But nothing happens.
The restlessness gnaws at me again, a relentless itch beneath my skin. I know I shouldn’t. I know Raven would never forgive me if he caught me. But the crate looms in front of me, a dark and terrible secret waiting to be uncovered. And I’ve had enough of secrets. I take a steadying breath, palming my dagger, and then, in a single smooth motion, I throw back the heavy sheet covering the crate.
The air seizes in my lungs.
Not a crate.
A cage.
Behind thick iron bars, a man stares back at me.
His eyes lock on to mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. There’s something untamed in his gaze, something that feels like it could strip me bare and see every secret I’ve ever tried to hide. I should be afraid. Instead, I feel a strange, inexplicable pull—like the wind itself is urging me closer.
All I can see of the man’s face are quicksilver eyes lined with thick, dark lashes, glaring at me with the fury of a thousand storms. The rest is concealed behind some kind of cruel leather muzzle. Sliver-white hair, streaked with dirt, clings to his face and falls in wild, uneven strands past his broad shoulders. It’s a stark contrast to his darker, frowning brows and the fierce energy radiating from him. He looks Arkhadian, with the same fair coloring as Lady Cynna, though his presence is far more dangerous.
His clothes are no better than rags, his tunic shredded, revealing intricate markings on every visible inch of his muscled torso. Even crowded into the cage as he is, I can tell he has to be taller than six feet.
A metal collar circles his bloodied neck, carved withgoiteíathat are sickeningly familiar. Heavy cuffs bind his wrists, chained to the bottom of the cage. But it’s the leather muzzle covering his face that has my stomach revolting.
My hand lifts, and I graze my fingertips across my mouth. The memory of the suffocating sensation makes me flinch.
He can’t breathe.
Chains rattle, jolting me from my horrified stupor.
“What have they done to you?” My words are rough, each one choked like it had to claw its way out of my throat and into reality.
The man cocks his head at that, the movement more animal than tycheroi. It looks like his mouth moves beneath the muzzle, but whatever his reply might be gets trapped behind the thick leather. A growl rumbles in his chest, and he shakes his head in frustration.
I stare at the leather, a small seed of fury taking root in my chest. It grows and flourishes, taking over my shock and disgust.
The vile thing encases the whole lower part of his face and is secured by thick straps around the back of his skull—
The hard wood of the bed pressing against my back.
Cold metal at my throat.
Something firm across—
I blink the memory away, panting raggedly, and look down at the dagger in my palm. My eyes flick up to see the man’s gaze narrowed in on the blade.
“I don’t expect you to trust me,” I say, watching as his quicksilver eyes finally drag from the dagger to meet mine. “But there is one thing I could do if you’re willing to try.”
His shoulders stiffen as I glance pointedly at the muzzle. After what could be seconds, or minutes, or hours, he shifts forward, holding his shackled arms close to muffle any sound from the chains. Finally, he kneels before me, only the iron bars between us, and I grit my teeth, forcing myself to hold my ground against the sheer intensity of him.
It’s not until my lungs start to scream that I realize I’m holding my breath. I release it on a tenuous exhale, my eyes never leaving his as I reach up, angling my hand between the bars to cradle his leather-lined jaw in my palm. I tilt his head to the side, gaining better access to slip the blade beneath the leather, but then I hesitate, the dagger poised in my hand. The smooth texture of the muzzle makes my skin crawl, the memory of what it had felt like wearing one and suffocating silence flashing through my mind. I know what it’s like to be stripped of your voice, to be reduced to something less than human. And I can’t stand by and let it happen to someone else. Not again.
But it’s more than that. This isn’t just about him—it’s about me.About reclaiming the agency I’ve been denied for so long. The Aviary took everything from me, caging me in ways I’m only beginning to understand. And Keres continued to take, drawing relentlessly from a well long since depleted.
Now, standing here, I have the power to make a choice.
To defy them. To do something that’s mine.
My grip tightens on the dagger, and I meet the man’s gaze. His quicksilver eyes burn with fury, but beneath it, I see something else. Desperation. Hope. I take a steadying breath and slide the blade beneath the leather.
“Hold still,” I whisper, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like I’m in control.
When my blade nicks his temple as it slices through the straps, I hiss, but he doesn’t even flinch.
