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As the foursome headed toward the docks, ambling past an inker's booth, where a grizzled sailor sat getting a dragon inked on his left arm, Abby caught sight of a familiar, terrible shade of red.

Like a banner raised at the head of the Royal Triadian army, the color signified one thing, and one thing only.

Battle.

Sweat gathered on Abby's neck, despite the wind blowing off the sea, her hair slicked to her head, the collar of her shirt clinging to her neck like a noose tightened. She gulped as more and more of the enemy came into view.

Her perfect curls. Her laced, high-collared blouse and sash. Flowy skirt. Pale shoulders and heart-shaped face, the small nose, high cheekbones and pert mouth all deceptively delicate. Features meant to lull prey into a false sense of security before the whole bit off the head.

Beside her, Lucy fumbled with the strings of his tunic while he slowed his gait, each footstep sluggish and uncertain. "She doesn't like me," he mumbled, gazing at booths shoved together on the side street, where girls in cotton frocks flashed smiles as they enticed people to peruse their wares. A waif-like brunette with a tight bun and freckles flushed profusely as Lucy returned her smile with one of his own.

Running his hand through his hair, his mood slightly less defeated, he added, "How is it possible a girl doesn't like me? How is it one girl is immune to my abundance of charm, while others fall like cut trees at every grin I throw them?"

"That's the problem," Abby said, voice low. In the distance, she spied a terrifying pair of green eyes. Abby's tongue grew thick as she smacked it against the roof of her mouth. "She's not a girl. She's what gives the monsters roaming the Blood Plains nightmares."

The road before them broke off into four separate directions, thinning Laos' immense crowd as people funneled into whatever direction got them to their destination fastest.

Some veered left, where past a steep incline, they'd hit the bustling open air market of Mandarren Square. Others looking for rest, gambling, drinking, companionship or a combination of the above, went right, toward the pop-up shops, inns and taverns.

Those seeking the privacy and quiet of the housing quarters headed north while those left behind, the stragglers and tourists, the ones ambling toward the docks on unsteady legs from too little sleep or too much drink, went straight, passing underneath a row of burla trees, whose thickly adorned branches cast dark shadows across the faces of all three Mayweather siblings.

Abby, Crum and Lucy held their collective breath, as Poppy Mayweather made eye contact, her gaze dripping with venom.

Lucy shuddered. "How is it she's not Aelurian, again?" he whispered. "She's got all the necessities. You know, fangs, claws. That deadly predator aura."

Wiggling free of Crum's clutch and finally calming the thudding of her heart, Abby turned and nudged Lucy. "Instigate nothing."

Lucy's lip curled. "Says you, who," he scratched his chin, "who, what was it you did?" Abby's face fell as a blush painted her cheeks pink. "Ah, yes," he continued, "You, who shoved a pastry in her face."

"Yeah, well," Abby kicked a pebble into an alley. "She deser--"

"Good morn, Mayweathers!" Alfren strutted toward the trio, hand raised, face doused in good humor and kind intent, cheeks a healthy pink from the walk.

Poppy Mayweather, looking stark, her pale lips pulled so tight they almost disappeared, took an elegant step forward, her close-toed shoes barely registering against the stone underfoot.

Silent. Deadly. Just like a malicious specter or hungry predator.

Poppy supplied Alfren with a curtsey and curt nod, dress billowing around her knees. "Mr. Hudginns." Abby recognized the tightness in her voice, saw the anger vein in her neck about to erupt.

Without thinking, she pushed Crum forward. He stumbled before catching himself against the corner of a melon cart. "Quick," Abby hissed, ducking behind him as Poppy headed their way, "Sacrifice yourself. Sacrifice."

"You heard her," Lucy said, as he, too, sidled up to Crum. He gave the other boy a quick pat on the shoulder. "Be a good lad and throw yourself in harm's way. Gods know I won't stop you." Lucy settled in behind Crum, lowering his head enough to be concealed by Crum's broad shoulders.

