“You know I’m right,” Xander whispered. From his pocket, he pulled the item he’d been carrying around all day—a single, crumpled ivory feather. “I found this on the bridge. I know someone was there. By the size of the footprint, I’d say it was a woman. Don’t try to tell me she fought off a dragon all by herself. What’s going on? Why won’t you talk to me?”
Rafe released a long, slow breath, his body deflating as the air left his lungs. He took the feather from Xander and touched the bristles, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. Xander frowned, curious as he watched a tender feeling play over his brother’s face—a feeling he’d never seen there before. When Rafe looked up, his eyes had a brightness that caught Xander off guard.
“You know what happened, Xander. Think about it and you’ll know, without my needing to tell you. As you said, your mind is fully intact and far sharper than mine ever was.” Rafe shoved the feather back into Xander’s hand, jaw clenching for a long moment before he opened his lips to continue, “Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. We have bigger things to prepare for, like the trials. What’s done is done. There’s no going back.”
Rafe stepped to the side. Xander stayed by the window, watching as his brother walked to the bed and collapsed in sheer exhaustion. He turned toward the crystal city, thinking over Rafe's words.
There had been a fight. There had been a wound. There had been a woman. Of that much he was sure. And the fact that Rafe wasn’t speaking could only mean one thing—there had been magic as well. New magic. Magic that wasn’t his to share. It was the only bond between strangers that could possibly be stronger than blood.
But who?
And what?
And why?
And—
Xander cleared the questions from his mind as his eyes landed on the crystal palace looming in the center of the city.
Rafe was right.
They had more important things to worry about, more important things to focus on.
“I’m going—” Xander stopped as he swiveled to find his brother fast asleep, a bit of drool dripping onto the wing he had folded like a pillow beneath his head.
I’m going to let it go, he finished silently. I’m going to let you have this secret, because I know you wouldn’t keep it from me if it wasn’t important to you. The obsidian ring still hung from Rafe’s neck, the ring he hated to wear, the ring he was wearing solely because Xander had asked it of him. And I know the sacrifices you are making for me.
Xander walked to the edge of the bed and put the white feather on Rafe’s nightstand. He left his questions behind him, looking instead toward the future.
The courtship trials were starting in only a few hours.
And there was much they needed to do to prepare.
18
Lyana
“Are you ready for this, Ana?” Luka whispered, leaning down as he squeezed her hand tightly.
They were standing before the entrance to the royal rooms, waiting for the signal to make their descent into the atrium at the center of the palace. Luka was garbed in a crisp white overcoat embroidered with silver-and-gold thread, the colors of the House of Peace. The royal seal, a sparkling domed diamond identical to the one their father wore, was pinned like a brooch to his chest, golden band gleaming. Lyana was by his side in a flowing ivory gown with sleeves made of translucent organza, two slits running down each arm, and a back that dipped low so her dark skin acted like a frame to her unblemished snowy wings. The fabrics of their outfits were similarly detailed and in matching colors, but hers had a bit more sparkle than Luka’s, with diamonds, pearls, and gilded beads woven into the needlework.
A shiver darted up Lyana’s spine, but it wasn’t from the cold. It was the thrill of standing at the edge of the unknown, the ache of wondering what the future would bring, the anticipation of so many sleepless nights and vivid daydreams finally coming to fruition.
“I’m ready,” Lyana replied, voice strong as she squeezed her brother’s hand and turned to look into his honey eyes. “Are you?”
He shifted his gaze back to the wooden doors looming before them, the slightest hint of uncertainty on his face. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
They let go of each other’s hands and as one lifted the masks they were holding, securing them to the backs of their heads. Lyana glanced at Luka, smiling at the way his ashy feathers highlighted the richness of his skin and the warmth of his eyes, hoping her own did the same. The courtship trials were born of the more animalistic aspect of their nature, so during the tests, the heirs hid their faces behind their own molted feathers as a tribute to the gift the gods had given them—the gift of their wings—leaving only their eyes and mouths visible. The matches were supposed to be made based on strength and endurance, on intelligence and agility, on the instinctive belief between two souls that the gods had chosen them to be united—not on looks or the very human feeling of desire. The masks were only removed on the final day of the trials, when the mate selections were revealed.
