“Echo.” Ruby’s voice was cloyingly sweet and so fake that Echo wanted to scream. “And where have you been?”
Being chased around Japan by a bunch of Drakharin, Echo thought. But she couldn’t exactly admit to that, so she lied. “Human doctor.” She clasped her hands around her stomach. “Digestive woes.”
Ruby scrunched up her nose as if she smelled something foul. “And where are you off to now?”
“Perrin’s. I told Ivy I’d pick a few things up for her.” Not the truth but close enough. Maybe she ought to make that her life motto.
“I’ll walk with you.” Ruby said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if their mutual dislike wasn’t so thick Echo could have scooped it up with a spoon.
Echo hesitated a few seconds before nodding. They proceeded in silence through the rest of the labyrinth and into the yellow light of the Agora. Echo smiled at a few Avicen who looked their way—the baker who carried the smell of flour and butter with him everywhere, the seamstress who bore a striking resemblance to a bird of paradise Echo had seen in a book—but the smiles she got in return were tight and cautious. They must have made a strange sight. Ruby with her black-feathered cloak, so like a shadow, walking side by side with Echo—small, featherless, human.
When Ruby spoke, she kept her voice pitched low enough that Echo knew the words were meant for no one’s ears but hers. “Altair would see you handled with kid gloves, but I know the Ala is up to something, and you’re involved.”
Echo tensed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.
Ruby took Echo by the arm, fingers tight as a steel vise. “Whatever it is you’re up to, you leave Rowan out of it. He has a bright future with us. Don’t drag him down with you.”
Echo wrenched her arm free, fighting the urge to rub the spot where she knew she would find finger-shaped bruises later. There wasn’t a strong enough word in the English language to encapsulate how much she despised Ruby. She glanced at the Avicen milling about the square. Half a dozen heads snapped around, as though they’d just been staring. She knew they were still straining to hear the conversation. Ruby’s feelings about humans—and Echo, in particular—were public knowledge, and seeing the two of them together was probably the juiciest thing to happen all week. It was like Rowan said: too few Avicen, not enough gossip to sustain them. Echo turned back, meeting Ruby’s steady gaze. Her eyes were the sickly pale blue of a vulture’s. Echo hated them. She hated her stupid eyes and her stupid black feathers and her stupid milk-white skin. She hated everything about her.
“Backpfeifengesicht,” Echo said. It was one of her favorite words. German. A face made for punching. It suited Ruby perfectly.
Confusion flitted across Ruby’s face for half a second. It was the sweetest half a second of Echo’s life.
“What does that mean?” Ruby said. Echo could almost taste how much it pained her to ask that.
Echo smiled, saccharine sweet. “Look it up.”
Ruby narrowed her eyes. “All I’m saying is if I were you, I would be careful in whom I place my trust.”
“Gee, Ruby, I didn’t know you cared.”
“It’s not you I care about,” Ruby said.
In the time it took for Echo to blink, Ruby was gone. Echo scanned the crowd, but it was as though Ruby had simply faded into the shadows. Echo wouldn’t have been surprised if Ruby was still there, watching. Waiting for Echo to slip up. With the feeling of phantom eyes on her back, Echo walked the last few yards to Perrin’s shop. Go in, grab the shadow dust, get out. First the Drakharin, now Ruby. She needed to get to the Ala. The Ala would know what to do.
Banging the door to Perrin’s shop open, Echo’s greeting died in her throat. The place had been ransacked. Jagged shards of glass littered the floor where Perrin’s curio cabinets and display cases had been smashed open. Shadow dust had scattered everywhere, some of it still lingering in the air. Broken wooden beams stuck out from where it looked like a body had crashed through the bookshelves, and heavy atlases and rolled-up parchment were strewn across the floor.
And right in the midst of all the chaos and debris, lay a single white feather, as familiar to Echo as the hair on her own head. It was Ivy’s. Echo’s stomach dropped like lead through water.
“Shit.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Ala!”
