The catkin said the Redcaps are taking the kin to the mountain with the monster to mine for jewels. To him that’s the truth, but we know it to be a lie.

Croi remembers the mountain, the monster, and the empty village. She shudders.

So where are we really being taken?

“Do we need to know the answers to everything? What if knowing is more terrible than not knowing? Can’t I just remain ignorant?”

How have we remained alive until now with a brain like yours?

“Hey! My brain is your brain too, you know!” Her other self declines to reply.

Scowling, Croi turns back to Caolan. How did she wake him before? His magick is dull and unmoving underneath his skin. She puts her hand on his arm again and presses it into his skin. Nothing happens. Then she notices the patch of black on his upper arm. The infernal night crows. Just looking at the black makes her skin crawl. Suddenly furious, she looks at Caolan’s black patch with renewed determination. As though it senses her regard, the black patch slithers on Caolan’s skin, trying to creep under his sleeve. Ha! As if that’ll stop her. She grabs Caolan’s arm and rubs it hard against the bars of the cage. The patch doesn’t come off; if anything, it just spreads its sliminess even farther across Caolan’s arm. That’s probably not good. She rubs his arm hard enough that he starts bleeding, but again, there’s no change. She pinches the skin on his arm where the patch has spread itself and thinks hard.

It was her blood that conquered the black patch. Maybe the alchemy in her blood destroys night crows. There’s only one way to find out.

Croi looks at the sleeping Meow and purses her lips. It’s just that she doesn’t know why she should bleed for him. He should be bleeding for her, but Croi isn’t sure she can get out of here without his help. She glances at the slack faces of the unconscious kin, all with their own black patches sinking roots into their skin. She hadn’t noticed it before, but apart from the smell of ripe, unwashed bodies and the accompanying stench of fear, there’s a darker, danker whiff of despair.

Croi picks up Caolan’s hand. His fingers are calloused, but his nails are cleaner than hers. It’s a strong hand, a capable one. Yes, this hand will help her escape. She puts Caolan’s patch-infested arm on her lap and takes a breath. The wound on her arm is just beginning to scab, and this will hurt, but maybe if she kicks Caolan twice later, this will make them even. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gouges the wound, and when her blood beads again, she smears it on the black patch on Caolan’s arm. The black patch reacts immediately. Ha! However, instead of dissipating into a cloud, the night crow reclaims its bird form and squawks loudly. It struggles to retain its birdiness but loses the battle and thins out into smoke that fades with the wind. Croi grunts. Filthy night crow. She smiles smugly and waves the air around her to clear it of the stink the night crow left behind.