“You look beautiful,” Luka murmured, tone as unsteady as his nerves. Still, beneath the edge of his mask, a smile pulled at his lips. “Not at all like the scrawny little sister I know and love.”
Lyana elbowed him in the ribs. “I’d say you look handsome, but I don’t think you need the ego boost.”
Her teasing did the trick. The grin on his lips widened and the tension in his shoulders lessened. Before he had a chance to respond, the doors in front of them swung open, turning whatever response had been rising in his throat into a gulp instead.
They’d practiced their entrance a dozen times in the past few weeks, so they didn’t need to speak as they crossed the threshold, pausing at the rail for a few moments to let the crowd waiting below take in their full splendor. Then they beat their wings in unison as they rose over the edge and descended slowly to the mosaic floor.
No matter how hard Lyana had prepared for this moment, there was no getting ready for the almost physical weight of hundreds of eyes staring at her, judging her, scrutinizing her every move. Her heart thundered, but she refused to show her nervousness. A serene smile played on her lips. Her chin remained high and proud to keep her gaze straight. The outer layers of her skirt fluttered like a set of extra wings, while the inner layers remained tightly cinched around her ankles. Part of her voluminous hair was braided like a crown over the arch of her forehead, woven with diamonds and gold lace, while the rest was loose and wispy, an elegant black halo that flounced as she flew. She looked perfect. And she knew it. The only thing that remained was sticking the landing.
Though her knees wobbled, as soon as her feet grazed the edge of the floor her legs did their job, muscles clenching to receive her weight. And Luka’s did the same. He offered her his arm, and as the Prince and Princess of the House of Peace, they walked the remaining steps to the empty thrones waiting on either side of their parents. As soon as they sat, their father stood. And, simple as that, the courtship trials had begun.
“Welcome,” the king proclaimed, voice loud and booming, reverberating through the hollow core of the palace and past the open doors of the entrance hall, so all their guests could hear.
Lyana’s gaze jumped from wall to wall, taking everything in. She and her family sat at the helm, guarding the doors to the sacred nest, facing east so they had a clear, uninterrupted view through the atrium and down the stretch of the entrance hall, which was currently lined on either side with all the doves who had come to enjoy the show and, Lyana suspected, one owl, hidden somewhere within the folds.
The representatives from the other six houses sat on platforms fanning out on either side of her own, three to the left and three to the right, turning the domed atrium into a kaleidoscope of color, with each dais decorated to match its house. The red-and-gold banners of the House of Song. The yellow uniforms and bronze shields of the House of Prey. The deep black leathers of the House of Whispers. The bright purple-and-green silks of the House of Paradise. The liquid-blue garb and sunny ora
nge flowers of the House of Flight. And finally, subdued yet still wondrous, the white clothes and amber accents of the House of Wisdom. The kings and queens of each house sat on thrones, just like her parents, surrounded by their guests, all dressed to represent their monarchs. And each royal dais had open seats ready to welcome the princes and princesses, who were currently waiting outside for the signal to present their gifts to Aethios on behalf of their patron god.
Every courtship trial began the same way—with the parade of offerings, which was truly just a way for each house to engage in little showing off. Each house except Lyana’s, of course. She was there to humbly receive, though she wasn’t quite sure she’d be able to keep her eyes from widening in wonder or her lips from opening with a thrilled little gasp. Nothing had even happened yet, and her heels already bounced with excitement beneath the many layers of her gown. She couldn’t help but start as her father’s voice boomed again, giving life to the story of their ancestors, as was tradition.