Crum's gaze danced between the pair of cowards, his lips like a bowstring about to snap. "You're both--" he started, voice full of disdain. Hair fell loose around his face.

"That's it," Lucy said, waving him onward, "Use the hair to your advantage. Girls love disheveled good looks."

Abby nodded as Crum stared, dead-eyed, at her. "It'll up your chances of survival." She gave him a thumbs up. "Now, go temper her rage."

"I can't," Crum straightened, "believe I," he glanced at his hand, the one that had held Abby's, and flexed his fingers. A soft blush expanded across his cheeks. "put up with--"

"Vicrum."

The voice, frigid like a wind blowing off the Fragilli at winter, caused a chill to root itself in Abby's core. Shivers skittered up her spine. Gooseflesh prickled her skin. She poked her head over Crum's shoulder, breath stolen by what she saw- Poppy Mayweather, pulling her lips into a smile, all her teeth exposed. It was a gesture promising to bury them all alive.

Poppy's gaze narrowed as she acknowledged Abby, nostrils flaring. "Don't you dare think you can use Vicrum as your personal shield, Abbernathy Tells." Abby ducked back behind Crum as the weight of her full name hit her like a sack of bricks. "You too," Poppy swung her head, arms crossed over her chest as she redirected her glare at Lucy. Usually unfazed at a girl's attentions, Lucy, this time, bristled. "Lucien," Poppy continued, her tone clipped and stern. "Quit cowering."

"But I wasn't cowering," Lucy said, stepping out from Crum's shadow. "I was strategically protecting my handsomeness from harm. The King has guards posted outside his treasury to protect what's inside, I figured, since my looks are more valuable than gold and rubies, I ought to indulge in similar behavior."

Poppy sneered. Lucy took a step back while Abby bravely stepped forward.

"I can't help that Crum makes the best shield," she said, gaze flitting from street to street in an effort to locate an escape route, if one was suddenly needed. "He's tall and sturdy and never stays down for long. Back when I kicked him in the crotch all those times, he was always on his feet after a good cry." Crum's gaze shot to Abby's face, his cheeks the faintest pink.

Poppy shook her head, red curls cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall of her enemies' blood. "Must you two be so preposterous?" She ground the heel of her shoe into the road, cobblestone crunching like bone. "I'm not mad, truly." As Abby and Lucy opened their mouths in protest, Crum knitting his eyebrows together, Poppy continued, "I'm just," she huffed, the green in her eyes softening, turning from acidic, corrosive green, to a shade like that of a forest in spring. "Irritated." Sternness returned to her voice. "You are late."

Abby's shoulders shot into her ears. "Not by choice," she launched an elbow into Lucy's gut, "all his fault. Had to look his best."

Doubled over, Lucy spit out, "I happen to always look my best."

At this, all the harshness in her features softened, Poppy's stiffness melting away. She chuckled, which was a delightful sound, robust and heartfelt. "Whatever the reason, I'm just glad you made it." One eyebrow raised, her mouth quirking into a half-smile drenched in mischief, she added, "Did my eyes deceive me or were you and Crum holding hands, Tells?"

Abby stiffened as all color fled Crum's cheeks and ended up on hers.

Lucy draped his arms over Abby, settling his chin on the crown of her head, quick to reject Poppy's insinuation. "He took her hand. Completely one-sided. Don't make it seem like it was a welcomed gesture." He pressed a cheek against Abby's. "Isn't that right, love? The only hand you want holding yours is--"

Abby rushed forward, stampeding past Poppy like a horde of outer rim boars. "Polly!" she said, sidling up to arguably the best Mayweather. Taking Polly's gloved hand in hers, she smiled. "It's good to see you again."

The smaller of the twins, with a thinner frame and more delicately carved features, threw her arms over Abby. Warmth spread across Abby's back, as hair as soft as silk tickled her face. "I'm glad you're here."

Beside her, Henrich Jo coughed into his hand, the collar of his shirt crooked and stained with some kind of red jam. Abby, still clenched in Polly's grasp, gave him a slight nod which he returned in kind, before shuffling toward Crum like a magnet drawn to its opposite.

