Without any light pollution, the stars of this world fill the abyss, endless, suggesting that universes upon universes exist.
It’s beautiful.
Calming.
A reminder about how insignificant I and my problems are.
Alas.
These bars really do spoil the view.
Why would Zahra want a man who locks me in a cage totake care ofme? Does she know I’m in a cage? Theor elseseemed like a threat. But if Castor is a man she needs to threaten, why would she tell him to take care of me at all instead of bring me to her?
Maybe she’s also helpless. Maybe she’s just more vocal about her irritations than I am. Maybe we’re both trapped.
If that’s the case, though, what can I do?
How do I save us both?
“My feather?” Castor’s voice drifts from his large bed, and I tell myself not to tense.
“Yes?” I whisper.
His voice is nearer the next time he speaks. “Are you having trouble sleeping, my love?”
Love.Feather. My, my, my.
He’s already quite completely decided I belong to him.
Sitting up, I focus on every facet of my body, telling everything inside me tocalm. He is not Rodrick. He has not—with zero social expectations or witnesses—attempted a single thing in the past twenty-four hours.
I am fine.
I am safe.
If I’m ever going to figure out the rules here, I need to play with a little fire and see what burns.
Carefully, I step off the swaying bed and follow Castor’s dark shadow to the bars of the bird cage door. My heart attempts fear. I remind it how we have always responded to our mother’s touch—leaning in, trying to soak up the heat, desperate for an illusion of care—and brace my hand against the gold trapping me.
As expected, Castor lifts his arm, long sleeve slipping down to his wrist. Moonlight illuminates his pale skin, limning his fingers as they reach past bars to cup my cheek.
I close my eyes, remember my mother, and embrace the caress. There is no illusion of heat in it, no bodily warmth that suggests life, but it is something far closer to gentle than my mother ever managed to present.
His hand trembles.
“It’s hard to sleep in the same room as you,” I murmur, soft, cryptic. “I didn’t sleep much last night either.”
He reaches his touch a little farther, hooking his hand behind my head and forcing me closer to the bars. “It will take some time to adjust. Change is often unwelcome in our blood. It comes with discomfort.” His breath hits me—spearmint and cool—as he presses himself into the metal between us. “What can I do to make it easier?”
“How strong are you?” I ask, lifting my hand to his wrist. Cool and dry. All of his skin is cool and dry. What a relief.
“I am the second eldest of five local ancients, though one is a cat and hardly counts in my mind. Still, in over a millenia, nothing has toppled us.” His tongue flicks to wet his lips. “Before you, however…I have never felt so weak.”
That bodes quite well, I think.
“Let me out?” I ask.
He does so. Immediately.
