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My heart refuses to slow as he sets me on my feet.

I drift toward the towering columns that line the courtyard’s edge and lean against the stone railing, staring out at Aerilos.

The mountain peaks are brushed by clouds and kissed by the early light. I can’t see the tower from here, and even without the cloud cover, I suspect it wouldn’t be visible over the ridge. Below the palace, the mountainside drops away in breathtaking layered shelves: terraces, villas, stair-paths braided between them, and slivers of courtyards tucked into the ledges where the rock allows mercy. Farther down, the base of the valley cradles tidy streets along either side of a glinting river.

It all feels so…impossible.

Heat brushes my arm, and I tense, then settle when I glance up at Lyxander.

“We can go see it later if you’d like. Klem and Rios are stabled down there.”

My eyes widen at the mention of the mule and gelding—I’d forgotten about them amid the chaos of everything that has happened since we arrived—but before I can respond he leans closer and adds, “But for now, stay between Rhaya and Kato.”

I nod sharply.

If it weren’t for the fact that Silas had informed him I’d been seen while practicing with the wind harps, Lyxander would have left me behind at the tower with Titaia. He hadn’t said it outright, but I could see the regret in his eyes when he mentioned it.

Now his face is impassive as he surveys the courtyard. He’s tense, his shoulders tight, his jaw set. I sweep my gaze over the others as they gather around us and find them all wearing similar expressions. Only Kato smiles, though it appears more forced than his typical grin.

“Let’s go,” Lyxander says, pivoting toward the palace as the group instinctively moves into formation. Silas and Cynna position themselves on either side of Lyxander, and I frown as I fall into step with Kato and Rhaya behind them.

The dynamic between the cousins is strange—especially knowing their relations to the queen. But twice now, Lyxander has taken the lead, and both of them have followed.

I brush the thought aside for now and lift my gaze to the looming palace.

Carved into the mountainside, its facade stretches wide, the white marble softened by time and shimmering like frost. Above us, four levels rise, each lined with rows of arched balconies, their low stone walls scalloped and feather-bent. The true heart of the palace seems to retreat into the mountain’s depths.

My boots fall silently as we approach, but the rhythm of my companions’ footsteps echoes in the vastness of the place. Each sound that carries too far makes me wince. Inside, the echoes are even worse. My unease deepens as we pass through an entrance hall rimmed with arches too expansive to feel secure, yet there isn’t a guard in sight.

We ascend a grand staircase to the floor above and approach a large arched doorway, the door flung open as if our arrival had been anticipated. Through the gap between Lyxander and Cynna, my gaze lands on twin thrones at the far end of the room, carved from translucent crystal in the form of immense feathers, light filtering through them and scattering refracted hues onto the polished floor.

Only one is occupied. But I linger on the empty throne, my chest tightening, until I tear my gaze away.

Queen Khione could be carved from the same marble as the palace, her hair and wings the same stark white as the Harpaurai before me, her features etched with the beauty and violence of nature itself.

We come to a stop a respectful distance away, and I swiftly drop into a curtsy as the others bow. We do not rise until the queen’s voice fractures the silence.

“So. My wayward family have all returned.”

I keep my gaze downcast. Beside me, Rhaya stiffens, and Kato shifts his weight, widening his stance.

“It was not my choice to be away for so long, my queen,” Lyxander says as he steps forward.

“The mistake, Lyxander, was not how long you were gone,” the queen says. “It was that you left at all.”

Silas scoffs. “Really, Mother? Is that all you’re concerned about?”

“Son or not,” the queen says, “you will speak to me with respect.”

This is like a scene plucked straight from my own childhood. How many times had I stood before my father just like this, my head bowed, my hands clasped tightly to keep them from trembling? How many times had I yearned for him to look at me, to truly see me, instead of staring through me as though I were nothing more than a body taking up time and space?

Silas, however, doesn’t back down.

“With respect,” he says, each syllable laced with defiance, “are you not even going to ask why Lyxander couldn’t return? Or does that not matter to you?”

“Enlighten me, then,” Queen Khione says.

Silas’s wings flex behind him, the movement sharp and agitated. “He’s been imprisoned for the past two years. Two years, Mother. While you sat here, concerned about maintaining the old ways and rules, he was rotting in Eretria.”