KANE AND I FLEW UNTIL WE REACHED THE WOODS SURROUNDING CRAG’S

Hollow and then made our way on foot into the gloomy coastal town. We walked down a cobblestone road that wove between rickety, lopsided buildings shrouded in mist until we passed an off-kilter lighthouse. I smelled the brine and salt before we rounded its faded bricks

and caught a glimpse of the dock at the heart of the small fishing village.

Beyond the faded signs for boat rentals and tethered canoes and anchors stretched a washed-out platform that hung over a collapsed ancient, glacial lake. The dark water of Lake Stygian spread like an ink stain against the foggy sky above, and I could barely make out a humped landmass in the far distance, like a huge, slumped figure had fallen asleep in the water.

“What is that?”

“Hemlock Isle,” Kane said. “That’s Hemlock Isle?”

Kane cocked his head. “Where did you think it was?”

“I don’t know, actually.” Niclas’s mention of it was the first I’d heard of the place.

“The entire island serves as the largest and most treacherous prison in all of Evendell.” Kane’s voice was kind enough, but his eyes stayed trained on the milling sailors in the town ahead.

It had been slightly tense between us all day, but I was determined to alleviate the discomfort. “Is it unsafe to live here? Do escaped criminals make it to the dock by cover of night?”

“No, bird. Nobody escapes Hemlock Isle.” He didn’t smile, but the use of the familiar pet name was a good start. “The island is essentially a deep crater. It’s impossible to climb in or out unless you can fly.”

I surveyed the wet, windswept little town around us. Rocks and bluffs jutted out on either side of the street, most of the homes built into the dark stone cliffs or suspended high on stilts above the rough waters below. “So how do we find Esme?”

The houses and shops were weathered, splintered, and peeling paint— some even boarded up altogether. But the town wasn’t impoverished or dirty, just a bit worn in. I didn’t mind. The saline air was refreshing, and I sucked in a lungful, wrapping my fox fur around me tightly.

“We’ll start at her shop, the Painted Lady. Are you cold?” Kane began to pull off his gloves.

“I’m fine. I like it.”

We stepped to the side in unison as a spectacled man with a fish cart passed by us, a gaggle of children hot on his tail singing a nautical tune about seals that tired sailors mistook for mermaids.

“It’s strange,” I mused, “but I think I’m actually a little bit in love with this place.”

Kane grinned slightly and his gaze fixed on a steep cliff to our right. The rugged stone hung over a small blue café with pale white shutters and a sign that read “Mariner’s Pub.” “I feel the same. I own that cottage up there.”

I had missed a small, crooked house on top of the cliff. With a textured stone chimney, faded gray paint, and two lanterns hanging out front, it sat all alone beside a single plum tree.

“It’s beautiful.”

Kane chuckled and I looked over to him, catching the sparkle in his silver eyes despite the cloud cover. “I don’t know about that, but it’s got a pretty breathtaking view of the lake. On the rare cloud-free evening, it’s the best sunset in all of Onyx. And right below, Mariner’s Pub serves a mean fish and crisps. Quentin brews this cider in the winter with his daughters . . . Greta goes a little overboard with the rum, though.” Kane’s expression had turned grave. “I worry about her drinking, but she’s just at that age.”

I stilled. “How old?”

He shook his head. “Four.”

A laugh slipped out of me as we continued up the street, brisk air at our faces, watching the lake as it swirled and churned in the distance.

“Esme’s is right up this hill.”

The road wound like a gray stone snake, dotted with swaying weeds and pussy willows, until it led to a tilted storefront. The shop’s thatched roof was sloped downward on one side from years of seaside wind, and the pin- striped canvas awning out front was so faded I couldn’t tell what color it had once been.

We stomped up creaking steps and pushed inside, a copper chime ringing out our entry. The Painted Lady’s name conjured images of a bright and colorful store laden with powdered rouge and fatty lipsticks, or fine oil paints and bristled brushes. But Esme’s store was dim and cold, with shelves and aisles barely lit by too few hanging lamps. Each cramped row was stuffed with dusty oddities like glass blown into obscure shapes I couldn’t fathom a use for and tiny matchboxes with hand-drawn sketches of babies and dogs.

The store was empty save for a mousy little girl with shaggy hair, who, as soon as her eyes met mine, slipped behind the counter and down what must have been a hidden flight of stairs.

“Did you see that?” I asked Kane.

“See what?” He wiped at his face and coughed. “The cobweb I just swallowed? Clearly not.”

I grinned up at him. We were handling the discomfort of the morning rather well. I was actually a bit proud of us.

“I’m in love with you. Desperately so.”

I gulped at the intrusive memory of his words, feeling my face turn hot, and spun to inspect a miniature pewter toad.

“Esme?” Kane called out into the store. “Hello?”

The countertop and the cupboards behind it were as cluttered as the rest of the store, with rusty jewelry boxes spilling ribbons and tarot cards. Three hooks hung by the slatted, swinging doors, each with a different-sized, well-

worn raincoat: one blue, one maroon, and one yellow. Below, three pairs of scuffed, matching boots.

A woman emerged from the hinged doors and greeted us with a bright smile as she tucked her hair back into a nautical scarf.

“Greetings, and welcome to the Painted Lady. May I offer you a tea leaf reading or a commune with the dead?”

