Serik lets out a cheer and claps me on the back. I peer over my shoulder again, but for once I’m like everyone else. A single blade of grass amid the vastness of the prairie.
“The test of speed will commence!” shouts the royal jester. The round-bellied man has always overseen the Qusbegi entertainment, and each year his act grows more ridiculous. With a sly grin, he extends his arms and flaps them up and down, releasing purple-and-green panels that are sewn to his tunic. He looks like a very ugly bird, and the audience roars with laughter as he “flies” across the stage to usher the competitors into position beside their eagles.
Once they’re settled, he signals them to untether their birds. Out in the field, a rabbit springs from a cage. Its small brown body bounds through the frost-covered grass and the eagles screech with anticipation. The jester drops his arms, and the hunters whistle commands.
I hold my breath and lean forward as the birds take to the air. I’m tempted to flap my arms like the ridiculous jester to make Orbai fly faster, but she doesn’t need my help. She tears through the sky like the rockets they launch from the rooftops each year in honor of the king’s birthday, but instead of blue and red, she is a streak of solid gold. Using her brute size, she veers in front of the other eagles and seizes the rabbit in her talons, shrieking at her victory.
I scream back, cheering louder than everyone around me. The ladies in front of us turn and stare and the man beside me mutters under his breath, but I pump my fist and bounce up and down as Orbai settles back on her perch, because she won!Mybird won.
“She was amazing!” Serik lifts me off my feet and spins me around.
I laugh. “She’s an amazing bird.”
“That’s because she has an amazing trainer.”
I blush and pull the blue scarf tighter around my cheeks. Serik sets me down, and his hazel eyes rove over my face. Lingering. Did I smear berry juice on my cheek? Is my traitor’s mark showing? I cock an eyebrow, but he continues smiling like he has a secret. It makes my skin feel itchy, so I become engrossed with my boots until the jester raises his voice again.
“His Majesty, Tyberion the Third, the Sky King of Ashkar, has won the first event!”
The square erupts with applause, even louder than before. The king waves his large hand and smiles. His cheeks are pinched pink from the cold, and his blue eyes sparkle like lapis lazuli. I may not agree with his religious leanings, but there’s no denying he is striking and powerful. A good match for my Orbai.
“Next we will have a test of agility,” the jester proclaims when the applause dies down. Again, I glance at the dirt path that will take us back to Ikh Zuree. The longer we stay, the more likely we’ll be spotted. But agility maneuvers are Orbai’s true talent—I have never seen her equal; she cuts like a saber and dives like a comet. I bite my lip and turn back to the steps of the Sky Palace, vowing to drag Serik away directly after this, no matter how he protests.
One by one, the eagles are put through a series of maneuvers: dives, climbs, circles, and loops. The king goes last, and, as I knew she would, Orbai performs the sequence faster and more fluidly than the other birds, with the flair and daring that instantly made her my favorite when she arrived at Ikh Zuree. She looks like a flash of sunlight bending and twirling through the sky. The audience gasps and cheers and even the chattering women fall silent. A stooped old man, who must have been a hunter in his prime, wipes a tear from his cheek.
I feel like crying too—big, fat tears of joy. Never have I witnessed anything so glorious. So perfect. This is far and away the best day of my life. Even better than charging into battle or wielding the threads of night. “You were right.” I grip Serik’s forearm and squeeze. “I’m so glad we came.”
He bends down to whisper in my ear. “I’m always right, and I will accept a kiss in thanks.” He winks and puckers his lips.
I swat him away. “You’ve taken vows!”
“Not today. Today I’m just Serik, and you’re just Enebish.” He stares at me again with that insistent smile, fire dancing in his crescent-moon eyes. Why does he keep looking at me like that? And why does my stomach feel like it’s turning backflips?
“I’m sure one of them would be glad to kiss you,” I say with a cough, pointing to a group of girls who are giggling behind their fans and looking his way.
Serik eyes them for a moment and my heart drops into the soles of my boots because I will never be beautiful. No one will ever look longingly at me.
“Let them stare,” he says. “I will only accept a kiss from the winner.”
“In that case, I’m sure Orbai will be happy to kiss you later.”
“She would sooner bite off my nose!”
“That makes two of us.” I tweak his nose, and he yelps and rubs his face. We’re both still laughing when the air above us rustles.
My ears fill with the familiar beat of wings.
A cold knot of dread hardens in my throat as the ladies in front of us whip around.
“Please, no,” I whisper, hoping if I don’t look up, Orbai won’t be there. She’ll be across the square, perched on the king’s arm, readying for the test of accuracy: when the eagles must capture a specific fox or rabbit branded with a marking that matches a tile drawn from a bag.
But Orbai has clearly chosen her own mark.
“What is shedoing?” Serik demands.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” I say in a long, wheezing gasp. But Idoknow. I may not have my gauntlet, and I’m not wearing the imitation crown I don when training the king’s birds—so they recognize him—but I haven’t treated Orbai like the rest of his eagles, taking them out only for routine training and exercise. I have treated her as if she weremine.
I close my eyes and pray harder than I ever have, begging the Lady of the Sky to whisk her up into the clouds, but my eagle lets out a happy screech and lands on my shoulder. She ruffles her feathers and clicks her beak. The sound is deafening compared to the silence of the courtyard.
