Page 41 of Forged By Malice (Beasts of the Briar #3)

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Caspian

B irdy is cackling. When I was a child, I thought cackling was something only described in fairytales, like witches brewing a cauldron they threatened to put naughty children into. That was until I met my sister. Though I suppose she’s like a witch now, hunched over in her lair, brewing …

“Always playing with your potions,” I say, leaning against the entrance to her chamber. “Planning on poisoning your dear brother again?”

Those of the Vale always say the citizens of the Below have a fascination with the realms above, but my little sister takes that to an extreme. And why wouldn’t she? A little girl growing up down here. When she was younger, I felt guilty and brought her back the odd thing from time to time. She’s like a crow. It matters not to her if the item is from the human or the fae world, if it’s shiny, Birdy covets it.

Now, she lives in one of Cryptgarden’s highest towers and has filled it with trinkets. In every nook and cranny, there are brightly colored bottles and chalices teetering precariously on ledges, and the floor is a million shades of spilled and splattered colors.

Currently, she’s curled over a stone table staring intently at the blue bubbling concoction.

“You should have seen it, Cas,” she says without looking up. “The potion I made the other day … It was incredible.”

“Hmm.” I stroll in. Her messy desk is a disaster waiting to happen. Containers filled with all sorts of—I wrinkle my nose— ingredients, I suppose she’d call them. Herbs, insects, crystals, water with messy labels depicting different stages of the moon, as well as a variety of flowers, shells, and an assortment of blue blobs bouncing against a glass jar. Now, those were tedious to catch for her.

“Took me ages to get it right, but I finally got it! Worked like a charm.” She rubs her nose, smearing soot across her face.

She’s not wearing her Nightingale armor. Instead, her hair is pulled back, and she’s dressed in an oversized tunic and leggings.

“Let me guess.” I smile. “A love potion for that armored owl of yours? I told you before, he’s enamored. You don’t need it.”

She blows a tuft of hair out of her eyes. “No. And besides, love potions don’t exist. But what I made was the next best thing.”

There’s a snapping of heels, the brush of long robes. I straighten, breath catching in my throat, and recognize the same stiffening in Birdy.

Sira storms into the room without knocking. “Would you like to explain why the High Prince of Spring is back on the throne and those other miserable princes are with him?”

Birdy’s lip trembles, the smile from a moment ago completely gone.

My mother seems to notice me for the first time. “What are you doing here? They’ve neglected to defend Castletree. Take it now!”

I give a long sigh. “Do you really think they would have all left Castletree without several wards in place?” They’d left a few, but like their magic, their wards are weak. Maybe enough to stop a few wayward goblins. Not enough to stop me.

Birdy bows her head. “Presently, I’m in talks with Prince Kai—”

Sira grabs a potion from my sister’s desk and smashes it against Birdy’s face.

To her credit, the Nightingale barely flinches. She stands perfectly still as the blood and sticky blue liquid trickles down her cheek.

Sira snatches Birdy’s chin with one hand. Shadows flicker around the tips of her fingers. “I thought I could mold you into something worthy, but it seems I was wrong. I do not tolerate failure.”

Birdy’s lip trembles. She blinks rapidly. Dammit, she knows better than to cry in front of our mother.

Leaning on the table, I examine my nails. “I suppose I could help her, Mother. Not much to do while I wait for my magic to siphon their wards.”

Sira pushes my sister away and turns to the door. “Do not disappoint me again, my children.”

As her footsteps fade down the hall, I pluck a pair of tweezers from the countertop. “Sit down, Birdy. You’ve got glass in your cheek.”