Page 159 of Lana Pecherczyk

“Thief,” she hissed, pointing at Blake’s closed fist. “She steals from us!”

“Blake!”

A figure blocked her path, curvy with a black topknot, leaning on a cane.

“Lark.” Relief momentarily cleared the fog in Blake’s mind. “Thank god.”

“Why do these people think you stole something?” Lark’s gaze dropped to the glass coin clutched in Blake’s fist. Her brows arched.

“I didn’t realize I took it.” Blake opened her palm, revealing the shimmering disc. The ground pitched and rolled. “I just … I don’t feel so good.”

“Oh dear. You’ve been to see her.” Lark squinted, zeroing in on Blake’s mouth. “That shit needs to come off your skin. Now.”

Lark jabbed her cane toward the crow mother. “Get some water. Hurry.”

The crowd’s hostility receded like an outgoing tide. Something clicked in their recognition. The intensity in their eyes diminished, wings folding against backs as one of their own defended the outsider. The mother still ushered her children deeper into the tent, maintaining eye contact with Blake as she disappeared through the back flap. Seconds later, she emerged clutching a wooden bowl filled with water.

“Don’t you know who this is?” Lark’s voice carried as she grabbed a cloth from her windways pocket and dipped it in the bowl. “This is the Well-blessed human who saved the fledgling from drowning. She’s Umbria Flock.”

Irritation tightened Lark’s features as she scrubbed at Blake’s mouth and chin. “This shit is toxic,” she muttered between swipes. “I can’t believe River let you walk around with it on.”

With each stroke of the cloth, clarity returned to Blake’s senses. Colors stabilized. Sounds split into distinct notes rather than overwhelming discord. The burning sensation retreated from her skin, replaced by blessed coolness.

“Bloody hell.” Blake pressed her palm against her forehead, still feeling a touch feverish. “What’s in that paste?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“That look on your face makes meneedto know.”

Lark tossed the blackened cloth into the bowl and then hand signed her gratitude to the still-wary but now curious mother.

“It was guano,” she said to Blake.

“Guano?”

“Otherwise known as vampire bat shit. Plus a few mana-cultivated herbs and spices.”

Blake’s hand flew to her mouth, gagging. “She putbat poopon me face?”

“You must have ingested some.” Lark’s lips twitched. “The hallucinogenic properties are quite potent. Explains why you’re collecting shiny things.” She nodded toward the coin still clutched in Blake’s other hand. “Makes you go a bit bird-brained.”

“I wasn’t—” Blake stopped. Had she been gathering things? She couldn’t remember. She forced her fingers to release the coin, watching it drop to the dirt with unexpected regret.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it. I owe you anyway for saving my life.” Lark dug into her pocket and tossed a few coins to the vendor.

“I didn’t save your life.”

“You mated my pain-in-the-tailfeather brother. That means he’s now pestering you, not me. So you see? You saved my life.” She returned the stolen coin to Blake’s pocket with a pat and raised her voice loud enough to carry. “You saved many lives this morning when you jumped into the river. Not only did you draw the kelpie away from the fledglings, but you saved the Corvus’s boy from drowning.”

Gasps and sounds of awe rippled over the crowd. Murmurs and whispers morphed from hostile insults to praise. The mother picked up her fabrics from the ground and straightened her stall. She whispered something to her children, who stared at Blake with their little jaws dropping. She grabbed a bolt of pretty beaded silk and knelt before Blake, offering it with a bowed head. Her two children mimicked their mother, but each held a glimmering river stone from their game in their chubby little hands.

“Um.” Blake’s eyes widened.

She glanced at Lark, who gave no help, only grinned with pride.

Then the weirdest thing happened. More parents joined the first. A father with a small child on his shoulders kneeled with a jewel-adorned ink bottle in his outstretched hand. Then came another female, with a jar of something pearlescent. One by one, parents from around the nursery quarter arrived with an offering. Their children started creeping closer, touching Blake’s hair and giggling over her blue, glowing marks. One even licked her arm until her mother swatted her away.

A nervous laugh slipped out of Blake. “What’s happening?”