“A thousand years ago, we were little more than slaves and servants to unjust rulers who wielded their magic to keep us weak and small and submissive. But we had something they did not, something more powerful than all the magic and all the weapons in the world. We had faith. Faith in our gods, faith that they would one day come to save us, faith that they would set us free—and they did. They gave us wings. They lifted our lands into the air. They gave us the home we’d prayed for, a home of peace and safety and prosperity. So we gather here, on the eve of our most sacred ceremony, to give thanks to the gods who broke our chains and gifted us the open sky. I declare, on behalf of Aethios, to let the parade of offerings begin.”
The parade always began with the isle to the east of Lyana's own, since it was the one Aethios first blessed with sunlight in the morning. And then the remaining houses presented in a path that followed a sundial’s movements, circling around her home, until all the gifts were presented. Even though she knew who would be first, Lyana’s breath still caught in her throat when the doors at the other end of the entrance hall slid open, sending a wave of cool air into the palace.
She heard them before she saw them—the gentle trill of a high-pitched whistle, followed by another, and another. Lower, then louder. Then higher, and louder still. Then soft but lingering, stretching on and on, until suddenly, the first bird slipped into view: a masked girl with a mix of brilliant red and dusty-brown feathers—the Crown Princess of the House of Song. Following her, also in a mask, the younger princess with wings of soft blue and orange. Both wore dresses in their colors, deep ruby with gold trim, and each held a log in one upturned palm to represent the gift their house had brought—wood, as was tradition. The bulk of their offering had already been stored in the warehouses on the outer isle, so this piece was just for show, as befitted the parade.
The two princesses flew slowly but with purpose. When they crossed the first third of the entry hall, the song that had announced their entrance burst forth again, with a rising and falling whistle, as the rest of their party soared into view in a flurry of bright colors and even brighter sounds. Red wings. Blue wings. Orange wings. Yellow wings. So many different feathers fluttered together, moving this way and that, a cacophony of color. The walls reverberated with their song, which filled the entire space as their voices echoed, colliding, chaotic yet controlled. High pitches and low tones followed in an arrangement Lyana couldn’t recognize, yet instantly loved. The two princesses were perfectly poised, as if unaware of what was going on behind them. There was a pattern in the mess, an organization in the hurried movements and flowing notes, in the highs and lows, in the dance and the song.
Lyana's mother sighed, her lips moving ever so slightly as the softest chime sifted through them. Her wings were still, but Lyana recognized the itch ruffling through her feathers—the ache to rise and join and soar. These were her mother’s people. This song was her song. And the bluebird inside her longed to get out, just for a few moments, to be with her flock once more.
But she was Queen of the House of Peace now. A dove, no matter what wings she possessed. And she remained on her throne—a sacrifice all the second-born royals in this gathering understood.
A sacrifice Lyana herself would soon know.
The princesses came to a stop before the dove thrones and landed gently on the floor, dropping into a low bow with their offerings held high. The song drew to an end as they rose, one single note holding steady until the princesses joined in and the rest of the voices faded away. The two girls sang proudly for what seemed like an impossibly long time before swiftly coming to a close and allowing a soft echo to linger.
The King of the House of Song stood from his throne, deep crimson cardinal wings stretching wide as he gestured toward his daughters. He was her mother’s brother, and the two girls were Lyana’s cousins, though they had never met. But she knew their names before he spoke them. She’d read about them in her mother’s letters—something she wasn’t supposed to do but, usually with Cassi’s help, did anyway.
“May I present Corinne Erheanus, born of the god Erhea, Crown Princess of the House of Song. And her sister, Elodie Erheanus, born of the god Erhea, Princess of the House of Song.”
As the king spoke, his daughters remained still, tall with wings wide, skin a soft peach like her mother’s. Corinne proudly displayed a brilliant ruby ring on her finger, the royal seal of her house. But Lyana was drawn to her sister, unable to glance away from the brilliant green eyes sparkling in the shadows of Elodie’s mask, eyes that reminded her of her own. It was almost strange in a way, to see a bit of herself in someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger.
