As the Crow Falls | ✔

Chapter Forty-Five

Varna's Crow Moon festivals were always a delight, but the first one after Dinah's fall was particularly extravagant. Niccola could only wonder why—whether it was the joy of a Talakova-loving people able to visit the forest again without fear, the return of both their royals, or both factors combined. Either way, the candle lanterns that night turned the streets of the lower realm into rivers of floating lights. Their glow illuminated people dressed in their finest outfits, while musicians in costumes of birds and gloam-cats added texture to the crowd. Niccola spotted at least two dancers in Talak regalia. These slunk through the streets with unnatural gaits, their bodies painted a silver-white eerily similar to that of the Talaks themselves. Music, singing, and a banquet of food smells steeped the chilly air.

"What's that one?" said Isaiah, head lifted and smile alight. A haunting flute joined the already multi-layered soundscape.

"That's a nightbird-caller," said Phoebe. "It's my favorite! Niccola, who's playing? Can you see?"

Niccola stood up on her tiptoes and strained to catch a view over the crowd. "I think that's Moses from down along the orchard row. He's really been practicing, wow."

"And he was already so good before, too. Can we follow him? The main paths are going to be crowded anyway; we can take a detour."

Niccola tugged Isaiah's hand. "What do you think?"

"Doesn't matter to me. I don't even know the whole city layout yet, let alone the forest paths."

"Adventure it is."

They scampered through the crowd after the flutist. The roads were packed, and Niccola tried and failed not to bump people with the cage she carried. Nobody minded, of course. Traditional greetings in both human and Talak languages rang through the crowd as people met—intentionally or unintentionally—talked, and made their way down towards the Talakova's edge. Lakes of lantern-light pooled among the massive, ancient trees. These gatherings funneled into ribbons as people wove deeper into the forest, along ancient paths to the groves where their ancestors lay.

"Don't drop the food," warned Niccola as Phoebe made a particularly artful maneuver around a stack of crates.

"I'm fine. You never trust me, and you drop things all the time."

"I do not—"

Isaiah "coughed" the words "pillow stack of doom" on her other side.

Niccola rounded on him. "I made it up two floors with that stack before it went down, I will have you know."

"And then we got hit with pillows two floors down," said Phoebe with a wicked grin.

"You two have no faith."

"We have lots of faith," said Isaiah. "Just in select areas."

"That don't involve carrying thirteen pillows up three flights of stairs," added Phoebe, nodding sagely.

"I'm feeling ganged up on."

"You could ask Pekea," said Isaiah. The dragon perked up on his shoulder. "She loved your pillow stack. Especially all over the ground."

"That's it; I am taking all your snacks, and I'm not telling you the way to the kitchen."

"I'll take you there," said Phoebe promptly. She and Isaiah exchanged a conspiratorial handshake.

Niccola had other threats, but none worth deploying. Half the things she might leave him out of were no fun alone, and she really would need his help raiding the kitchen. He'd proven exceptional at charming the cooks into giving them treats, or charming their way out of trouble if they ever got caught. Pekea helped with visible glee. And for all the pranks that awaited Niccola at her sister and fiancé's hands, it was good to see Phoebe returning to normal life again. Niccola would often go looking for her or Isaiah only to find them together—making crafts, petting crow chicks in the palace rookeries, or simply sitting on the stairs or galleries or some other weird part of the palace, chatting for hours on end. Phoebe eased up a lot around Isaiah. And it went both ways. Perks of Varna's distance from the Calisian puppet rulers and all the stress they entailed.