Kiera's POV
My mother slams into the car's hood with enough force to crack the windshield.
"Drive!" Davian shouts at the driver. "Now!"
The car lurches backward. Mom rolls off the hood and lands in a crouch, wings spread wide. Blood drips from a gash on her forehead, but her eyes—those amber eyes I inherited—lock onto mine through the shattered glass.
She mouths one word: Run.
Then guards pour from the burning building behind her, shock-sticks crackling.
"Go, go, go!" Davian pounds on the divider.
The driver floors it. We speed away as guards swarm my mother. I twist in my seat, watching through the rear window as she fights—wings slashing, fists flying. She takes down three guards before they overwhelm her.
"Stop the car," I demand.
"We can't—"
"That's my mother! Stop the damn car!"
Davian grabs my shoulders. "She attacked a Skyheart facility. If we go back, they'll arrest you too. The engagement contract won't protect you from terrorism charges."
I shove him away. "She's not a terrorist!"
"Then why did she blow up that building?"
I don't have an answer. Can't have an answer. Because the woman I just saw looked nothing like the gentle mother who sang me to sleep as a child. That woman was a warrior. A weapon.
A stranger.
The car turns a corner and she disappears from view.
I slump against the seat, wings trembling. My whole body shakes—rage, shock, confusion all fighting for control.
"Did you know?" I ask quietly. "Did you know she'd be there?"
"No." Davian sounds genuinely shaken. "That facility wasn't scheduled for any incidents. And your mother... she shouldn't even exist according to official records."
"Well, she does. And she just committed an act of war against the Council." I laugh bitterly. "Guess it runs in the family. Finn fought the system. I fought the system. Why not Mom too?"
"Kiera—"
"Don't." I close my eyes. "Just... don't say anything. I can't handle platitudes right now."
He stays quiet. Smart man.
The car drives for what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes. My wings ache from being unfolded in the cramped space, but I can't bring myself to fold them again. Not yet. After two years of forced confinement, even painful freedom feels precious.
Finally, we slow down. The driver announces: "Silvercrest Estate, sir."
I open my eyes and immediately wish I hadn't.
The estate sprawls across an entire district of the Peaks—the highest, richest part of the city. White marble towers catch the sunlight. Crystal windows reflect the fractured purple sky. Gardens float on platforms held up by smaller Skyhearts, covered in flowers I've never seen before.
It's beautiful.
I hate it.
"Home sweet home," Davian says without enthusiasm.
The car stops at massive iron gates that swing open automatically. We pull up a curved driveway to the main entrance where a line of servants wait.
A woman in a crisp uniform opens my door. "Welcome, Miss Ashwind. I'm Helena, the head housekeeper. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your quarters."
I climb out carefully, wings folding against my back. Every servant's eyes track the movement. Some look curious. Others disgusted. One young girl stares with naked wonder.
"They've never seen Windborn wings this close before," Davian murmurs as he joins me. "Try not to take it personally."
"Everything about this is personal."
Helena leads us inside. The entrance hall is bigger than my entire childhood home. Marble floors so polished I can see my reflection. A chandelier made of actual crystals hangs from a ceiling three stories high.
Finn would've hated this place. Would've wanted to smash every expensive thing just to prove it could break.
The thought makes my chest hurt.
"Your rooms are on the third floor," Helena says, climbing a curved staircase. "East wing. Private balcony with reinforced railings for flight takeoff. Lord Silvercrest insisted you have accommodations suitable for your... needs."
My needs. Right. Like a balcony makes up for being a prisoner in a prettier cage.
We reach the third floor and Helena opens a door. "Your suite, Miss Ashwind."
I step inside and stop dead.
The bedroom is enormous. A bed big enough for four people sits against one wall. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city. There's a separate sitting room, a bathroom with a tub I could swim in, and a closet already filled with clothes I'd never choose to wear.
"I'll leave you to settle in," Helena says. "Dinner is at seven. I'll send someone to help you dress."
She leaves before I can tell her I don't need help dressing like I'm five years old.
Davian lingers in the doorway. "If you need anything—"
"I need answers." I turn to face him. "That was my mother. My supposedly dead mother. And she just attacked a Skyheart facility hours after your father showed me she's alive. That's not coincidence."
"No," he agrees. "It's not."
"So what's the play here? What does your father gain from showing me that video right before Mom decides to commit terrorism?"
Davian's quiet for a long moment. Then: "My father's specialty is manipulation. He finds people's weak points and exploits them. Showing you that video wasn't mercy. It was strategy."
"Strategy for what?"
"To make you doubt everything. To keep you off balance. To ensure you're too emotionally compromised to think clearly." He meets my eyes. "He wants you confused and vulnerable. Easier to control."
"Well, congratulations to him. It's working." I sink onto the edge of the massive bed. "I don't know what's real anymore. My mother's alive. Finn's death might be part of some bigger conspiracy. The sky's falling apart. And I just signed a contract binding me to the family that destroyed mine."
Davian crosses the room and sits beside me. Not too close. Respecting my space.
"For what it's worth," he says quietly, "I'm going to help you find the truth. All of it. Your mother, Finn's real killer, why the Skyhearts are failing. Even if the answers implicate my father. Even if they implicate me."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because I'm tired of lies." He stares at his hands. "I've spent my whole life in this world of political games and manipulation. Everyone always has an angle. But you... you're the first person I've met who just wants the truth, consequences be damned."
"Truth can be dangerous."
"So can ignorance."
A bell chimes somewhere in the house. Davian stands. "That's the dinner warning. One hour. Helena will send someone to help you change."
"I don't need help—"
"It's not about need. It's about appearances. At dinner tonight, you'll meet the full Council. They'll be watching your every move, looking for weakness. Looking for reasons to reject this arrangement." He pauses at the door. "Let them underestimate you. Let them think you're just a savage Windborn who got lucky. Then we'll use their assumptions against them."
He leaves.
I'm alone in luxury that feels like mockery.
I walk to the balcony and step outside. The wind hits my face, carrying the scent of coming storms. The purple crack in the eastern sky has grown. I can see two more fissures now—one north, one south. The sky really is dying.
Three months. That's all we have.
Three months to save a city I'm not sure deserves saving.
My wings ache. My heart aches. Everything aches.
I'm about to go back inside when movement catches my eye. Someone on a lower balcony, watching me.
I lean over the railing, squinting.
It's a girl. Maybe sixteen. She has white-blonde hair like Davian, but her eyes are amber. Like mine.
Like Mom's.
She sees me looking and smiles. Then she spreads her wings—small, translucent, barely developed—and waves.
An aristocrat with wings. That's impossible. They bred wings out generations ago.
Before I can react, someone yanks her back inside. The balcony door slams shut.
But I saw what I saw.
And as I stand there, wind whipping my hair, one thought crystallizes with terrible clarity:
Lord Silvercrest didn't just show me that video to hurt me.
He showed it because my mother knows something. Something worth destroying a Skyheart facility to expose.
Something worth faking her own death to investigate.
Something that involves aristocrats secretly regrowing wings.
The door behind me opens. A young servant enters carrying an armful of evening gowns.
"Miss Ashwind? It's time to prepare for dinner. The Council is eager to meet Lord Davian's new fiancée."
I take one last look at the balcony where the impossible girl appeared.
Then I turn back inside, wings folding carefully.
If they want to play games, I'll play.
But I'm playing to win.