And one day, perhaps, he would make them all pay for it.

FOURTHLY

Zane marched through the snowy village with heavy boots the next morning, trampling an already footprint-congested road. Most of the coastal villagers had surrendered, but a few fought back as their homes were torn apart while the Kelidestone crew searched for anything of value. The villagers who rebelled had to watch their wood houses go up in golden flames.

The prophetess stood on the shoreline in her long, silk cloak, the fur of her hood brushing her chin. Her pale eyes took it all in as she was no doubt already counting the worth of her new treasure. A trident rested in her grip—a gold trophy she had once stolen from a siren in the early seasons of her timestring, or so she claimed. It was for show though; Zane had never seen his mother use the thing.

Tigris led a band through the alleys to hunt those fleeing, to steal the necklaces off their throats and the rings from their fingers.

Zane rolled a long necklace of black snowsea pearls over his fingers, staring at them. The string of stones glimmered in the direct sunlight; a gift likely given to a wife, or a daughter, or as a proposal. Easily fetched—unlike the underwater pearls Zane had not managed to find during the race.

A girl with bouncing, orange curls had sprinted into her front room and thrown them at him, as if the surrender of their most valuable treasure might somehow keep the young pirate demon at bay. Then the girl had fled out the back door after her family.

The leaking kohl on Zane’s lids stung his eyes, adding to the irritation from his terrible sleep the eve past. A shuffle of white feathers brushed his cheek and he whacked at it before realizing what it was. Silver twinkled upon the bird’s wings. It arched and landed in the street before him.

Zane tilted his head as he studied it. The bird was very white.

His mind danced over the value of meat it might provide if he could capture it—not that he felt like selling the meat or even sharing it. Hunger rolled in his stomach, and he took a slow step forward. But as if sensing his dark motives, the creature flapped and lifted back into the air. Zane watched as it joined with a host of others—just high enough above the village to stay out of reach.

When he dropped his gaze, he found a trio of folk in black standing at the end of the street, side-by-side. His brows furrowed.

The three statue-still bodies wore curled-toe boots and tall hooked staffs balanced in their grips that reminded him of large, wooden fishing lures. Two were in their early twentieth seasons if Zane had to guess, and one was middle-aged like Mollbane.