Her red-orange eye pins against me, as she gives me a look that tells me she’s looking forward to the day she can peck at my still-warm corpse. Another sharp cry escapes her beak.
As I pull myself to my feet, I dust off the clinging dirt and grass.
With a grin, I open my mouth—
“If you’re going to gloat,” Eve interjects as she lavishes a still-staring Button with affection, stroking her back, “shut your damn mouth.”
My jaw snaps shut.
And Eve laughs.
?????????????
When we decided to cut through Castle Erus with Button, we were already backed by logic and efficiency. Our first three trips were successful. The hens were kept warm, we saved on time, andthey weren’t separated for long.
We silently snaked our way to the stables with Darla, Coco, and Mabel one at a time. No one noticed. No hen cried. It was the perfect solution to getting the girls to the stables versus carting themaroundthe grounds.
Naturally, we thought we could do the same with Button.
I’ve never been more wrong in my life.
The instant we set foot inside the grand foyer, the heathen of a hen went off like an alarm. She clucked as loud as her little lungs would allow—which, turns out is neardeafening—causing dozens of eyes to find us in seconds.
To make matters worse, she didn’t want to escape Eve. Or at least, she never tried. She just wanted to beloudabout her capture. Her clucking continued, ringing through the castle every godsdamned step of the way.
Damn feathered fiend.
Never have my cheeks burned hotter.
Through the grand foyer and through the winding eastern wing, heads turned, jaws dropped, and brows creased. But not a single question was asked. Instead, I’ve fueled castle gossipagain.
Button didn’t silence her outrage until Eve set her upon her feet in the stall with her flocking friends. Despite the many minutes that have passed, my ears are still ringing.
My grip tightens on the bouquet as I walk beside Cyran. Eve declining the offer to accompany came as no surprise. She gave the excuse of needing to secure a carpenter to build the hens’ coop and run before Button decided to vocalize her thoughts again and spook the horses.
Which, honestly, fair enough.
Perhaps she’ll go on her own later.
It might be better that way. She deserves the privacy to be as vulnerable as she needs to be without concern of company. Mine included.
“This is what people do, right?” I ask, peering up at Cyran. “Visit friends on their birthday?”
Cyran’s usual stoic expression softens. “Yes,” he answers in a tone respectful of our surroundings. “It is, Lady Ves.”
Without a doubt, Cora would visit me were she to know mine—wereIto know mine.Fated Celestialsnever specified a day, and it’s not likebirthdaysare celebrated in the hells. All I know is Vaelyn and I came into existence on some random winter night.
I visited Cora’s grave once before.
The same week I returned.
How could I not? I never got the chance before everything crumbled to chaos—much like it is now.
Cyran accompanied me during that visit, too. I spent hours lying on the mausoleum floor beside her, crying. Letting my guilt tear me apart. I would trade Cora for the rest of the devotees and priestesses at the temple were such a thing possible.
The line of quaint and quiet shops on my right falls away, replaced by the ivy-laced stone wall of the cemetery grounds. Bricks shimmer with a blue-silver sheen—a perimeter ward to ensure any recently risen dead remain within.
Even on a day like today, with clear skies and bright sun, the Wells district remains muted. It’s not a central shopping or socialization hub like many of the other districts. The buildings here are more residential than commercial, and there’s a greater number of small parks with benches and fountains and tended gardens.
