Page 7 of A Wayward Movement

Xavier flashed him a grin. “I have become so only recently, my good Charles. You see, the daughter of the visiting Torrenese lord is intrigued by the creatures. I’ve made it a quest of honor to give her a comprehensive education about them.”

The servant managed to hold in the sigh that Xavier could tell wanted to escape at the discovery that the prince’s interest in the anzus was nothing more than another flirtation. Xavier’s grin grew. Charles was halfway to being part of the family, as far as the prince’s personal retinue was concerned. The long-suffering sigh was one of Xavier’s most frequent companions.

They’d crossed the courtyard, and Xavier led the way through a narrow doorway and down the short flight of stairs beyond. The anzus’ nesting area wasn’t designed for humans, so the dozen people already crammed into it made the space tight. But Xavier spared no thought for them beyond a quick glance to discover whether the Torrenese girl was present.

She wasn’t, and while Xavier would have expressed great disappointment if asked, in truth he was relieved. In the course of studying the creatures, he’d become genuinely invested in the nest of hatchlings about to be born, and he was glad to be able to focus on the event without the need to play any expected role.

For weeks past, the anzu eggs had been clustered in a large group among a nest made primarily out of pilfered fabric and the contents of castle cushions the anzus had demolished for the purpose. There was no individualism among anzus. Xavier doubted even the adult anzus present knew which egg had been laid by which bird. The nest was surrounded by a loose ring of adult birds, their catlike mouths open wide. They weren’t quite breathing flame, but the heat emanating from their open jaws, along with the constant angry hissing, suggested they were summoning fire but holding it back right before release. The result was eggs that were warmed but not scorched.

Not all the fire-breathing anzus were taking part. The animals had notoriously short attention spans, and some had already given up on the eggs, grooming their feathers with their long, feline tongues, or examining all the humans in the room with tilted heads and curious eyes.

“Honestly, it’s incredible that the species survives,” Xavier commented to Charles.

He accompanied the words with a chuckle, still tickled by his own earlier comparison. He really was like an anzu. Certainly if the royal succession depended on him alone, everyone would be worried. Of course there was the expectation that he’d marry one day and produce some dutiful little heirs. But if he failed for any reason, no one would panic. Not with Theo around to cover for him. The responsible younger prince had already married and everything—an uncontroversial and politically advantageous marriage, naturally.

And then there was Xavier, metaphorically grooming his feathers rather than taking an interest in anything of importance.

“What are you grinning about?”

Xavier looked up, surprised to hear his younger sister’s voice.

“I didn’t see you there, Mim. Come to watch the hatching?”

“No, I frequently stand around in this small, dank room,” Princess Miriam said, no heat in the sarcastic words. “You’re here hoping to impress that Torrenese lady, I suppose.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Xavier said in polite bemusement. “My interest in the anzus is purely scholarly.”

Miriam knew better than to give him a reaction, instead smiling faintly.

“I’ve heard you called a lot of things, Xave, but scholarly isn’t one of them.”

Xavier had a retort ready, but Miriam shushed him with her hand. “Listen!”

He returned his attention to the nest of eggs, hearing the crack that had caught Mim’s attention. An egg near the middle had started to wobble more violently than the rest, the fissure down its side expanding rapidly.

It was like the start of an avalanche. In moments, the small space reverberated with splintering cracks, the sounds much louder than made sense, given the size of the eggs. Tiny creatures started to poke their way out into the warm air of their elders’ breath, their sleek avian bodies making the feline heads more comical than ever.

Excited mutters from across the circle drew Xavier’s eye to a young man who was vibrating as much as an unhatched egg, his hand moving furiously as he scratched notes onto a piece of parchment.

“He’s certainly excited.”

“He’s from the Craftsman’s Guild,” Miriam told him. “This is probably his first time witnessing a hatching.”

“Ah yes.” Xavier nodded.

He’d discovered this in his reading. All magical creatures were fascinating to skilled craftsmen, the Dust stirred up by their movement potent and remarkable in ways regular movement wasn’t. But apparently the motion created by an anzu’s first movement after birth was particularly unique. Shame there was no useful purpose for the resulting magic on this occasion. Given there was no known way to store magic, the Dust was just being released pointlessly into the air.

The royal siblings turned their eyes back to the hatching. The nest was now littered with broken shell fragments, and the air was filled with a mewing sound that was bizarre coming from birdlike creatures. One by one, the older anzus stopped breathing their fiery air onto the newborns.

“One didn’t hatch,” Xavier said, pointing. “There, on the edge.”

As he said it, the anzu chick next to the still-wriggling egg butted its neighbor with a clumsy head. The egg rolled out of the nest, moving in a lopsided way over the cold flagstones. It came to a stop resting against Xavier’s boot, and he scooped it up.

“Poor little fellow,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll warm you up.” He rubbed at the surface of the egg, which was much cooler than it should be. A tiny crack appeared beneath his fingers.

“No, Your Highness,” said the representative of the Craftsman’s Guild, his voice pained. “They need magically created warmth to successfully hatch and survive the expulsion, not regular warmth.”

“Ah.”