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“I see no sense in leaving them there, beyond that Chasm,” Rivdan says, his voice low and thoughtful. “We’d only be saddling ourselves with their lives. More mouths to feed. Better to bring them back to the valley.”

Ryon nods to Rivdan, a silent gesture of thanks, and he nods back.

“And what will happen, deshun, when we descend on the Ledge, to whisk its people away?” Adrik asks.

The question lingers and Ryon does not answer it, because in truth it is an obstacle he is yet to see around.

Adrik continues. “The people on the Ledge only know enough to fear us. And if Dawsyn Sabar is any indication, they are a violent people, very capable of defending themselves.”

Ryon seethes quietly at the mention of her name, somehow wrong on Adrik’s tongue.

“They will not understand, deshun, and they will not go quietly.”

Ryon squares his shoulders. “Dawsyn will go with us, and she will help to explain that we mean to help.” He meets the eyes of the other Council members in turn. “It will not be an easy endeavour, but their lives have fallen to us. If we need to attempt their liberation several times over, then we should do so.”

“You would risk our lives then, to save theirs?” Brennick asks now, a man Ryon considers a friend.

“It would hardly be a risk to your life, Bren. You can put those wings to use, if need be. The humans can only throw their weapons so far.”

Brennick smiles wanly, tiredly.

“Dawsyn Sabar risked her own life to help our kind be free from Vasteel,” Ryon says now, scanning the faces of the other Council members one by one. “She almost died to a cause not her own, in the hopes that it may one day lead to the liberation of her own people – people who were thrown into the pool season after season. There is no doubt that their sacrifice has spared our kind the robbing of many souls. If not for their existence, we would be nothing but breeding stock, herded into the pool. We owe Dawsyn and her people this much,” Ryon concludes, eyeing the pool, filled with the souls of the Ledge. “They have earnt the freedom we now relish.” This last is directed to Adrik, who has certainly indulged in all of freedom’s comforts.

“Let us vote, then,” Adrik says now. “Shall we free the people on the Ledge, or leave this matter for another moon? Those in favour of going to the Ledge this very day?”

Ryon raises his hand, his heart sinking.

Tasheem raises hers, high and sure.

Then Rivdan, his eyes on Ryon.

Then, surprisingly, Brennick.

But it isn’t enough.

“Those in favour of reconsidering in the future.”

The remaining nine, Adrik included, raise their hands.

And it is decided.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

Dawsyn was not permitted to attend the Council meeting. Neither were Baltisse and Ruby, a development that leaves a bitter taste on her tongue. She supposes bitterness is all she is comprised of now.

They had been given luxurious rooms within the palace to wait, rooms with vast beds and stone wash basins big enough to fit entire bodies – even winged ones. Dawsyn retreated into her chamber alone, pacing impatiently, her heart in her throat.

Dawsyn’s room hosts a large mirror, one that has been skied upon the wall to reflect her entire body. She stands before it now, having never seen herself in such a way.

She lifts one foot and watches as the woman in the mirror does the same. She wonders why a Glacian would need it, or is this a mere trophy, stolen from elsewhere? Perhaps it was taken from Terrsaw, while her own ancestors reigned.

Slowly, she lifts her hands to remove her furs, letting them fall to the ground. She takes off her leather boots and throws them aside, relief spreading fiercely through to her toes.

Her body is… sharp, she thinks. Shoulders that cut right angles, prominent cheek bones. She is somehow… disappointed. She looks as she feels. Unforgiving, inflexible.

Frustrated, she lifts the hem of her tunic, throwing it aside, and does the same with her pants, and then her shifts.

And like this, without clothing to hide her, she is softer. Not gentle, exactly, but more pliant. Her hips do not simply slope to the beginnings of her thighs, and there are too many scars for her skin to be considered smooth. The muscle beneath is evident, but she does not blanch to see any of it. She is supple. Strong.