It’s my most prized possession.
Besides my own features, it’s the only tangible thing I have from my mother.
Biting my lip, I pull a garter sheath from the drawer and buckle it to my right thigh. As the warmth of the polished handle seeps into my skin, the comforting heat inches through my body. A subtle tension I didn’t notice before melts away, and my next breath comes easier.
When I glance up, Nyssa is watching me, exasperation clear on her face. The corner of my mouth twitches with the urge to laugh. “You know I love to accessorize.”
“They’re going to promote you to a Nightwing in no time,” she says, grabbing my wrist and towing me toward the door. “Now come on, we’re missing the fun.”
Excitement perfumes the air asNyssa and I step off our ferry and onto the crowded streets of Maricious. The Muse looms before us—people queued at the door, hoping to join those silhouetted against stained glass. Yet, despite the vibrant pulse of the isle, my chest tightens with apprehension. Every bustling corner feels too crowded, every passing stranger a fleeting reminder. My eyes dart instinctively, scanning faces for one I’m not prepared to see as an amber gaze flashes in my mind.
I draw in a sharp breath, forcing myself to focus on the Muse ahead. As the most popular establishment in the Sorrows, tycheroi from every isle visit, drawn in by the allure of its owner, Lady Calliope, and the entertainment she has to offer.
No one knows much about her past, only that when she was young, Lady Calliope moved here from Reveza with a small fortune in gold and a wealth of talent. The mystery she cultivates, along with her rich western accent, tumbling bronze hair, and sultry features, only adds to the success of her business.
A curated blend of tavern, music hall, and pleasure house, the Muse is packed most nights. When Lady Calliope holds her infamous parties, people line up on the street, hoping they’ll make it inside.
Tonight is such a night, but—fortunately for us—Calliope is a longstanding colleague of the Aviary. All the Fledglings spend time here, learning the arts of dance, seduction, and crafting personas. Skills thatmany might overlook, but they’re the very ones that can mean the difference between life and death in our line of work. At the Muse, we learn how to command a room without speaking, to manipulate a glance into an invitation, and to weave entire illusions with nothing but a shift in posture or tone. These aren’t just parlor tricks—they’re weapons, just as sharp and vital as any blade. Calliope knows this better than anyone, and she wields her stage like a battlefield, each performance a master class in control and subterfuge.
Those lessons are among my favorite from my time as a Fledgling.
I’ve always loved to dance. When I was living in the palace, I had the best instructors to be found in the Sorrows. I was relieved when my masters told me I could continue, since the increased mastery over our physical movements dancing fosters is valuable in our line of work. That was the argument I made, anyway. But the truth is, when I dance, I feel free, as if the weight of the world momentarily fades away.
We stroll past the line to the front door. I don’t recognize the door guard who is here tonight, but Nyssa and I both adjust our hair behind our ears, flashing the small gold piercings we wear. A golden eagle in flight with a ruby-encrusted eye, dangling from a small hoop through the top of each of our left ears.
The only visible sign of the order we belong to.
It’s common for our people to wear jewelry, so—while the guard knows to grant access to anyone wearing them—he won’t understand the true significance of ours.
The guard opens the door without hesitation and ushers us through, no flicker of emotion crossing his stoic face. A chorus of groans and protests follows, cut off as the door shuts behind us as quickly as it opened.
When you enter the Muse, it’s like you’re stepping into another world.
A grand bar stretches along the right wall, where workers deftly juggle clay bottles and cups as they serve their guests. Delicate sheer fabric cascades from above, drifting like veils of mist across the hall, while hundreds of candles flicker in their sconces. Their charmed crimson flames bathe the room in an alluring glow and cast dancing shadowsalong the walls. Patrons recline on velvet chaises of cerise and mauve, their gazes fixed on the performer, her sapphire hair tumbling in shimmering waves around her shoulders as her voice weaves a siren song into the heady rhythm of the musicians. Above, shadows move along the mezzanine, where laughter and whispers echo like distant winds as onlookers watch the enchanting chaos unfold below.
Nyssa links her fingers through mine, and we weave toward the back of the hall, where draped curtains conceal a raised section. We climb the few stairs and part the fabric, finding the rest of our cohort reclining in a circle of lounges and armchairs, a low table in the middle filled with meze. The sight of dolmades, grilled octopus, tzatziki, olives, and fresh vegetables makes my stomach growl, reminding me I haven’t eaten since before today’s test.
The group cheers when they see us, scooting over in their seats to make room. Nyssa flops down between Mateo and Calix, who both turn to smirk at her, and I perch on the edge of a chaise next to Syrus and Luci.
“Glad to see you managed to drag the bookworm out of her den, Nys,” Calix says as he rests his arm on the lounge behind her.
“It’s funny how accurate that imagery is,” Nyssa says with a laugh.
I pull a cushion from behind my back and throw it so fast she doesn’t have time to react. She squeals as it hits her square in the face, and I settle back with a smug smile.
“I can’t help that I’m so dedicated to learning,” I say.
“What exactly is it youlearnin your dirty romance novels, El?” Nyssa asks with faux innocence, using the name the others know me by.
When new recruits first arrive at the Aviary, they’re supposed to give up their former name and life. Until the ceremony, we’re expected to only respond to the title Fledgling. Our cohort had broken that rule in the early days of our training. Of course, I couldn’t tell them my real name, and El was the first thing that came to mind.
I narrow my eyes at her but ignore the question and steer the conversation in a different direction. “How’s everyone feeling about the Naming?”
“I can’t wait!” Mateo crows, downing the contents of his cup. Nyssa elbows him in the ribs, and he adds in a hushed voice, “I hope I get sent to Reveza for my first assignment.”
His words ignite a familiar debate, as everyone argues which kingdom would be the ideal destination. A palpable sense of excitement simmers beneath the surface, mingled with a growing tension as the ceremony draws near.
The Naming is a graduation of sorts, a moment where we step into a new role. But instead of leaving the Aviary to live our own lives, we take a vow to serve their agenda and carry out the missions they assign us. Life in the Aviary is dangerous, a constant test of endurance and strength. Missions push members into peril, facing hidden enemies and harsh environments. Many speak of the sense of purpose it gives them, insisting the risks are worth it. They say each challenge reminds them of the pride in being part of something bigger.
