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“Of course! Father always says ‘know thy enemy,’ so I know all sorts of languages.” She nodded earnestly, jumping into conversation as though she had been waiting on a precipice to leap. “Want to hear some of the other ones I know?”

Salas blinked. “Not really,” he said honestly.

The princess frowned, joining him on the floor with her legs crossed. “That’s...that’s not very nice.” Still, she didn’t seem entirely put-off as she squirmed her hands out of a fur-lined muff and set it atop her lap. “I came to see the fae! Everyone said you made the well-water magic, and I told them all I met you first, but then I realized!”

Salas frowned as his confusion about the purpose of this visit grew. Still, he did not speak on it.

“I don’t know your name!” she explained, as though grandly admitting to a crime. “How do you tell a story if you get the names wrong?”

“You can’t,” Salas agreed solemnly, slowly reaching through the bars to see if he could grab the muff from her.

She swatted his hand away and readjusted the muff. “So? What’s your name? My name is Newtalia, but everyone calls me ‘Newt.’”

Salas grunted, refocusing on her face. “My name is Salas. And what do you mean ‘made the well-water magic?’”

“It’s magic, magic! The witches always give it life-energy. You know? But everyone is saying that you made the life-energy extra special.”

Salas shook his head, not following, though he supposed that it would be difficult to extract full context from a child.

Still, with someone here that was tolerant of his company, he realized that now was a rare chance to ask the questions that had been troubling him. “What happened to the other birds? Are they all right?”

“Birds?”

“The prisoners,” Salas explained hastily, his heart tipping to an uncomfortable rhythm as he waited for the answer without another breath leaving him.

“Oh! The Susconians in the dungeon! They were near-naked like you! Father has set them free.”

Salas swallowed. “What?”

“Set free. They’re not in the dungeons anymore. They are being trained as palace staff.”

Salas let his head drop, letting that sink in. The follow-up question to her explanation, the one concerning his own circumstances, was on the tip of his tongue. But he already knew the answer to that question. And it wasn’t one that would bring him any joy in hearing.

He raised his head, trying to find solace in the fact that his bird companions had found a better outcome than he had. “I’m not naked,” he said belatedly. “I’m wearing a skirt wrap.”

“Well, itisa nice color. Like your hair! You’re so pretty, I asked Marlo if I could keep you. You could be my doll! And we could play dress-up, I have loads of costumes, and—”

“No, I won’t be,” Salas snapped, reaching for the muff again. This time, he was able to tug it away from her and bury his hands in the fluff of warmth. He stuck his tongue out at her when she protested, and curled up in satisfaction.

“That’s mine!” she wailed.

“You told your father I attacked you. Lies,” he hissed, ignoring her attempts to snatch back the stolen accessory.

“I didn’t say that. The guards said that. But...I haven’t spoken to him in a while. He’s been busy. I’ve been meaning to explain it to him. I want you to come out so we can play!”

“Explain to him faster.” Salas took a moment to study her. “How old are you?” he wondered aloud.

“Twelve.”

“You’re very big.” He sniffed.

“You’re very small.”

Salas nodded gravely, accepting this.

“So, what are you going to do about tonight?” she wondered, easily bouncing into a new thread of conversation.

“Tonight?”