Instead of the dread I expect to feel at her confirmation, a new feeling takes flight.
The hesitant flutter of something more dangerous.
Hope.
“And you said nothing?” I ask, trying to keep my words steady. To not let that tentative feeling creep into the cadence of my voice and betray me.
“Obviously not.”
“Why?”
She shrugs, a subtle shift of her shoulders that is both lethal and elegant at once. “Perhaps you’re not the only one who is uncomfortable with the Eagle’s plans.”
“Then help me stop him,” I plead, taking a cautious step toward her. “Please, Melantha.”
“Oh, we’re resorting to true names now,” she says dryly, her eyes flashing in the dim light. “So, should I call you Aella? Or address you as Your Highness?”
She knows.
The realization slams into me like a wave, leaving me momentarily breathless. Suddenly, the ground beneath my feet seems less stable, the air around us charged with a new energy. All this time, I’d wrapped myself in a veil of anonymity, believing it shielded me from recognition, from the past I had been cast from. Yet here she stands, seemingly unaffected, casually tossing my true name between us like a weapon she’s decided, for now, to leave sheathed.
A denial rises to my lips, but it falters under the weight of her unwavering gaze.
“When did you figure it out?” I finally ask, forcing the words past the tightening of my throat.
She laughs bitterly, running her hands through her midnight curls.“There were signs. So many I feel foolish for not piecing it all together sooner. Your hair color never quite suited you. You handled court life and etiquette better than a Songbird fresh from the nest should have been able to. But then when I saw yourtheïkósand realized Sparrow never stopped calling you Aella, things started falling into place.” She hesitates, her voice softening as she speaks again. “When we got back, I slipped into the palace. In the king’s chambers, there’s a portrait of your mother. You look just like her.”
Myna falls silent, and I search for something to say, but her revelation has stolen my ability to speak. Instead, we both stand in silence, eyes locked, each of us warily watching the other, cautiously waiting for the next move in this standoff.
“Does the Eagle know of your magic?” Myna eventually asks, and a quiet laugh huffs out of me. It echoes faintly, the sound too foreign in a place like this.
“No,” I reply carefully, drawing out the word. “No one else knows. Can you even begin to imagine the chaos if someone with windtheïkóswere exposed?”
Myna curses under her breath and starts pacing, the muscles bunching in her shoulders as she runs a hand through her hair again. When she turns back, I can see the conflict swirling in the dark depths of her eyes, losing the battle to a glimmer of resolve.
“This is dangerous, Aella.”
“No, Myna, this iswrong,” I say firmly, latching on to her uncertainty and ignoring the way my heart lurches at the sound of my name falling from her lips. “You know that just as well as I do. What the Eagle has planned…I can’t stand by and let that happen. And after the time we spent together in Eretria, I don’t think you can either.”
Myna closes her eyes and draws in a deep breath. When she opens them again, they burn brighter and clearer than before.
“If I allow this—if I help you—we are going to do this my way.”
Relief floods through me, and I don’t bother hiding my smile.
“I can work with that.”
Myna’s decision hangs heavy in the air between us. Her expressionshifts, resolve hardening into something unshakable. “Go,” she says, her voice low but unwavering. “I’ll make sure no one comes in. You’ll have only a few minutes—make them count.”
I nod, swallowing the surge of gratitude rising in my chest. Turning away, I head deeper into the corridor.
From the antechamber, the sharp edge of Myna’s orders slices through the murmurs of the guards. Her commanding tone quells the chatter, any lingering murmurs cut off by the door closing behind her. The shadows of the dungeon tighten their grip, the oppressive darkness closing in around me.
Ahead, the dim flicker of a torch casts an unsteady glow against the damp stone walls, illuminating the iron bars of the only occupied cell. “I was wondering if I would see your face again, little bird.”
Xan sits slumped against the damp brick wall, his dirty silver hair brushed roughly to the side, as though he’s been running his hand through it repeatedly.
“Is that so?” I ask, keeping my voice low so it doesn’t carry down the corridor.
