pale, lanky legs to get to the brains on the other side.
It would’ve ravaged the city long ago, meaning this heavily jungled, uninhabited point of the bay is being protected for some other reason I’m determined to discover.
Not sure why. It’s an itch I need to scratch before I finally ditch this place and hunt Rekk to the other end of the world. Preferably as far from here as I can get.
I’m nearing the peak’s sharp, rocky tip when a tree catches my eye, its roots gouged deep into the rocky overhang that fringes the shore. Its gnarled branches stretch in all directions, riddled with knots—one that makes me pause, oddly smoother than the rest, as though it’s been touched many times.
With a lilting giggle, Clode swishes past my ear and toys with the tree’s long coppery leaves, making them look like dancing blades.
I frown.
Drawing closer, I reach out to touch the knot that drew my attention, fingers skating over a small handle-type nub that sticks out from the center. I pinch it, give it a wiggle, and the thing pops free, revealing a small hollow behind.
Huh.
Casting a glance over my shoulder toward the sleeping city, I search the skies, the esplanade, deciding I’m little more than a speck. No need for me to be sneaky like I’ve got something to hide, rooting around in tree trunks that don’t belong to me.
I stuff my entire arm inside the hollow, flopping my hand around the smooth internal cavity, fingers grazing something hard that rattles around. Frown deepening, I grab the cold lump and pull it free—
My heart whumps fierce and fast as I cradle the small stone carving. A three-dimensional depiction of Kaan’s málmr—a Moonplume and a Sabersythe bound together like two halves of a circular whole.
My skin prickles despite the muggy heat.
Another glance in the direction Kaan disappeared before I plug the knot back into place. My hand tightens around the carving, and I grab the branch, using it to haul myself up the overhang, then move into the jungle’s dense, overgrown guts.
I push past low-hanging vines and round velvety leaves, insects buzzing about my face, certain I’m hearing a playful giggle through the trees.
The echo of a thundering chase.
The sounds are there but … not. Snuffed out, leaving nothing but the smoke from a once-frolicking flame.
I frown, the underbrush crunching beneath my boots while I trace the sense of a path that certainly doesn’t exist in reality but is somehow vibrantly clear in my mind. A different color to the rest of my thoughts—luminous and with its own pulsing beat that spikes me full of warm anticipation.
Swatting beads of sweat from my brow, I emerge amongst a clearing at the base of a cliff, the sheer stone draped in a leafy, vining plant. I stare up at it, unable to shake the feeling that there’s something here.
Something … important.
Remembering the way Kaan parted the fall of foliage in his private garden, I tuck the carving into my satchel and step forward, pushing at the vines, growing restless when all I find behind is stone … Stone … More damn stone.
Perhaps I’m going mad?
Creators, it certainly feels like it.
I’m palping a stone wall when I could be on the back of a Moltenmaw, soaring toward The Fade, drunk on thoughts of how I’m going to make Rekk break before he dies.
I sidestep farther along the wall, cursing beneath my breath, shoving, shoving—heart lodging into my throat when I plunge all the way through the wall and into a hollow beyond. I wrestle the foliage, sucking sharp breaths as I free myself from the tangle that’s much too reminiscent of a hushling’s web for my liking.
“Imagine that,” I mutter dryly, a small laugh bubbling up.
Imagine. That.
I shake my head and look right, moving deeper into the tunnel that’s tall and wide enough for a grown male to fit through—just. Clode giggles past me on an eddy of wind, tilling dried leaves that dance about my boots with each slow step forward.
I make for the coil of stairs illuminated by dull natural light falling down from above, curious anticipation fluttering through my belly like a cluster of tiny sowmoths. It’s five whole turns before I reach an open archway on the right that gives me the option to veer off. I take it, those fluttery things multiplying as I step into a small cavern lit by an overhead skyhole, the cozy space riddled with blooming copper vines reaching across the walls.
The ceiling.
Hundreds of those bold, inky flowers that dominate the city spice the air with a zesty sweetness, the sight of them warming my chest and making me smile.
“Pretty.”
I move toward an organic, grown-from-the-stone cooking bench that reminds me of the butcher block in that little crooked dwelling in the mountain range, dragging my hand across the rough-hewn surface heavy with a layer of dust. The metal door on the stone range creaks when I open it to peer inside the ashen hollow, rusted from lack of care, my brow buckling as I run my fingers over twin terracotta mugs hanging from hooks on the wall above.
It’s tempting to lift one off and tuck it in my bag. They look lovely to drink from. It’s hard to find the perfect mug. When you do, they always break.
I pause beside a table that sprouts from the wall below a massive vine-clothed window, glowing runes etched into the frame, shredded curtains hanging limp at its sides. Two seats are tucked beneath the table, the leather padding on one pecked at by some animal, most of the feather stuffing pulled free and probably used in a nest somewhere.
I’m not sure why that makes my throat ache. A feeling I try to ignore as I move past twin leather seaters, stepping close to a large wall shelf and finding a pot of ink, an old quill, and a stack of flat, ready-to-fold parchment larks with pre-etched activation lines. I slide a thin leather-bound book from a pile next to the ink, blow off the dust, and crack it open, discovering the pages are blank.
Strange.
Crouching, I find the shelf below boasts a collection of small stone creatures—mostly dragons. All carved in the same style as the one currently tucked in my satchel. Pulling it out, I shake my head, setting the carving amongst the rest, right beside one of a sharp-tipped palace.
This is a couple’s home, packed with relics of their love.
I should go.
Moving toward the exit, I intend to ease back down the stairs when Clode nips past my ear on a whip of wind that swirls up.
“Geil. Geil asha.”
My heart stills.