Page 139

Her words sound like advice, almost kind, but beneath them lies a threat. Yet I have stood before too many others like her—those who wield power like a weapon, who expect submission as their due—to be cowed now. I’ve bitten my tongue, bowed my head, bent to their will more times than I can count.

But not this time.

“Yes,” I say, loud enough for my voice to carry.

My heart pounds, a frantic rhythm that betrays the calm I’m trying so desperately to project. I curl my hands into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms as if the pain might keep me from unraveling completely.

A tide of shock and unease ripples through the gathering. But there is excitement, too, among those eager to witness the spectacle about to unfold.

The queen tilts her head, studying me. I imagine it’s the same way she looked at me all those years ago, when she chased my mother across the realm only to find me instead.

Finally, she turns her gaze from me, sweeping it over the pavilion.

“Our wings are Boreas’s greatest gift to our kind,” she says to the crowd. “They are a symbol of strength, of the skies that belong to us and the gods alone. But they do not come without trial. To bear wings is to carry the burden of proving oneself worthy of them.

“Iphigenia was one among us who knew that truth well. She faced the greatest trial of all when she first took the Leap, casting herself into the unknown. It was her courage and the will to rise, no matter how far she might fall, that carried her.”

The queen’s eyes glint like frost as she fixes them on me. “Tonight, we shall watch another follow in her footsteps. And we shall see, as we always have, whether she flies…or falls.”

The crowd begins to shift, a tide of wings and murmured voices flowing toward the edge of the pavilion overlooking the frozen lake. Their gazes brush over me as they pass, the air vibrating with anticipation. I take a step to follow, but before I can move any farther, a firm grip closes around my wrist, halting me in place.

I barely have time to react before I’m spun around, the world tilting as I come face-to-face with Lyxander.

“What are you thinking?” He practically snarls the words, his eyes burning down at me with an intensity that stills my heart.

The queen’s voice cuts through the air. “You will not interfere, Lyxander.”

He doesn’t so much as glance in her direction. His gaze is locked onto mine, delving deep, as if he believes that if he looks hard enough, he might uncover the answers I can’t seem to find myself. Perhaps, if he can, he’ll be able to explain it to me—why I’m doing this, why I can’t stop, and why the thought of walking away feels more impossible than the Leap itself.

“Do not forget the repercussions for that,” she adds.

Lyxander goes still.

“That,” he says, his voice low and cold, “is something I will never forget.”

Guilt is a dagger to my heart.

This must be like splitting open a festering wound for him, forcing him to relive the pain he’s carried for so long. I wrench my gaze from his, my throat tightening, and look beyond him to where his kin stand ashen faced, their expressions a mirror of Lyxander’s. Their wings are drawn tight, their postures stiff, as if bracing for the worst.

The sight only twists the dagger deeper, worsening the ache in my chest. But I force myself to stand tall, to keep my resolve from cracking under the weight of their stares.

Lyxander exhales slowly. “I’ll walk you to the path.”

I nod, unable to find the words to respond.

We walk in silence, the echo of each step drawing me closer to the edge of something I can’t turn back from. The gathered Harpaurai part as we pass, their wide-eyed stares following us like shadows.

When we reach the first stone, Lyxander stops abruptly.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says.

His profile is etched in the pale light, his gaze fixed on the path ahead, and I search it as if the answers might be written there—something to make this moment less unbearable. But no words come.

How could I tell him the truth? That I don’t know if I’ll rise or shatter, if the wind will catch me or cast me down. That I’m leaping not to leave, but to ensure I’ll be able to come back. Back to this place. Back to him.

But I can’t say that. Not when I saw him gift his feather to another.

I am a fool, standing here, still wishing for something that was never meant to be.