little time for my mind to accept you’re not Gregor’s cruel heir who wants nothing more than to see me fail and fall.”
He stopped walking but didn’t turn around, his fingers balling into fists at his sides.
I made my way toward where he stood and circled his rigid body. “In real Neverra, you wouldn’t have caught me.”
“I would’ve caught you.”
“Please. We were never friends, or allies, or partners.” I cocked my head to the side. “Plus, we didn’t only have each other; we had options. Right now, I’m your only option, so embarrassing me or hurting me wouldn’t be wise. Especially considering you prefer bad company over no company.”
“Can you let that go already? I only said it to piss you off.”
My head jerked a little. “Why did you want to piss me off?”
He shoved his hand through his mussed red hair. “I don’t know. Maybe because that’s what we’re best at. Pissing each other off.”
My eyes grew wider; his did the exact opposite. “How have I ever pissed you off? I avoid you whenever I can. I rarely ever address you unless I have to.”
His nostrils flared. “Just drop it, all right? And try not to hum or sing, so that, if there is anyone else around, we can spot them first.”
“I wasn’t going to sing,” I muttered. “When was the last time I sang anyway?”
“When you were getting dressed back at the inn.”
“Oh right. When you suspected I was dead and just had to check.”
He kept walking, kept glowering. Not at me, even though I had no doubt he was visualizing my face on each patch of moss he stomped.
I picked up my pace; he accelerated. Bagwa.
We walked like that, me lagging behind, until we reached the Gorge of Portals. He raised his arm to touch the lowest one. When his fingers cut right through it as though it were no more substantial than a cloud, my disenchantment with this bogus Neverra swelled. He raked his hand through a couple more illusory doors before abandoning his quest to uncover a real one. Where would it have led us anyway? Nowhere good, that was for sure.
Something glinted in the distance. I squinted trying to make out what it could be, but then a rattling sound I knew oh-so-well had my gaze dropping to my feet, to the tiny, quill-coated bodies writhing between them.
“Aw, crap,” I heard Remo mutter.
Was he muttering because I’d just stepped on a nest of freshly-hatched mikos, or were some reptiles slithering around his boots, too? One of the snakes picked up its flat head and hissed at me, its forked purple tongue shooting out. Thankfully, it was a juvenile. Since mikos’ tongues were as long as their bodies, an adult’s would have reached me.
“How did you not see them, Trifecta?”
Now is so not the time to pick a fight. “Maybe because they’re the exact same shade as the moss instead of black like in Neverra,” I snapped, as a larger mikos slithered between my boots.
Since their tails resembled their heads to confuse their enemies, I watched for a hint of the tongue they never fully reeled in. Sure enough, it came at me, and I jolted backward, my boot rolling over a body. The creature hissed, then swiped the shell of my ear. Yelping, I whirled around and jumped, no longer worried about squashing the snakes, and man did I squash some. They were proliferating like bacteria, rising from the very soil.
Once I reached him, I stuck my back to his and stared at the slithering pit. Stupid power-blocking world. Mikos hated heat, so my kalini would’ve come in handy.
“Any bright ideas, Farrow? Because I’m all out fire.”
“How about using your wita, Trifecta?”
My gaze dropped to my palm. Crap. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I tugged out my dust and fashioned it into a broadsword, which I swung around using my uninjured arm, chopping cleanly through the spike-coated bodies. Whenever I killed one, though, sixteen seemed to rise. “Any other ideas?”
“Run.”
“Where?” They were literally everywhere. It was as though the very moss had morphed into snakes.
“To the calimbor.”
“What if it’s full of them?” I swung my sword, decapitating a mikos whose flat head was leveled with my throat. “We should get back to the train.”
“The tree’s closer.”
It was closer. I still didn’t love his plan, but there was no way I was running in a different direction than he was.
“On the count of three . . .”
As he counted, I sang softly. My nerves