The reminder echoes through my mind—presses on my lungs.
With a rushed exhale, I pull two silverdrachmasfrom the purse tied to my waist belt. Tossing them to the counter and pocketing the vials, I turn toward the door and call over my shoulder, “Don’t worry, old man. I know the rules.”
I’m just not very good at following them sometimes.
I leave that part unsaid as I emerge from Skiepo’s shop; the twinkling bells chase me down the laneway as I make my way to the docks, intent on my main purpose for coming to Elotia.
I adjust the hood of my wrap again, letting myself merge with the crowd. While I drift through the press of bodies, taking in the sights and sounds of those around me, my eyes stay alert, and my ears strain to catch anything of note.
A gentle smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as a group of childrenrush by. Their laughter rings with a joy reserved for those unbound by constraints.
When I first joined the Aviary, being among the people was a mesmerizing experience. Since I had spent my childhood behind the walls of the palace, the life that unfolded on the scattered isles and winding waterways captivated me.
The citizens of the Sorrows all know they have a princess—they’ve just never seen me. Never known I walk among them or watch on from the shadows. I’ve heard some interesting rumors about myself over the years. Some say I’m so hideous my father had no choice but to send me away, while others argue it’s the opposite.
When the Eagle sunk his talons into me, the official story was I had journeyed to the Isle of the Winds to learn from the Acolytes of the Anemoi. For the past ten years, my decoy has lived there, upholding the illusion in case anyone became too intrigued.
My lip curls, resentment burning in my gut, but I force the feeling down as I reach the edge of the harbor and my eyes land on a familiar ship. The crew mills about on the deck, the barnacle-dotted hull silhouetted against the soft hues of twilight, its white script cast in shadow.
The Nightingale.
The name is obvious to me, but knowing the order is necessary for the connection. Outsiders believe the Aviary building is a home and institute funded by the Crown for displaced and orphaned children. Only a select few know its true purpose.
My eyes track the darkened outlines of the crew.
Curiosity killed the canary.
The thought trickles through my mind as I hover on the edge of indecision.
“Curse it.”
I head down the dock, keeping my gait casual and relaxed. When the hulking shape ofThe Nightingalelooms in my periphery, I kneel and unbuckle a strap on my sandal, closing my eyes and taking a calming breath. The rest of the isle’s noise fades into the background and the wind settles, allowing me to focus.
An insidious feeling rears its head, gnawing at my edges. I shouldn’tbe doing this—spying on order business. If I’m caught, the price might be more than I’m willing to pay.
But as quickly as the feeling comes on, it disappears, and the voices of the crew reach my ears.
“A whole bloody year,” a rough voice says. “I’ll be a gods-damned lucky bastard if my woman hasn’t up and left me for some other prick!”
The rest of the crew chuckle and jeer at him.
“If she hasn’t left you by now, she’ll be packing her bags when she learns you’ll be setting sail again in a week’s time.”
“If I have to spend days at sea with you again, you sorry bastard, I’ll throw myself overboard.”
“Better fill your pockets with stones now. Same crew, same trip.”
“Notos’s balls.” The first man’s curse sends up a chorus of rumbling laughter before an authoritative bark cuts off the noise.
I buckle my sandal and stand, trusting my feet to guide me home as unease curls in my gut.
It’s rare for a Flight to be sent on a mission so soon after they’ve returned—unheard of to be sent back to the same location. To do so chances someone remembering you.
And being remembered could be your downfall.
So, what task is crucial enough to be worth the risk?
The Aviary’s courtyard is emptywhen I return, yet the air hums with an invisible energy—tense, almost trembling.