“We’re actually here on other business.” I coughed on dust and swatted at the air. “Are you . . . ?” But the woman had spun her back to us, looking for something. With a nod, she adjusted a rusted tin pail on the floor with her shoe. It sloshed, and I peered upward until I spied a poorly patched hole in the ceiling. “Rain’s coming tonight, I think,” she said to us, like it was our little secret.

“Esme, I used to be a dear friend of your mother’s. My name is Kane.

Do you remember me?”

The smile that had been plastered across Esme’s face faltered slightly, and she clasped her hands rigidly on the countertop. “Can’t say that I do, sorry.”

“I’d like to ask you something, if you have a moment.” Esme wrinkled her nose, waiting.

“Is it possible that you inherited some of your mother’s abilities?”

The false smile only grew. “Unfortunately not. Anything else I can help with?”

“We have a high-ranking Amber official who tells us otherwise.” Kane took a step toward the counter, leaning on it and sliding a casual hand into his pocket. “Now, why would that be?”

Esme’s wide smile vanished, replaced by a curt, thin line. “He is mistaken.”

“Esme,” I tried. “We do not mean you any harm. We aren’t with the Amber or Garnet armies.” I glanced sidelong at Kane. “Kane is leading the only battle against them. Against Lazarus.” I said his name so low it barely slid past my lips. “If you can help us find something from your mother’s prophecy, it could give us a fighting chance.”

“You’re . . . King Ravenwood? Son of Lazarus?”

“The one and only.”

“Please,” I begged her, pressing myself against the countertop. “Any visions you may have had could help us.”

Esme looked like she might cry. She bit her lip and leaned closer, until the three of us were nearly huddled.

“I wish I could help you both. Truly, I do.” She turned to Kane. “If you are his son then you already know what Lazarus did to my mother, and that I was lucky to make it out of Lumera alive. But my father was fully mortal. I inherited some lighte, but not the ability to discern the will of the Gods.”

“Why does Amber think otherwise?”

“They came here, months ago. Interrogated me, threatened my husband and our son. They didn’t believe us when we told them I didn’t have the skill. When I realized they wouldn’t leave without something, I . . . I lied.”

“You told them false prophecies?” I asked.

She dipped her chin, and her eyes spied the stairs behind the counter. “I didn’t know what else to do. They took my husband. Told me never to share my visions with anyone else if I wanted to see him again.” Her face hardened as she came to some conclusion. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I need you to leave now.”

“What did you tell them?” I pressed.

Esme squirmed, eyes again darting toward the stairs behind her. “I can’t risk sharing any more, I’m sorry. Please, just go.”

“Of course,” I said loudly. Kane’s eyes shot to mine, but I ignored him. “We’ll leave, then. If you change your mind, we’ll be at Mariner’s Pub until dark. I promise you, Esme, if you help us find what we need, we will free your husband and return him to you.”

“I already told you,” she said, brows knitting together. “I don’t have the ability you seek.”

“I know.” I pushed from the counter, tugging Kane with me by the sleeve.

Once we were a good bit down the road, he whirled on me. “Mind clueing me in?”

“I think Esme has a daughter. I saw her right as we walked in.”

“So?”

“So maybe her daughter is the one with the ability. She only has one kid. The raincoats, the boots . . . only three. For her, her husband, and their child. But she said she had a son, and the child I saw was a little girl.”

Kane’s brows furrowed, his eyes considering.

“Can’t seers only be women?” I pushed. “Why else would she lie unless she didn’t want anyone to know what her daughter could do?”

“Even if she had a daughter, and she lied to us about it . . . that girl would practically be a halfling. The likelihood that such a great deal of lighte skipped a generation . . .”

“Esme was definitely hiding something. She kept looking toward the basement, where I saw the girl run off. And no chance she’s getting away with lying to Halden and his men. She’d get a ‘vision’ wrong eventually unless she had someone that was feeding them to her. That bit with the rain pail was a classic charlatan trick. They used to come to Abbington all the time and try to swindle our coin by predicting the leaves would fall.”

Kane ran a hand across his mouth in thought. “So she creates the ruse to protect her child from Lazarus.”

“Right. She saw what happened to her own mother, her husband . . . I don’t blame her.”

“What makes you so sure the little girl will come find us? It would be an awfully risky thing to do.”

I looked back down at the town below us and the dark, inky water beyond the docks. Fish and salt and pine heavy in the afternoon air. “I’m not sure. But I have hope. It’s what I’d like to think I would do. To get my family back, if they had been taken. And maybe to help the good side win. We’ll have to see.”

Kane chuckled beside me, our feet falling on the stone in seamless rhythm. “Bright-side bird. Should I call you that?”

“Too wordy. I like my nickname as it is.”

“You do? Well, that’s no fun, now, is it? Shall I call you something else? ‘Mongoose’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it . . .”

I laughed despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you.”

When I peered up at him, he was fighting off a grin of his own. My eyes widened, shocked that the very earth below us hadn’t crumbled and broken apart or the sea hadn’t swallowed us whole. Kane and I were getting along. And not fighting. And not sleeping together.

I sighed, deep and even, and faced back toward the town.

Kane’s voice was a little like velvet as he said, “Are you ready to drink until dark?”

I rolled my eyes. “Is that all there is to do to pass the time here?” He lifted a single brow.

I felt a shiver kiss up my spine. “Yes, let’s drink.”