Echo burst through the door to the Ala’s nest, her muscles screaming in protest. She’d run all the way from Perrin’s shop, barely registering the people—Avicen and human—she had shoved out of her way as she flew through the crowded tunnels of Astor Place and Grand Central, barging through thresholds as if she were on fire. “Ivy’s gone, they’ve taken her—”
“We know.” Altair’s voice was a steely rumble, its bass vibrating straight through to Echo’s core. He and the Ala were deep in conversation. The Ala stood behind him, meeting Echo’s frantic gaze with a guarded expression. The whites and browns of Altair’s short, sharp feathers were almost pretty against the warm earth tones of the Ala’s furnishings.
Echo’s mouth opened and closed. She could imagine what the Ala would say, had these been normal circumstances. Catching flies, are we? But these were not normal circumstances. The Ala and Altair could hardly stand one another, and the latter never, ever made house calls.
“Uhhh …” Sometimes Echo had the sinking realization that she was not nearly as quick on her feet as she liked to believe. “It’s Ivy … she …” The words stuck in her throat, refusing to come out.
The Ala brushed past Altair. She took Echo’s hands in her own, giving them a squeeze that was just this side of too hard. “I know. Altair’s just told me. We have reason to believe it was warlocks.”
“I went to Perrin’s shop,” Echo said, words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s a wreck, and there’s glass everywhere, and everything’s broken, and”—Echo slipped her hand from the Ala’s to reach into her pocket and pull out the single white feather she’d picked up off the shop floor—“I found this.” Hot tears stung her eyes, but she did her best to blink them away. She would not cry in front of Altair. She absolutely, resolutely would not cry.
The Ala’s hands flitted to her mouth as her carefully neutral mask crumbled. “Oh, Ivy. My sweet girl.”
“We think the warlocks were hired by the Drakharin,” Altair said, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He never went anywhere unarmed. “An attack inside the Agora would be too risky to attempt without the right motivation. Warlocks are a greedy lot. Easy to bribe and brutal when they want to be.”
Echo opened her mouth to respond, but the Ala beat her to it. “But why would they take Ivy? Few would dare lay a finger on a healer—and an apprentice at that.”
It’s because of me. The thought settled like heavy stones in Echo’s stomach. She reached into her pocket to wrap her fingers around the locket. They took her because of me. Because I have the locket and they want it.
In that moment, she felt hopelessly young in a way she hadn’t since she’d first run away. The Ala reached for her, but Echo pulled back. She would be strong, if not for her own sake, then for Ivy’s. The thought that the hunt for the firebird had brought the Drakharin to the Avicen’s doorstep coiled its way around Echo’s heart and squeezed. If Ivy had been hurt, or worse, and if it had been Echo’s fault, she would never be able to live with herself.
“A very good question, Ala.” Altair’s voice was quiet, but it carried a weight that sent Echo’s heart pounding. “I was hoping the two of you might be willing to shed some light on the situation.”
The Ala didn’t bat a single eyelash. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Altair.”
“Don’t play dumb,” Altair said. “It doesn’t suit you.” He stepped toward them, and Echo had a sudden appreciation for his formidable size. He was six and a half feet of battle-hardened warrior, and better women than she had fallen at his feet in fear. She felt every inch of her fragile humani
ty as she stood before him. He met Echo’s eyes as he went on. “I have more ears in the Nest than either of you realize. I know the two of you have been plotting something behind my back, and I came here to find out what it is. The timing of the attack can’t be coincidence. If it is related to whatever scheme you’ve been working on, you need to come clean.”
The Ala placed a hand on Echo’s arm, pulling her away from Altair. “Echo has nothing to do with this. You will leave her out of it.”
The corners of Altair’s mouth pulled into a frown. “If the two of you are keeping secrets that might be relevant to rescuing Ivy and Perrin, I need to know.” He inclined his head to peer around the Ala’s shoulder at Echo. “You will tell me what you know, child, or we’ll find out if a night in the cells loosens your tongue.”
The Ala nudged Echo aside, placing herself between Echo and Altair. Echo was short enough for her view of Altair to be blocked by the Ala. The Ala kept one hand behind her back and wiggled her fingers at Echo. She seemed to know, without being told, that Echo had returned with something. One of the many perks of being a Seer, Echo supposed.
