"Hope doesn't bloom in sunlight.It grows from the wreckage."— Ella the Silvertongued Princess
Eli.
Growing up, it had always been her.
My sister — older by two years, steadier in every way — the sun my world circled around.
The favourite of our parents. The heir. The clever one.I didn't mind.Their devotion to her was a freedom for me — the freedom to love what they deemed beneath her: the art of battle, the rush of strategy, the beauty of a sword drawn clean.
Where she memorized treaties, I memorized war.
Where she learned to rule, I learned to kill.
I was meant to be her general.Her confidant.Her sword.
It was a life I had accepted, even craved.Because I loved her more fiercely than I loved anything else.
I still do.
That night — the night the world ended — I saw her.
Not as the Princess of Salva, not as the future queen.As my sister.
I saw her silhouette at the door — silver patchwork gown flashing in the light of the burning castle behind her, curls wild around her face, green eyes searching the chaos.
Calling for me.
I dropped Margot's hand without thinking — poor Margot, who had been in my care and whom I abandoned in an instant — and ran.
But the falling tree blocked my path, and by the time I clawed around it, our mother had seized Cecilia's hand and dragged her back into the keep.
Safe, I thought.Mother would know where to hide.Mother would know how to protect her.
I was wrong.
From a hidden passage, through a pinhole carved into the stone, I watched the Usurper drive a blade through our mother's heart.
I watched her die for us.
And I hid.
I hid while the castle burned and the slaughter raged.
I hid while the screams of the loyal and the innocent echoed through the halls like a death knell.
I hid while my kingdom bled out around me.
The Usurper's voice had called for me:"Priiiiince of Salva — I know you're here. Come out, come out, little mouse."
And I stayed crouched in my hole like the coward I was.
It was the most unforgivable sin of my life.
And still, I did not know if Margot had survived.Still, I had never gone back for her.
Because my sister was the only star left in my sky.
And I would find her.
Or die trying.
I scrubbed at my eyes and stared down at my stew.
It wasn't that it looked bad — thick, rich, fragrant.
I just wasn't hungry.
But famine had taught me this much: you eat when you can, because you don't know when you'll have the chance again.
I forced myself to lift the spoon and eat.
The little bell above the door tinkled — a bright sound, out of place in this grim place — and the room shifted subtly.Quieter. Warier.
I heard the muttered grumbles:"Slave blood — getting too bold."
Then a familiar figure sat down across from me.
"I'm Eiríkr," he said, offering his hand with a crooked smile. "Call me Eiri for short."
He waved the barkeep over, ordering a bowl of stew with the casual grace of someone who knew exactly how much he could get away with.
I blinked at him, stunned into silence.
"I realize I was a bit... curt earlier," he continued, flashing an apologetic grin. "Bad habit I'm trying to break."
A steaming bowl of stew arrived. He handed the barkeep a few coins without flinching.
The familiarity of the motion struck me — casual, easy.Not a man used to scarcity.
Not a man without power.
"Why won't you help me?" I rasped, dropping my gaze to my half-empty bowl.
Eiri sighed, stirring his stew absently. "Because right now you don't even have a plan. You want to break into the Aviary — the most fortified island in the known world — based on rumours that someone might look like your sister."
His tone wasn't cruel.It was weary.
Still, my heart tightened.There was truth in it.
"But I do have something," I insisted, leaning forward. "Blueprints. Maps. I've been studying the island. I know the paths, the beaches, the guard rotations—"
I caught myself.
Frowned.
Looked up sharply.
"Wait. How did you know I was looking for my sister?"
Eiri didn't flinch.
He took a slow bite of stew, chewing thoughtfully before answering.
"It's obvious," he said finally, shrugging. "It's not like the Aviary takes elderly women or old men. It had to be family — someone precious enough for a prince to gamble everything for. You're not the first relative who's come to me looking for help."
He smiled thinly over the rim of his bowl.
I hesitated — suspicion curling cold in my gut — but he gave me no reason to doubt him.
And his next words snared me fully:
"We need to go inside," he said. "Pose as patrons. See her for ourselves. Confirm it's her.If it is — we find a way to get her out."
It was a dangerous plan.
But it was a plan.
One that made more sense than any half-mad siege I could muster.
And — selfishly — I wanted to see her again.
Even if I couldn't save her.Even if all I could do was tell her she wasn't forgotten.
I drained my mug of ale in one long swallow and slammed it back on the table.
"Nice to meet you properly, Eiri," I said, reaching out to clasp his hand.
He shook it firmly, his golden eyes gleaming in the firelight.
"To impossible things," he murmured.
"To impossible things," I echoed.
And for the first time in months, I let hope find a foothold in the ashes of my heart.