His blood spills at the same time the muzzle falls, and I retreat a few steps. My eyes widen as I take him in.
The strange markings disappear beneath a matted beard the same shade as his hair. Full lips set below a strong nose and sharp cheekbones complete the striking image of his face. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s several years older than me. With our kind, though, it’s always hard to tell.
I’m starting to understand why everyone called him a weapon. Despite thegoiteíacollar and shackles binding him, I can sense his power. It runs so deep, it seeps into every part of his being.
He stretches his mouth wide, flashing rows of white teeth and pointed canines that give me pause.
I’ve never seen sharp teeth on a tycheroi before.
The thought simmers in my mind as I watch him work his jaw like it’s the first time he’s been able to in months.
He slumps back against the bars, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His hand lifts to touch his jaw where the muzzle had been. For a moment, his expression softens, the fury in his eyes dimming to something quieter. Pain, maybe. Or relief. He closes his eyes, and I catch the faintest whisper of words under his breath. I can’t makethem out, but the rawness in his voice makes my chest tighten. When his eyes open again, the storm is back, but that fleeting glimpse of vulnerability lingers in my mind.
“Do you…” I start, but now that he has the ability to talk back, words fail me. A fact he clearly finds amusing when he flashes those strange, sharp teeth in an even sharper smile.
“Lost your song, little bird?” His voice has a low timbre, raspy from disuse.
“What are you?” I don’t mean to ask, but the question escapes me anyway.
He gives a low, gravelly chuckle. Like the sound of rolling thunder in the distance, echoing over the open seas.
“Many things and nothing at all,” he says, his tone self-deprecating, “but you can call me Xan.”
“Xan,” I say, testing the sound. Those three simple letters don’t seem quite enough to name the man in front of me.
“And what shall I call you, little bird?”
“Starling.” The name feels like sandpaper scraping over my tongue. I hold back my wince, but I get the impression he sees it anyway.
“Ah,” he says, “so it’s to be like that, then?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Xan smirks knowingly but offers no reply. Instead, his silvery eyes drop toward the dagger still gripped in my hand. An odd expression flashes across his face too quickly for me to discern. But it makes me nervous enough to slip the blade back into its holster and out of sight.
I’m about to offer him food and water, but as I open my mouth, he speaks first.
“Better go back to sleep, little bird,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Your friends won’t be too happy if they discover what you’ve done. And trust me—this is only the beginning.”
My eyes remain fixed onthe covered cage as it’s loaded onto the deck ofThe Nightingale. The knowledge of what is hidden and trapped behind the tarp draws my gaze as surely as a lodestone pulls iron.
If anyone has checked on Xan since we left our campsite two days ago, they haven’t said a word about his muzzle being removed. I’m not sure if that makes me feel more relieved or anxious.
We reached Port Belana in the late morning to discover the small coastal town mercifully free of guards. Yet the tension in my chest refuses to ease.
The storm clouds have finally released their grip on the sky, but the reprieve feels fleeting. The oiled planks ofThe Nightingalegleam under the harsh morning sunlight, their slick surface almost too bright, too exposed. Captain Nikolas and his crew were waiting for the Flight as we had hoped, and though their faces betrayed no urgency, it still lingered in the air. I was glad to see the charming captain again, but the sight of the sea didn’t bring the comfort I was expecting. Instead, a suffocating unease grips me, oily tentacles coiling tighter around my chest with every passing second. Time feels like it’s slipping away, and the morning calm is only a fragile veneer over something far more dangerous.
When I drew back the tarp on the cage and saw those silver eyes staring back at me, it was like pulling back a curtain from my own. Andnow—with the removal of a veil I wasn’t aware had been there in the first place—I can finally see my surroundings with clarity.
I haven’t confronted any of the others about my discovery, preferring to keep my knowledge secret. As my ancestor said when he built the Aviary, knowledge is power. Instead, I’ve kept a close eye on each of them—watching and waiting—desperate to know who else is aware of what our weapon truly is. Obviously, Raven, Lark, Heron, and Lory all know, since they were on the team responsible for getting him out of Eretria. Based on Lark’s behavior over the past few days, I would guess he’s not on board with this mission now either.
They’ve clearly kept Nyssa in the dark. If she found out, she would have told me straightaway.
Guilt gnaws at me with that thought.
Myna has always been a bit of an enigma, so she’s much harder to read. I hope she isn’t aware of what she was searching for this whole time. I grew close to her during our time in Vilea. After the trust we’ve built, the thought of her hiding this knowledge twists something sharp and painful in my gut.
I exhale a harsh breath as the cage is secured to the mainmast and Lory makes sure the tarp is firmly in place.
