Fallon once told me that as a youngling, she used to lie on her back and wish upon the moons—wishes that would sometimes come true.
Magic, she called it.
I’ve never believed in things that make no sense to me—aside from Essi’s magnificence. But perhaps I should start wishing on the moon I love so much. Ask it to find a way to replace my heart with a soft and squishy one so I never have to see Essi’s eyes flood with sadness again.
Creators, I’m an asshole.
I curl up on my side, snuggling Nee, looking at Hae’s Perch while humming the gentle tune that always clears my mind no matter how loud the world seems.
Haedeon found me in his sleigh just before the aurora set.
I thought he’d be happy to see me. Instead, he said he was going to take me straight home to Arithia in a big growly voice I’ve never heard him use before. But when the aurora rose, he boiled me tea, packed our things, and then we kept going in the same direction.
I think he forgave me a little bit because he gave me a butterberry chew this slumber after we ate some felt-ringed fungus soup. Haedeon didn’t finish his bowl or eat his chew, but he did spend time shaping a dragonscale blade.
He told me we’ll be there in three aurora cycles. That we’ll spend one slumber in the hatching hut on the outskirts of Netheryn before he leaves at aurora rise right when the mahmi Moonplumes go off to hunt. That I’m not to leave the hatching hut until he returns or three slumbers have passed without him.
Seems a bit silly to me since I didn’t hide in his sleigh to sit in a hut and eat butterberry chews …
I came to get my own Moonplume egg.
Seated in the back of a gloomy booth, I keep my hood up despite the velvet curtains pulled shut so nobody can see in. My only companion is a heavy mug of mead I bring to my mouth, drawing a frothy glug of the thick, bitter-tasting liquid. Hissing through my teeth, I bang it back on the table, scowling.
The mead in this city tastes like it’s been distilled in a muddy barrel, but I prefer it over the murky water that’s twice as dirty and leaves grit in your teeth.
The quenching warmth takes only the sharpest edge off this feeling in my chest—like I’ve been rattled so hard my bones split and stabbed me through.
I know it wasn’t her. That it’s impossible. That I’m going mad—and have been for phases.
Still.
Those eyes.
That scent.
That voice—
Growling, I lift the mug to my lips again.
The curtain parts.
A hooded female with a proud but delicate stature steps into the confines of my booth, chased by a parchment lark that nudges her shoulder, urging her to snatch it up.
She does, sighing.
Forging myself into a vision of false composure, I draw another muddy sip, swallowing as she settles in the seat opposite me, face hidden within the cowl of her cloak.
“Surprised to see my brother let you out of his sight again,” I rumble, setting the mug back on the table, “Princess.”
Kyzari pushes back her hood, brows raised as she regards me through haunting azure eyes. Her white hair hangs well past her waist, bound in a braid almost thicker than my wrist, her complexion so pale I can see the web of veins beneath the skin of her hands.
My gaze lifts to the diadem clinging to her forehead, the black Aether Stone sitting central amongst the curls of silver metal she’s been crowned with since the dae she took her first breath.
It’s been a while since I saw her last. Since Veya and I went to Mah’s special place and found her there. Realized she’d been there for a while—holed up.
Hiding.
Not the first time she’d run away. Obviously not the last.
She reaches toward the sconce protruding from the wall like a gnarled claw and dangles the still-fluttering, unread parchment lark over the flame. Fire gobbles it up, her fingers pinching the thing until it’s almost gone before she drops it to the stone table and watches it turn to ash.
I frown.
“I’m devoted to the Creators now,” she announces, brushing off her hands, reaching over the lark’s corpse to steal my mug. “I took the Oath of Chastity—”
“You’re my niece. The last thing I want to talk about is your chastity—”
“—I can do whatever I want now that Pah’s no longer afraid of losing me.”
“Lie,” I growl, low enough my voice won’t carry beyond the curtain to where a lone fiddle player is carving a tune in the common area beyond. “Your Moonplume isn’t in the imperial hutch I purposely inspected before meeting you here, and we both know you wouldn’t trust her with some loose-lipped city wrangler.”