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Aren responds. “We cleaned out your bag. Got rid of your tech and things.”
    This time, I do glance at Aren. He smiles, and Lena laughs behind him. I clench my teeth, close the distance to my backpack, and lift its flap. Two big, bright blue eyes stare back at me. A kimki . It’s sort of a cross between a ferret and a cat with a long, supile body and mouselike ears. When the moon’s light touches its curled front paws, it crinkles its nose and a ruffle runs through its silver-tipped fur.
    Aren lowers his hand to the bag, palm up. The kimki stares at me a few seconds more before it scurries up Aren’s arm and perches across his shoulders. Another ruffle runs through its sleek fur and the silver fades until the animal is snow-white.
    Aren reaches up to scratch behind its ears. “His name’s Sosch. Kimkis flush silver when they’re near gates or other things they’re attracted to, so he must really like you. He curled up in your backpack the moment he caught your scent in it.”
    Sosch blinks innocently at me.
    I glare at Aren. “I . . . You . . .” The bastard’s tricked me. This is why he was willing to make a bet. He set me up to fail, and now he looks so . . . so entertained by my reaction.
    No. No way. I am not losing like this.
    I reach down to the bed of rocks beneath the picnic table and pick up the largest one I can find. It’s sharp on one end, and as I straighten, it takes all my self-control not to chuck it at Aren’s head. I don’t have time for that. My memory of the shadows is fading fast.
    I face the two fae sitting on the table. “Move.”
    They glance at the rock in my hand, at each other, then back at me. I’m about to shove them both off the table when they scoot off its edge and stand out of the way. I fist my rock pointy-side down in my right hand and begin to carve the shadows. The wood is old and damp with humidity. It gives way to my makeshift knife. I sketch quickly, seeing the shimmers and shifts of the shadows in my mind’s eye. I draw the curve of a river down the craggy side of a mountain. A village lines its west bank, but that’s not where Trev fissured to. He’s somewhere in the farmland on the opposite bank.
    My map’s scale changes when I narrow his location down to a smaller area. I focus in on that, trying to remember distinguishing features in the shadows. There was an orchard, I think. Right there.
    I mark the spot, but I have no clue if Trev is in the orchard or in the farmhouse half a mile away. Where is he? Where?
    The shadows tell me nothing, and a moment later, they vanish from my memory. Shit. In frustration, I stab my rock into the orchard.
    Wait. I focus on my map.
    A rock in the orchard.
    Yes.
    I pick up my rock to scratch an X near the edge of the orchard.
    “He’s there.” I point. “Near Carbada.”
    As soon as I voice the name of the city, Aren’s grin vanishes. I don’t know which of us is more surprised. He’s visibly stunned, but I’m downright astounded because I know the location that magically locked into Aren’s mind isn’t just within a hundred feet of Trev’s location; it’s practically underneath his boots.
    Holy crap, I’m good.
    I push away from the picnic table, and with an unwavering gaze and a little attitude, I tell Aren, “That’s what I’m worth.”
    He sets Sosch on the ground. The whole camp must be shocked, because nobody says a word, not even Lena, who’s still staring at my scratched-out map.
    “Have a nice life,” I say, and then I turn on my heel and head for the narrow trail that brought me here. I keep my spine straight, my chin up, but I’m half expecting a dagger to be thrown at my back. I listen for the sound of metal sliding free of a sheath, but hear only the wind, the chirping of crickets, and the shuffling of feet. I’m almost to the tree line when Aren finally speaks.
    “Stop her.”
    I wince but continue walking until a fae cuts off my path. He reaches for my arm, but stops just short of touching me.