With a body no bigger than a palm, Finala shot through the chimney like a dart. Honestly, there were a hundred tricks she could pull in this place to spy more effectively, slipping into narrow corridors, hiding between dusty tomes on high shelves, or darting under tables where shadows swallowed everything whole. For her, all of that was child's play.
But Glen Lancaster had clipped her wings. He forbade her from doing anything beyond watching. No eavesdropping, no digging deeper, no meddling. Just observe.
And that order? It wasn't even entirely legit. Finala was a fae of the Golium birdfolk, a race that wasn't supposed to meddle in human affairs. Sure, she'd sworn loyalty to the last prince of Valbara, but every now and then she longed to follow her own instincts.
Still, the situation left her no room to rebel. So she swallowed her frustration and obeyed, even if her heart bristled against it.