Polly pulled away. "You thought she'd be mad, didn't you?"

"Considering I always make her that way?" Abby shook her head. "Yeah, I did."

Polly placed a hand on Abby's shoulder and squeezed. "Haven't you heard? She's downgraded you from anger-inducer to irritation-causer."

Abby mocked wiping sweat from her brow. "Thank the gods for that."

"Unfortunately," Polly craned her neck. Lucy stumbled after Poppy who stalked away from him, head held high, chin jutted, face a deep crimson, "the same can't be said for that cousin of yours."

"Tells!" Poppy shrieked.

Though Abby's instincts demanded she seek shelter behind another human shield, she resisted their siren's song. The only person nearby was Polly, and Abby refused to hide behind her. Unlike Crum, Polly was too nice to put in harm's way.

Squaring her shoulders, Abby determined to meet this danger head on. She'd done it countless times before; why not once more? "Yes?" she said, digging her feet into the ground.

Abby imagined she was like a tree in her mother's grove whose roots ran deep and spread wide, who could withstand an earthquake, or downpour, who wouldn't bend or break in the strongest winds, let alone because of some wispy, red-haired-

Poppy's arm wrapped around Abby's neck and her world spun. The sheer force of Poppy's grip caused her to tumble before she settled into a gait and was being dragged away by the eldest Mayweather twin.

So much for Abby being like the mighty tree.

"Your cousin," Poppy huffed, hands clenched into fists, "is the worst." A lock of hair fell in front of her eyes, which Poppy promptly blew aside. "Why does he insist on," she lobbed a glower back the way she'd come, "on saying those things to me?"

Those things. By which she meant the sugary-sweet platitudes Lucy laid on thick, like extra-butter-on-toast thick, to the girls in Ean.

And at their utterance, almost every girl in Ean ended up like said butter, melting into pools of themselves as Lucy pledged his undying love to them, which lasted a week or two before boredom became the dominant emotion.

She rolled her eyes and gave Poppy the best answer she could offer. "He's an idiot."

Poppy stopped dead in her tracks. Then, she shook, hunched over, hand on her stomach. Abby peered at her, wondering if her anger had transformed into sickness. Wouldn't be the first time.

But Poppy wasn't ill, she was laughing. Shaking with laughter. Face red, eyes watery, drool frothing at the corners of her lips. Abby'd never seen her look so unlady-like.

"You," Poppy managed between a bout of laughter as she wiped a tear running down her cheek, "You're right. He is a moron."

At this, Abby couldn't help but join in. She laughed too, the heaviness of the day lightened by Poppy of all people.

Just as some things never changed, others transformed in the most surprising and splendid of ways.

In the ensuing silence, after their laughter had died down, Abby was again reminded of how glad she was the Mayweathers survived the fire, that they'd been outside before the bad magick had taken effect, preventing anyone inside from escaping.

Nor did she resent that on that night, frozen with terror, the trio had hidden in the larder instead of running for help. Had it not been for Margo spiriting away Abby to Aelurus, she probably would have hid too. They'd been kids then faced with something too big and too frightful to fully understand.

"I heard you've got quite the business acumen," Poppy said, snapping Abby free of her thoughts. "Disguising alchemic failures as curse plants."

Abby's eyebrow raised as she threw an arm around Poppy's waist. "I may have done something like that," she said, recalling all the Pinprickle plants that had decorated the windowsills of several Eanian homes.

"You must teach me your ways."

"Well," Abby stepped over a bottle of spilled ale, "first off, find yourself an idiot cousin."

Poppy leaned in close, head lightly tapping against Abby's. "Would an idiot brother suffice?" She nodded toward Henrich, who scurried in front of Crum, clearing the path of an overturned trash can.

Abby shrugged. "I think that'd work."

The girls shared a light-hearted giggle as they headed for the beach where, alongside old friends and new, they'd celebrate those returned to the heavens.