Page 196 of Lana Pecherczyk

It was easy to apologize with new wings and a new mate by his side. Everything felt possible in those early years. River thought losing his feathers broke him. He didn’t know the meaning of broken.

They thought Cloudwantedto become this?

He didn’t plan the war.

He didn’t wake up one day and think,You know what would be fun? Treason. Mass murder. A bloody V painted on my fucking face.

He just wanted answers. To look in Rory’s eyes as he squeezed the life out of her, to hear her deathbed confession.

Instead she?—

A fierce ache gripped his throat, his lungs. He closed his eyes to ward off the memory, but the tree dripping nearby catapulted him further into his past.

Drip, drip, pip.

He saw Rory’s cloudy, bloodshot eyes as he held her by the throat. Remembered how disturbing the color had been, how they’d once been like warm honey. They’d once shimmered with a whirl of colors so unique, so unheard of, that they hadn’t been named.

They said a person’s entire life flashed before their eyes just before their death. That’s what Cloud had counted on when he dangled her over the airship’s edge. No truer words had ever been spoken than a deathbed confession. They were supposed to have given him peace.

Closure.

Yet he stillfeltRory’s pulse throbbing against his fingers. He still heard his thundering wingbeat fight against gravity, still saw her hair blow from the convergence of clashing air, from his wings, from the airship, from the lake below. He still saw those eyes silently beg for him to let her go, to end her suffering.

Still heard her childhood, angelic voice in his memory, singing about flying away…

Pip, pip, pip.

Pip,pip, pip.

The curious rhythmic beat blended with the sound of singing.

Wind buffeted Cielo’s body as he crawled up the glass-domed roof. He was up so high. The surface was slippery. This sky tower was trouble. He felt it in his bones. He’d only meant to map out the room below, but that voice … ferns and plants hid its owner.

Curious.

Maybe if he dropped through the open segment, just enough to see who was singing, he could retreat to safety quickly. The gap was wide enough to fit his wings—barely.

Pip, pip, pip.

That voice—that haunting, pretty song. She used the beat of the pipping steam in time with her lyrics, like drums.

Clever.

Cielo strained his senses, and when he was sure no other voice could be heard, he poked his head through the gap for a better look.

And gasped.

Not just plants inside, but treasure. Everywhere. A desk strewn with maps, baubles, strange human gadgets, and machines. The pip-pip came from a copper kettle chugging steam. He had no idea what the other machines did, but recognized forbidden substances—metal and plastic, enough to earn a Guardian’s wrath if caught.

Well-dammit.

Half those items were useless to him. Worth nothing if he couldn’t take them back to Elphyne and brag about the score. But maybe he could take them back. He’d crossed the wasteland after all.

“How’d you get up there!”

Cielo slipped.

He caught himself, went to dart back outside into the sky, but the sight of a human girl froze him in place. Warm skin, big eyes, and a dress miles too big. Her hair captivated him the most. Longish strands stuck out at all angles. Some seemed straight, some seemed crimped, defying the laws of nature. And the colors. The shine. Like the Northern Lights in winter.