“May we gift our offering to the god Aethios in the name of Erhea, god of the love that exists between mates and kin,” the songbird king continued. “Wood from our homeland to keep the House of Peace warm, and our gratitude for all that you sacrifice on our behalf in serving our god Aethios, the highest of them all.”
The princesses quietly placed each of their logs in the long basket at the base of the dais where Lyana sat with her family and took their seats on the empty thrones to either side of their parents. The rest of their house followed.
In the silence, the anticipation of the next arrival grew, the buzz of whispers and wondering, as the door at the other end of the entrance hall swung open again.
Eight birds flew in—four with relatively simple brown-and-tan feathers, the females, and four with iridescent hues shimmering in the firelight of the hall, the males. It was, of course, the House of Paradise. They were the only house where extra feathers were common, either tail feathers jutting out from their backs just below their wings or a ring of pearlescent plumage around their necks. And all four males had them—one a simple curly white tendril, one a voluminous train of fluffy yellows and whites, one a ring of gleaming turquoise framing his face, and one a single long plume of deep black.
Lyana couldn’t help but stare, which was the point of the natural display.
Her eyes widened when they started to dance. The four women in the center weaved a circle together, holding hands and releasing them, paying no attention to the men who danced around them. And the men, for their part, did their best to catch their mates' attention. They dove, twirled, and flared their wings, tossing their extra plumage this way and that. There was no music, but somehow, as they moved, Lyana almost heard the melody they created with their bodies. A mating song. A lover’s dance. The women slowly turned their attention outwards, showing interest and retreating, leading the men to make even more dramatic displays of their brightly colored feathers. Lyana’s heart beat faster as the men dove, then became light as air when they soared. By the time they reached the main atrium, she was enraptured, all attempts at a princessly pretense gone.
With the mating pairs set, the dancers descended to the ground as four groups of two, transitioning into duets. With a spin, the women transformed. Their dull tan garments unfurled to reveal brilliant emerald and amethyst silks that flurried li
ke an extra set of wings as they moved. The men held them aloft as they kicked, brown wings synchronized with their limbs, gaining a beauty they hadn’t had moments before. The pairs spun in each other’s arms, nothing but moving swirls of color, twirling so fast Lyana wasn’t sure how they didn’t tangle into a knot and fall. The couples wove in and out, spinning and kicking and leaping and flying, shifting closer and closer, until they all collapsed—the males spreading their wings to cover the bodies of the females.
The hall grew still and the doors at the other end opened again.
Lyana leaned forward in her seat.
A girl with a mask of auburn feathers stepped through the entrance, her wings spread and all her weight balanced on the very tips of her toes. The top of her dress was a corset that seemed molded to her skin and made of liquid jade, and the skirt was short and broken into five sections, parting like violet petals as she glided forward. In a flash, she leapt and began to twirl, spinning and spinning, arching her arms as she raced in a straight line down the center of the floor. Two bare-chested, masked figures followed—a prince with sandy wings and a trail of emerald feathers down either side of his neck, and another with black wings attached by a patch of bright golden-and-sapphire feathers that looked nearly molten as he moved. They chased after their sister, flashing their bright colors, diving in circles around each other, forming a pattern in the air as the girl traced a path along the ground. All three came to an abrupt halt at the foot of the main dais, kneeling before Lyana had a moment to process their display of speed and skill. With bowed heads, each held a vial aloft—medicines, their traditional gift.
The Queen of the House of Paradise stood, her wings a speckled brown, and gestured toward her children. “May I present Milo Mnesmeus, born of the god Mnesme, Crown Prince of the House of Paradise. His sister, Iris Mnesmeus, born of the god Mnesme, Princess of the House of Paradise. And their youngest brother, Yuri Mnesmeus, born of the god Mnesme, Prince of the House of Paradise.”
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