“I’m not trying to impress anyone. Kevin, tell them I’m not trying to impress anyone.”
Kevin buzzed noncommittally.
“Traitor,” Bryx muttered.
“How long have you all been together?” I asked Kaelren, needing distraction from the fact that we were very, very high up.
“Years,” he said. “They each came to the crew for different reasons.”
“What reasons?”
“Survival, mostly. The Crown wants them dead for various crimes.”
“What crimes?”
“Existing incorrectly.”
“That’s a crime?”
“In Auradelle’s kingdom, everything is a crime if you’re not useful to him.”
“And you? What’s your crime?”
“Being born. Being promised something that was taken away. Refusing to accept it.”
“The marks.”
“Among other things.”
We flew in silence for a while, the landscape below shifting from forest to something else. Here, the trees grew in spirals, creating natural clearings where villages clustered. I could see people—or things that looked like people from this height—working in fields that glowed with their own light. Harvest time in a realm where plants might harvest you back.
“There,” Eltrien called, pointing ahead. “Vyn Hollow.”
It rose from the forest like something out of a fever dream. Trees so massive they had their own weather systems, clouds actually forming around their middles. The structures built into and around them looked organic, like they’d been grown rather than constructed. Bioluminescent vines traced every surface, their glow shifting in slow ripples that moved from structure to structure like silent conversation.
“It’s incredible,” I breathed.
“It’s dangerous,” Kaelren corrected. “Vyn Hollow doesn’t follow Crown law. They barely follow any law. The people there are outcasts, radicals, and worse.”
“Worse than you?”
“Much worse.”
“Then why are we going there?”
“Because outcasts and radicals are the only ones who might have answers about your marks. The legitimate sources would turn you over to Auradelle without blinking.”
“Comforting.”
“I told you—”
“You’re not trying to comfort me, I know.”
The bees began descending, and my stomach relocated somewhere aroundmy throat. The landing platform was a mushroom the size of a basketball court, growing from the side of one of the enormous trees. Other bees were already there, their riders dismounting with the ease of people who did this every day.
“That was terrifying,” I said.
“That was a trained mount on a clear day.” His tone was flat. “If that terrified you, you’re going to have a very short, very unpleasant time here.”
