But like her birds, she’d always been curious.
Perhaps justone look inside,she told herself.
She deserved something good. She’d gone through hell and back, and it wasn’t even her choice to make the journey.
So, with a breath, Ezer steeled herself, rolled back her shoulders, and waited until a few brown-robed servants reached the doors, which opened for them with ease. They each hauled a wheelbarrow … and there were a few extras parked nearby, left unattended.
Before she could stop herself, she slipped away, grabbed an empty wheelbarrow, and ignored the feeling in her chest to turn back.
Just before the doors slammed shut, Ezer swallowed her nerves and disappeared inside.
8
She stood at the entrance to an enchanted forest.
The moment she entered, she felt the buzz of magic.
A free and wild sort of thing, like the whispering of the wind.
It felt as if the trees were alive with secrets, from the lush, emerald pines to the aspens that had not been stripped bare of their leaves, like the ones in the forest beyond Augaurde. Rather, the aspen leaves danced in a delicate rogue wind, a soft, lovely green that made them look like they were made of silk.
The forest floor was covered with a blanket of rolling moss and worn boulders, with fresh fallen needles and pinecones. Flowers bloomed amongst the moss, some nestled atop the boulders, while others ran in delicate vines along the trees.
The smell was like springtime, cool and fresh with a bit of earthy wetness, and undertones of flora and pine. She could hear birdsong, and the chittering of chipmunks as they scurried across the rocks and climbed up into the trees.
It couldn’t be real.
It was said nothing could survive in the endless cold of Augaurde,and certainly not up this high on the cliffside, with the howling wind and the storms that constantly raged.
Ezer looked skyward.
Perhaps it wasn’t magic at all, then.
The Aviary wasdomed.Like a giant greenhouse made of tempered glass.
Far over her head, a glistening rounded ceiling protected them from the elements, creating a world of its own inside this space.
She walked deeper inside the trees, following a worn path until it spat her out into a large clearing.
And before her stood a large fortress.
Where the rest of the Citadel had been hewn of white marble, this looked like it had sprouted right out of the magic of the forest. Tall cedar logs formed walls, but the gates at its entrance were unguarded, left open as if this space was always welcome for those who’d been granted the gift of being in the war eagles’ presence.
Flags with wing emblems hung from each gate, waving slightly as the Scribes passed between them.
No one seemed to pay her any mind as she entered, her head down and her wheelbarrow like a safety net.
She kept going, deeper into the sanctuary, and discovered the center of it all was an enormous, lofted wooden barn. The doors were open at each end, letting the wind dance through the rows of stalls.
‘Ezer,’ it whispered, beckoning her.
She’d made it this far already.
So she ducked inside, passing a row of hooks on the wooden wall that held extra servant’s robes. She quickly swapped her tattered prison cloak, the better to blend in, for she could already see several servants cleaning out stalls.
She resumed pushing her wheelbarrow as she headed deeper inside. And instead of horses whinnying, crunching on hay or swishing their tails to ward away the flies …
She heard the sound ofbirds.
