“You’ll have to be more specific,” she says with a coy smile. “One of who, exactly?”
“A Songbird.” He spits the word.
“Kal, did you miss the part where I said she’s afriend?” I step between the two of them, holding my hands up and hoping to defuse some of the hostility. “And, Nyssa, play nice.”
“I can’t believe you’re back. Things are bad, Aella.” Kal says the words so quietly, I almost think he didn’t mean to say them at all. When I look up, I see his tormented eyes, shadows dancing in their depths, turning them almost black. “Eretria has sent a demand.”
His words freeze me, ice crawling through my veins, coating my lungs until it’s hard to breathe. I know what he means. Of course I know. Keres is too proud, too arrogant, too cruel to let our actions go unanswered.
I force myself to ask anyway. “What do you mean?”
“They have made a demand for the return of their property.” He hesitates before adding, “Along with the prince’s future bride.”
The edges of my vision blur as panicked thoughts threaten to swallow me whole, my breaths coming faster with each passing second. The world around me shifts out of focus, and I—
“Breathe,” Kal whispers, his voice slicing through the fog of panic clouding in my mind. I draw in a sharp breath, my focus returning with sharp clarity as I meet the concerned gazes of the two people before me. “You can talk to us. You don’t have to shoulder this alone,” he urges softly.
As I glance between the two of them—the two people I trust and love more than life itself—a sense of calm washes over me, dispelling the panic within.
And so I do.
I tell them everything.
And then we plan.
“I may not be ableto see you, but I can feel the tension rolling off you.”
I huff out a breath at Myna’s whisper as I follow her down the curving steps to the Aviary’s dungeon, wrinkling my nose once again at the smell of copper and damp earth. The weight of my decision clings to me like a second skin, suffocating but impossible to shed. I’m standing on the edge of something massive, a choice that will ripple through everything I know. Helping Xan escape will change everything—and they’ll know it was me. There’s no hiding this. No coming back from it. But even as the fear claws at my insides, something fiercer burns beneath it. I have to do this. Not because it’s safe. Not because it’s smart. But because it’s right.
“Just stick to the plan,” she whispers, adjusting the tray of food she carries as we round the last corner and step into the antechamber.
I almost groan when one of the Nightwings perks up at the sight of Myna. An antagonistic smile twists his lips—Cardinal, I think his name is—as he leans back in his chair, balancing it precariously on the two back legs while he throws a dagger in the air and catches it again.
“What are you doing here, Myna?” he sneers, and the other three guards at the table chuckle quietly beside him.
“I just left the kitchen, and Cook asked me to bring this down.” She eyes the bowl of slop and stale lump of bread on the tray. “I assume it’s for the prisoner.”
He plants the chair back on all four legs and eyes the tray. With adismissive grunt, he pulls the ring of keys from his pocket and tosses them at Myna. She catches them before they land in the bowl of gruel. “You take it. I don’t feel like dealing with him today.”
Myna’s jaw tenses, her eyes narrowing on Cardinal. But she ignores him, turning on her heel and heading to the heavy wooden door that leads to the cells. She balances the tray in one hand and unlocks the door with the other, and—after a brief glance in my general direction—she slips through, pulling the door firmly shut behind her.
I exhale—a low, shuddering breath—and steel myself. Myna, Nyssa, and Kal spent all night helping me weave this plan into something that might actually hold. But this next part depends solely on me.
And I cannot fuck it up.
Clenching my jaw in anticipation, I reach down and slip my ring from my finger. The ever-presenttheïkósslumbering under my skin erupts the moment the metal slides free. Not a gentle surge—an onslaught. My breath catches as it slams into me like a crashing tide, too much, too fast. Thank the Anemoi that the air in here is thin and stagnant, or it would already be spiraling out of control.
The memory of Hali claws its way to the surface—lungs gasping, the weight of failure pressing in—but I force it back.Not now.
My vision sharpens, the bitter tang of salt and mildew stings the back of my throat, and the temperature drops even further. I wrangle my writhingtheïkósunder control and cast my mind back to the night in the clearing.
To the fear.
The fury.
The sluggish air tangles around my fingers, and I coax it forward, each breath a negotiation, each motion a test of will. My teeth grit as I fight to hold my focus, struggling to maintain my tentative hold on control. Slowly, I feel it move toward me, gradually picking up pace as I draw it farther from the guards at the table.
“Did any of you feel that?” Cardinal asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
