They will tell you that flight is free. They lie.
— Ella, the Silvertongued Princess
Raven.
When the girl's lashes drifted closed again, the madame moved like smoke.
Her gnarled hand shot out, seizing the collar of my shift and yanking me close. Her breath reeked of something sour — copper and rot and rage.
"If she dies," she hissed against my ear, "so do you."
Then she released me with a shove and hobbled from the room, her limp ragged and vicious at this new speed. The iron door banged shut behind her like the closing of a tomb.
I stood there for a long moment, rooted to the stone, the ghost of her words gnawing at my gut.
If she dies, so do you.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight and aching, and turned back to Dove's fragile body, still wrapped in slick green leaves. She didn't stir.
Not even a twitch.
I pressed trembling fingers to my own stomach and realized — belatedly — how empty I was. My hunger gnawed at me, hollow and mean.
Two days, maybe more, since I'd eaten anything substantial.
I limped toward the shelves, fumbling through jars and baskets until I found it — a crumbling piece of sweet toast, long gone stale, and a tiny clay pot of honey half crystallized with time.
It would have to do.
I perched on the edge of the treatment table and chewed slowly, letting the sugar coat my tongue. My mother's voice drifted from the dark corners of my memory, stern and teasing all at once:
"Eat proper, or you'll fly away on the wind, little bird."
Maybe she'd been right all along.
Maybe I had already flown — broken-winged and bleeding — and landed here, in this gilded hell.
---
Eli.
The plan spun in my mind like a blade, sharp and relentless.
The Aviary stood alone, a jewel set in the black ocean.To the north: cliffs of treacherous slate, sheer and deadly.To the south: the only beach — and even that was a trap.
A thin line of luminescent pebbles wove through the sands like a thread through a needle. Step off the path, and the island's curse would claim you — trapping your mind in the past, dragging you into endless memory until you starved.
No easy way in.
No easier way out.
The South-East side had a second beach — the pleasure beach — but it was watched. Guarded. Used only by the Aviary's wealthiest monsters.
And monsters had built the island well.
I sat hunched over a battered tavern table in LakeTown, swirling warm, bitter ale in my mug. My reflection shimmered in the amber liquid: tired green eyes, a sharp jaw rough with scruff, and the pale gold hair that marked me for what I was.
Royal blood.A hunted thing.A ghost in my own kingdom.
The barmaid slapped another mug down on the next table with a heavy hand, ignoring me. Good. I wanted her to forget my face as quickly as possible.
I pushed my own hair back behind my ear, scanning the shadows beyond the firelight.
The rumours had grown louder with each passing week.
The Usurper.A girl with hair like sunlight.Eyes like emeralds.Dragged to the Aviary.Broken and kept for his own monstrous amusement.
A sister, perhaps.
Or just another ghost of what I'd lost.
I had to know.I had to know.
The scrape of a chair tore me from my thoughts. I looked up sharply as a hooded man dragged a seat toward my table, drawing irritated glances from the few other patrons nursing their mid-day drinks.
He slumped into the chair, facing the door with quick, darting glances. A man used to looking over his shoulder.
"I have it," he rasped without preamble. "You have the coin?"
I slid a small cloth bag across the scarred table. He plucked it up, weighed it, tested a coin between his teeth. Satisfied, he shoved the bag inside his tunic and dropped a roll of parchment in its place.
I grabbed his wrist before he could bolt.
"I need more."My voice was low. Urgent. "A sorcerer. A good one."
The man grimaced, shaking me off like a dog with fleas.
"Farth Street," he muttered. "Apothecary at the end. If you dare."
He was gone a breath later, vanishing into the sunlight that bled through the warped tavern door.
I unrolled the parchment carefully, heart pounding.
Schematics.
The Aviary's bones.Every hall.Every tower.Every lock.Every cage.
I traced the lines with a fingertip. Somewhere inside that fortress, she was waiting.
Somewhere, a piece of my past still clung to life.
I tucked the parchment inside my jacket, finished the dregs of my ale, and rose.
The sun outside was blinding after the tavern's gloom. I pulled my hood lower, one hand resting lightly near the dagger at my hip.
Eyes followed me through the twisting alleys of LakeTown.
Too many eyes.
The stink of pigshit and salt clung to the air, thick and foul. My boots splashed through puddles of god-knows-what as I wove deeper into the slums.
Farth Street.
A place where the city's blood ran black.Where things were bought and sold that decent men would not even name aloud.Where hope went to rot.
The houses here perched on spindly stilts above black water, leaning close like conspirators. The bridges between them swayed with every step, slick with mold and filth.
By the time I found the apothecary, I was certain I was being followed.
A shadow at my back.A whisper at the edge of hearing.
But no blade came. No voice called out.
Not yet.
The apothecary was little more than a shack jammed between two larger buildings, its windows smeared with grime, its door hanging off one hinge.
Perfect.
I pressed my hand to the worn wood, heart hammering.
If the girl from the rumours was truly my sister — if she was alive — if I could save her...
Everything would change.
If not?
Then I'd burn the Aviary to the waterline and salt the stones for good measure.
One way or another — this cage would break.
Even if I had to shatter myself to do it.