Page 105

Farra had awaited a moment like this. A moment where she could make him vulnerable, make him talk to her, trust her, but instead of calculating her next remark, she found herself speaking freely. Some spark of curiosity within her had been set alight.

“When I was a girl, my biggest fear was falling into the Chasm,” she said. “I soon learned there were worse ways to die.”

“Glacians?”

“The people of the Ledge believe the Glacians devour them.”

Thaddius raised his eyebrows. “Is the truth better, or worse?”

Farra considered before answering, then sighed. “It is both better and worse. The end may be less gruesome, but you harvest humans not for hunger, but to prolong life. We die for greed alone.”

Thaddius grimaced. “Not one of them considers the cost,” he admitted.

“But you do?”

The Glacian became still. “Remorse has its own costs,” he said simply, and Farra could not guess at his meaning.

She sat upright. The sconces had long since flickered and died, and she moved to see his face clearly. She found herself much closer than she had intended. The Glacian did not veer away. He remained seated at her side, body facing her, his cool breaths glancing off her lips.

“Did you save me?” she asked, and sincerity leaked into her voice, made it quiet and feeble. She needed to know if this was a game and if he were the villain.

“Yes,” he breathed. He seemed unable to remove his eyes from hers. Farra fared no better.

“Why?”

“Do you not want to be saved, girl?”

“Farra,” she corrected. “And I wanted to be left on the Ledge. You were not so merciful when you saw me from the sky on Selection Day.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “I did not want to.”

“Then why–”

“Because I am as trapped here as you were on the Ledge,” he said. “And this place does not care for my remorse.” He made to turn away, to stand.

For the second time, Farra reached out and grasped his wrist. Her fingers barely encircled it. “Wait,” she said.

No other words came. She had no good reason to stop the Glacian from leaving the room. She could not voice this unquenchable need to speak with him, to make meaning of his cryptic remarks. She did not want to hear his even breaths through the doorframe and wonder what he was thinking, what his intentions might be. She wanted to hear it from his lips. She wanted to see his eyes when he spoke. She…wanted. And it had little to do with plans for escape. “Tell me…” she fumbled, unsure of how to articulate it. “Tell me the truth.”

He sighed and his shoulders looked too heavy. She wondered if it was tiring to carry his wings – if even while sequestered they still weighed him down. “What do you want to know?” he asked. His hand turned over slowly in hers, until their palms were lightly touching, his fingertips glancing off the inside of her own wrist, making her pulse thrum.

“Everything,” she said on an exhale. “Tell me everything.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN

There were several nights similar, where they would meet stiffly, warily, and by the end of the hour, both would be seated in the middle of the bed, hands touching. Thaddius told Farra everything. He told her of how the pure-bloods do not breed, and of the colony to the west of the kingdom, filled with Glacians of mixed parentage. He explained the days he had spent there – learning who the mixed bloods were, befriending them, and how he had come to slowly despise Vasteel and his nobles. How it had taken years and years to undo the prejudice, the notions of his superiority, and begin to feel the burn of regret, of blame.

“There was a young mixed boy in the Colony,” Thaddius told her. “He was the first I was acquainted with. He was winged, but his skin was like yours,” he said, running a hand over Farra’s forearm with something like reverence. “He was tasked with bringing repaired clothing to the palace from his mother and father, who tailor our clothes. All measures of labour are outsourced to the Colony,” he explained. “There is very little that a pure-blood does but drink and hunt for sport.

“I collected the clothes from him at the palace gates for a time. But he always approached on foot. At some point, I asked him why he did not fly, and he told me a brute had sliced through the membrane on one side. It was the first time I heard them call us that. ‘Brutes’.”Thaddius gave a small smile. “The child was bold to say it in front of me. I think he expected me to punish him. But instead, I asked him his name. It was Ryon. I offered to teach him to fly.”

“With a torn wing?” Farra asked, captivated by the strange story. “Is that possible?”

“If it is stitched correctly, yes. Wing injuries are rife in our world. We’ve found the ways to mend them. I took him home to the Colony. His mother nearly keeled over when I entered her shelter.” He smiled. “I helped her repair Ryon’s wings and then I taught him to fly again. It took weeks, but he was a determined sort – far more than any other Glacian I’d met.” Thaddius’ smile faded and his gaze turned distant. “But he was reckless. One evening, he crossed the boundaries and flew into the forest. He was quickly found. A group of hunting Glacians cut his wings to ribbons as punishment. They flew him back to the Colony and dumped him at its centre for all to witness. He was likely already dead. When I arrived the next day to visit, I found his mother and father weeping over his body. It was the first time I’d truly hated what I was.WhoI was.”

Farra turned her eyes to their fingers. His were turned up and limp. She slid hers among them. “We cannot change what we are,” she said quietly. She had never met someone quite so filled with self-loathing.

“But we can change what we do,” Thaddius said resolutely, the sharp angles of his face softening some when he looked upon her. “Despite the rules that bind us.”