“How dare you?” the Ala spat, voice loud enough to guarantee she had Altair’s attention. Echo slipped the locket into the Ala’s palm. With a flick of the Ala’s wrist, it disappeared into the folds of her gown. “Echo is my charge, which means she’s under my protection. You have no right to come in here and make threats. She’s but a child herself and has broken no laws.”
“Broken no laws?” Altair laughed, hard and cold. “She’s a thief. Any Aviceling could tell you that. The girl’s hardly innocent.”
The girl. As though Echo weren’t standing right in front of him. No matter how long she lived among the Avicen, Altair would always see her as other. As lesser. She pushed in front of the Ala, wrapping her resolve around herself, donning it like a suit of armor.
“What are you going to do about Ivy?” Echo said. She would not hide behind the Ala because she was afraid of Altair. Not now, when her friend had been taken from her. Not when it was her fault. “And Perrin?”
Altair cocked his head to the side, eyes blazing with restrained anger. “I don’t owe you an explanation. If the Ala deems you a child, then you will be treated like one. Run along.” Altair turned away from her to face the Ala. “This is none of your business.”
“Excuse me, but my friends are my business.” Before she had time to think about what she was doing, Echo grabbed Altair’s arm, yanking him around to face her. Altair stared at her hand, so small against the thick, corded muscles of his forearm, and she fought not to flinch under that steady gaze.
“I’ve had it with you, girl,” Altair said, towering over her, the deep brown and brilliant white of his feathers as breathtaking up close as they were from afar. “One more word out of you and I swear, I will toss you into a nice, comfy cell, child or not.”
Echo stared at him, hands twitching into fists at her sides. As children, she and Ivy had taken to raiding the Ala’s closet and parading about in her long, flowing gowns. More often than not, they were returned worse for wear. The Ala had given them both a stern talking-to and told them to never do it again. Naturally, Echo convinced Ivy to double their efforts. The Ala had figured out very early on that the fastest way to get Echo to do something was to tell her not to do it. Altair had never paid her enough attention to learn that same lesson.
Leaning forward, chin angled upward, Echo met Altair’s orange eyes, still hard and cold despite the warmth of the torchlight around them.
“Try me.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The dungeons of Wyvern’s Keep were an unforgiving place. Dark stone walls, stained with the grime of years, swallowed light whole until only the faintest illumination was left to guide Dorian’s steps. A metallic odor hung in the air, with a hint of something wet and cloying. Sort of like blood mingled with moss. Dorian breathed through his mouth, and he could almost taste the stench of burnt flesh and charred feathers. Tanith’s interrogations were nothing if not thorough.
He stopped by the shopkeeper’s cell first. Perrin, that was his name. Dorian strained to see the figure that lay prone on the floor of the cell, pressed against the far wall as though he’d fallen when cowering before the last person he had encountered. Tanith had that effect on the weak. On most people, really. The light was dim enough that Dorian had difficulty detecting the rise and fall of Perrin’s chest but after a few silent moments, the shopkeeper inhaled deeply, breath a harsh, wet rattle with which Dorian almost sympathized. Perrin had little honor to speak of, but Tanith’s methodical attentions were something Dorian would have wished only on his worst enemy.
The sound of rattling chains came from the cell at the other end of the dungeon. The Avicen girl. The one who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d refused to give him her name, and Dorian wondered if Tanith had met with better luck. He walked to her cell door, making sure his footfalls were loud in the disquieting silence of the dungeon, so as not to spook her. She was crouched low in the corner of her cell, huddled to make herself as small as possible, but even the darkness did nothing to hide the fine tremors that shook her body. Her white feathers were stained with soot and blood, and she tensed as he approached.
Dorian rested his hands on the thick iron bars of her cell. “What’s your name?” he asked, voice as soft as he could make it.
The girl did not so much as raise her head. Dorian sighed and reached into his pocket to retrieve his master key. At the sound of the door being unlocked and opened, the girl pressed herself more tightly against the wall. As if she had anywhere left to go. She buried her face in her knees and shivered.
