In one sculpture, the High God Anaemos soared for the sky, wings outstretched.
In another, he brandished a lit spear, his arm cocked back moments before release.
In the final sculpture, he floated to the ground, wings aflame behind him.
It was a familiar story, one in which every young Fae had been indoctrinated since the Empire had come into power.
The myth claimed that though Anaemos’s wings had ignited, they hadn’t been destroyed. A gift from the grateful sun to the High God for blooming it into existence.
Ronin was pretty sure it was bullshit. Though he didn’t quite believe Selene’s tales about where the Fae had come from either, that they’d been created by Adelphinae along with the humans and all other life on Ethyrios eons ago.
As Ronin passed a sculpture, Mireille shivering beneath his arm, the air warmed. Otto must have erected some kind of shield around the performance space so the spectators wouldn’t freeze.
Good thing for Mireille, who still wore nothing but that sleeveless blue dress that would certainly be imprinted on Ronin’s brain for months. Years, maybe.
Excited, drowsy whispers rippled through the expectant guests as Ronin and Mireille settled into the back row.
Otto entered through the hedge maze wearing a vibrant suit covered in swirling flames with a regal Beastrunner female on his arm. The skirt of her elaborate gown fluttered in petals of lemon, apricot, and persimmon.
Gasps hissed through the guests as Otto positioned her before the flaming arch, and Mireille let out a joyous little squeak, gripping Ronin’s thigh. He may have edged in closer.
“Do you know who that is?” she whispered, nearly vibrating.
“Should I?”
“That’s Odelle Carmina, the most legendary mezzo-soprano to sing with the Imperial Opera. Though she hasn’t been seen publicly in years. I wonder how Otto persuaded her to come out of retirement.”
Ronin bit his cheek to suppress a laugh. Mireille got excited about so few things, but when she did, her silver eyes burned and her skin flushed.
He wouldn’t mind seeing that flush more often.
A teasing smirk graced his lips, though secretly, he delighted inherdelight. “Like I said before. Nerd.”
Mireille scoffed. “I’m not a nerd just because I appreciate thearts, Matakos.”
“No,” Ronin cocked his head thoughtfully. “I guess that’s not the only reason you’re a nerd.”
She elbowed him in the ribs, and he threw an arm around her shoulder. His wolf chuffed affectionately as she relaxed against him.
Otto patted Diva Carmina’s hand, then addressed the crowd.
“Friends and fellow Fae,” he began, sweeping his viper’s eyes across the gathered partygoers, “welcome to the first of our stories. This morning’s performance of the famous ariaIae Tombilae, Iae Nost Thanatem Somprosfrom the thrilling operaIgnesh Tremani, will be performed by a female who we’re sure needs no introduction. Diva Odelle Carmina!”
Applause peppered the air, several Fae rising from their seats, and Ronin whispered into Mireille’s ear, “What does that mean?”
Her lips grazed his cheek as she answered him, and his wolf bounded across his heart. “That Which Falls is Not Always Fallen.It’s the finale, occurs just after Anaemos has fallen from the sky with his wings aflame. On stage, the aria is sung by a maiden spirit, a being who occupied Ethyrios during the Gods’ Age. In the story, she heals his wings and he falls in love with her. The Erabis family claims their lineage traces back this coupling. They insist the color of their wings proves it—scorched black with the iridescence of solar fire.”
Otto continued, “The remaining two performances will be revealed as our time together marches along.” He preened, drinking in the attention as jubilant murmurs flitted through the crowd. “Now, sit back, relax and enjoy what is sure to be a stirring rendition of the aria by the most celebrated voice in the history of Ethyrios!” He bowed to Diva Carmina, then took his seat in the front row.
The diva returned a subtle nod, then fluffed out her skirt, settled her stance and placed her hands at her diaphragm.
She had the ethereal, graceful beauty that all Fae nearing the end of their centuries-long existence possessed. Fae aged much slower than humans, and it was only in their post-millennial years that they began to show signs of mortality: graying hair, wrinkled skin, a slow stiffness of movement.
Standing proud and tall, her chestnut eyes landed on Ronin, and an unexpected dread settled upon him. He had no idea where it had come from. The diva’s gaze revealed no hint of emotion beyond contentment.
He shifted in his seat, nerves prickling, and she stared at him for so long that he wondered if she’d forgotten the words.
Then the rising sun broke across the horizon, casting bands of salmon across the snow-covered fields, and Diva Odelle Carmina opened her mouth.
