EPILOGUE: WREN
Six months later, a letter arrived.
It came by courier bird, a sleek gray hawk that landed on the balcony railing and waited with obvious impatience while I untied the scroll from its leg. The handwriting on the outside was neat and precise, every letter perfectly formed.
I found Tavrin in the library, reshelving a stack of poetry I’d left on the reading table. He’d learned, over the months, where everything belonged. Knew this library now the way he knew the mountain: by devoted attention and quiet observation.
“Letter,” I said, holding it up. “From Elspeth.”
He abandoned the poetry immediately. Crossed to the nest we’d made our permanent home and settled into the furs, one wing lifting in invitation. I tucked myself against his side, his arm curving around me, and broke the seal.
“Dear Wren and Tavrin,” I read aloud. “I hope this letter finds you well. I am required to begin with pleasantries, apparently. My composition instructor says letters without proper greetings are ‘uncouth.’ I think she would faint if she knew I was writing to a Roc.”
Tavrin made a low sound of amusement. I leaned into his warmth and kept reading.
“The Academy is everything I hoped it would be and also deeply frustrating. The other students are either brilliant or insufferable, sometimes both at once. My roommate, Petra, had no organizational system whatsoever when I arrived. Her notes were loose pages stuffed into random books. I have since corrected this. She calls me terrifying. I take it as a compliment.”
“She would,” Tavrin murmured.
“The coursework is challenging but not impossible. Archival theory, preservation methods, cataloging systems from twelve different traditions. My instructor says I have ‘an instinct for order.’ I told her it was a family trait. She asked if my family were all archivists. I said no, just survivors.”
My throat tightened. I kept reading.
“I’ve made friends. That still surprises me, putting it into words. Petra, obviously, though she claims I bullied her into friendship through aggressive organizational assistance. There’s also a boy named Thomin who studies cartography and a girl named Vess who wants to restore ancient texts. We eat dinner together most nights. They ask about my family sometimes. I tell them my sister married a monster and I mean it as a compliment.”
Tavrin’s arm tightened around me.
“I want you to know that I’m happy here. Truly happy, not the kind of happy where you’re just grateful the bad thing stopped. The kind where you wake up and look forward to the day. I didn’t know that was possible. I think maybe you didn’t either, before.”
I had to stop. Breathe. He dropped a kiss on my hair and waited.
“The tuition for next term is due in six weeks. I know you said not to worry about it, but I worry anyway. It’s a lot of money. Petra says her family is paying with ‘old investments,’ which I think means they’re wealthy and embarrassed about it. I’m notembarrassed. I know exactly where my tuition comes from: a Roc’s hoard, earned through years of solitude. I don’t take any of it lightly.”
“She doesn’t have to,” Tavrin said quietly. “It’s hers. She’s family.”
I smiled and kept reading.
“Please tell Tavrin that I’ve developed a system for organizing research notes that I think he would appreciate. It involves color-coding by topic and cross-referencing by date. Petra says it’s ‘excessive.’ Petra is wrong. Also tell him that if he’s burned down the kitchen again, I will be very disappointed. I expect a full culinary report in your next letter.”
Tavrin huffed. “One time.”
“Three times,” I corrected.
“The third one was barely a fire.”
I returned to the letter.
“Wren, I know you’re reading this to him. I know you read everything to him, just like he carries you everywhere you need to go. I used to think that was strange. A scribe who reads aloud. A Roc who listens. But I understand it now. You give him words. He gives you wings. That’s not strange. That’s just love, filling in each other’s gaps.”
I had to stop again. This time Tavrin didn’t rush me. Just held me, steady and warm, while I breathed through the ache in my chest.
“I miss you both. In a good way, where missing someone just means you have someone worth missing. I’ll be home for the harvest festival if the roads are clear. Save me a spot in the library. I have opinions about your astronomy section.”
“She would,” I managed.
“I have one more thing to say, and I’m going to say it badly because I’ve never been good with words the way Wren is. But here it is:”
“Thank you for breaking through that wall. Not just the one at Uncle’s house. The one around my sister. She was so careful before she met you. So guarded. She counted everything because she was afraid of losing count. Afraid that if she stopped paying attention, everything would fall apart.”