Dorian knelt before her. “I won’t hurt you,” he said. Not that she had any reason to believe him, but faced with her sorry state, he didn’t know what else to say.
The girl peered at him over her knees, large black eyes reflecting the glow of the torch outside her cell. She blinked, long and slow, before hiding her face in her knees once more.
“What’s your name?” Dorian asked. “I’m not going anywhere. I might as well call you something.”
The girl mumbled so quietly, he couldn’t catch it. “Come again?”
She spoke, only slightly louder, but it was enough for him to make out a single word. “Ivy.”
“Ivy,” he said. “That’s a lovely name.”
“Are you supposed to be the good cop?” the girl asked, voice raw and cracking.
“Excuse me?”
“The good cop.” The girl—Ivy, he reminded himself—looked up. She coughed, and a few droplets of blood spattered on the dirty white feathers of her forearms. “The blond one, with the red eyes. She was the bad cop. So you must be the good cop.” She coughed again. “I watch movies.”
Dorian had no idea what she was talking about, so he let it go. “It doesn’t need to be this way,” he said.
Ivy raised her head higher. “Is this the part where you tell me that if I talk, you’ll let me go, just like that?”
“No,” he said. There was little point in lying to her. She may have been young, but she wasn’t an idiot. “I won’t let you go, but I can make sure that Tanith never returns. I can keep you safe from her.”
The girl studied him for a moment, blinking owlishly in the darkness. “Liar,” she said, quietly.
“Believe what you will.” Dorian rose to his feet, brushing off his breeches. “We aren’t all monsters. That’s what you Avicen call us, isn’t it?”
He could feel her eyes on him as he turned away, key in hand. When she spoke again, it was scarcely louder than a whisper, and her words were lost to him. He turned back to her, dropping to his knees.
“I didn’t catch that,” Dorian said, leaning in as far he dared. Her hands may have been chained, but one of the warlocks who’d brought her in bore a neat row of teeth marks on his arm. She hadn’t been taken without a fight.
She cleared her throat before speaking. “How did you lose it?”
; Dorian raised a hand to his eye patch, aborting the motion halfway. Her trembling had all but ceased, and she looked at him with a steady gaze, the tightness around her eyes the only sign that she was still frightened.
“Altair.” He had no idea if the name meant anything to her, but when a humorless grin tugged at the corners of her lips, something black and venomous settled in his gut.
“Good.” She spat blood and saliva on the floor beside her. “I hope he kept it. I hear he loves a good trophy.”
Dorian’s hand flew out before he even realized what he was doing. He struck the side of the girl’s face, knocking her against the wall. Tears trickled down her cheeks, though her weeping was soundless. The fine tremors that had seized her body before returned, stronger this time.
The urge to apologize was almost overwhelming, but Dorian quashed it. He would not explain himself to an Avicen prisoner. He stalked out of the girl’s cell, slamming the door shut behind him. He locked it and strode out of the dungeon, not bothering to acknowledge the Firedrakes on the door.
Once he was far enough away that the smell of blood and moss was nothing more than a rotten memory, Dorian paused, sagging against the corridor wall. The rough stone was blessedly cold on his skin. Bile rose in his throat. He felt as though he might be sick. Such obvious weakness disgusted him, and though he would have liked to think that it was the girl’s weakness that sickened him so, he knew, without a shred of doubt, that it had been his own.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The only light in the Nest’s cells came from the quivering glow of sconces mounted on the walls. Echo rested her head against the wall behind her for a split second. The stone was damp, as if it had things growing on it. Or at least the potential for things to grow.
She leaned forward, hands resting on her knees, butt numb from sitting on hard stone. A single tattered blanket, marked with stains whose origin Echo was happier not considering, was all that separated her from the cold stone floor of her cell. Her current lodgings were positively medieval, and not in a way that was even remotely charming, like the time she had bundled Ivy up in layers upon layers of knitwear and dragged her to Medieval Times in New Jersey. She’d had to swipe at least a dozen wallets to pay for the bus fare and their tickets, but they’d eaten turkey legs with their bare hands, and the Green Knight had given Ivy a rose after defeating the Black and White Knight in a joust.
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