I snort.I need a dress for the Jubilee, smartass.
You’re…you’re coming?Shock and glee brightens his tone.
Sure am. Keep my arrival under wraps, though. It’s a surprise.
Who are we surprising?
My parents.
Can I tell Naev?
Yes, but swear her to secrecy.
A few minutes later, he says,She says Asha packed her several extras.
I love Asha.
As he gives me directions to Naeva’s suite, my stomach churns with anticipation. And nerves.
So. Many. Nerves.
On the upside, it makes my long flight wink right by and camouflages the ache developing between my wing bones. For a while, at least.
As the minutes melt into even more hours, my wing flapping becomes almost nonexistent. Like the small gulls below, I ride the whistling northern wind. Twice, I almost end up in the surf but miraculously manage to power myself back into the sky. When I hit a cold front, I think I’ve arrived, but no such luck.
The progressively frostier air bites into my aching bones and hardens my joints until I think I might not make it to Glace. I’m about to cave and reach out to my father for succor—consequences of my impromptu coming be damned—when strokes of white and emerald-green appear on the endless carpet of blue.
I blink to make sure it’s not a mirage. As the line of land expands, I alternate between disintegrating into smoke and beating my wings, wishing I could retain my discorporate form for as long as my father.
Once I breach the capital’s walls, I examine the Korol’s underground castle, counting the domed skylights to Naeva’s room.
Was it first from the ocean, or from the mountain?
Lach?
He must be back in skin since I get no answer. I scroll through our earlier conversation. I believe he said from the mountain. As I land, patrolling guards in thick fur-lined coats survey me with guarded stares. One of them says something, but my eardrums are so stiff, his words bounce right off.
“I’m King Ríhbiadh’s daughter!” I call out. “Just joining my family.”
Brushing aside my snarled hair, I split my finger on my spiky hoop, then adorn the skylight with the circle fitted through with a cross, which I’ve perfected thanks to it being a symmetrical design. My palm sinks through the glass.
I try to morph into my shadows, but my shifter magic fails me, and I hurtle into the bedroom below with all the grace ofa potato.Ugh, Lach. You could’ve warned me the palace was warded.
I suppose that if I lived in an underground palace, I’d have warded my ceilings as well. At least I landed on a bed. For a moment, I lay there, reveling in the plushness of the duvet that espouses muscles I didn’t even know I possessed before making this trip.
How I envy the others who’ve all had a day to recover from the strenuous journey. Not that most need a day. I imagine it took my father and grandfather all of a minute to recover. Lachlano, undoubtedly, too, seeing as he’s a beast of endurance.
I close my eyes briefly but then spring them wide to keep myself from dozing. I raise my sore arms over my head and stretch, all at once groaning and whimpering from the delicious strain, then proceed to peel my carcass off the bed. My shoulders and arms are so stiff that I almost cry when I twist onto my side to scrape myself off the cushy comforter.
When I finally succeed at sitting, I take a moment to peer around the giant bedchamber that puts our guest quarters to shame. Then again, Crows aren’t ostentatious like Fae. We do not gild our ceilings or carve pretty florals into them. We do not lay boards on our floors, especially not in a decorative pattern. And though some of us do rub charcoal and chalk over our stone walls, our art is neither ornately framed nor brimming with color—it’s subdued and neat.
A smile flips up the corners of my mouth as I picture the expression my father must’ve worn and the words he must’ve uttered upon entering his borrowed suite, which I imagine is glitzier than Naeva’s. Dádhi loathes extravagance just as fervently as Mádhi adores it. I took after her, to Phoeppa’s immense relief.
My thoughts dissolve as a cloud of eucalyptus hits me. Could that be…?
I sweep my legs off the bed and trail the scent to a bathroom tiled in gold and white stone. When I catch sight of a fogged door, one that will lead into a steam chamber, I give thanks to the architect for kitting visitor bathrooms with steam chambers, and to the Korol family for sparing no expense.
I rip my boots off my feet and all but tear my clothes off, then snatch a towel from a rack, secure it around my torso, and pop the door open with a cheery, “You’ve officially become my favorite person.”
