Page 7

7

HARMONY

I kneel in the soft earth by the west archway, my fingertips caressing the delicate petals of the late-blooming aracin flowers. Their vibrant purple and orange hues catch the afternoon sunlight, reminding me of paintings I've glimpsed in Lord Arkan's private collection. I hum an old tune from the human commune—something about rivers and waiting lovers—as I prune away the dying blooms.

"You're looking quite healthy today," I murmur to a particularly vibrant cluster. "Strong enough to survive the first frost, I think."

The garden has become my sanctuary here at Arkan's estate. The flowers don't care that I'm human, don't look through me like I'm invisible. Unlike most of the xaphan servants, who barely acknowledge my existence.

Most, but not all.

I smile to myself, tucking a stray curl behind my ear as Adellum's face fills my thoughts. Those silver eyes that somehow manage to be both piercing and tender when they look at me. The way his massive gray wings curl forward slightly when he laughs, like he's trying to embrace the moment.

The soil beneath my calloused fingers is rich and dark. I pat it gently around a struggling seedling, giving it a fighting chance.

"There you go," I whisper. "Sometimes we all need a little help standing tall."

I've been planning all morning, silly little schemes that make my heart flutter with anticipation. The kitchen mistress is preoccupied with preparations for tomorrow's formal dinner—she won't notice if I borrow some honey and spices. Adellum loves those sweet honey-cakes with a hint of spice. The look on his face when he bites into one—eyes closing in pleasure, that small moan he makes—is worth any risk.

And perhaps, if the stars align, we might steal away to our spot by the river. An hour—just one blessed hour together before I'm needed back to help with dinner preparations. I picture his wings spread out beneath us on the soft moss, my head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

I know I'm being foolish. A human servant falling for a xaphan artist of rising fame—it's the stuff of bad poetry and cautionary tales told in the servants' quarters. But when Adellum looks at me, touches me, whispers my name against my skin like it's something precious...

I tug at a stubborn weed, its roots clinging tenaciously to the soil. "You're not supposed to be here," I tell it, "but you don't care, do you? You've decided this is where you belong."

The parallel isn't lost on me. I laugh softly at myself.

The sun warms my back through my simple linen dress as I reach for my water flask. Taking a sip, I gaze toward the eastern wing of the estate where Adellum stays when he visits Lord Arkan. Is he there now? Working on some new masterpiece with those talented hands? Or maybe lounging on the terrace, those magnificent wings stretched out to catch the sunlight?

Sometimes I wonder if he'll ever get me out of here. Not that my position is terrible—Lord Arkan is fair as masters go. But to be truly free, to belong to myself and to Adellum...

I've heard whispers among the servants about xaphan binding to humans. Rare unions, looked upon with disdain by xaphan society, but existing nonetheless. The binding ceremony is said to be beautiful—an exchange of vows and essences that ties two souls together. I try not to hope for such things, but the dreams come unbidden in the quiet hours before dawn.

"You're a fool, Harmony Aven," I murmur, brushing soil from my hands onto my apron.

But even as I chastise myself, I'm calculating how much time I need to gather honey from the kitchens, how quickly I can finish my gardening duties, when Adellum might slip away from whatever important meetings Arkan has scheduled for him today.

Because fool or not, I love him. The way sunflowers love the sun—helplessly, completely, turning always toward his light.

Hours later, my fingers itch with impatience as I finish arranging the freshly cut aracin blossoms in Lord Arkan's study. The honey cakes are hidden in a small cloth sack tucked into my apron pocket, still warm against my hip. Master gave the kitchen servants an unexpected half-day of freedom due to a canceled dinner engagement, and my heart beats an erratic rhythm knowing I might steal more than just an hour with Adellum.

"Perfect work as always, Harmony," Lord Arkan's steward remarks as he passes, barely looking up from his ledger.

I dip into a curtsy. "Thank you, sir."

The moment he turns the corner, I'm moving, slipping through the servant's corridor that leads to the east gardens. My steps quicken when I pass the last of the occupied rooms, and then I'm outside, breathing in the crisp autumn air. The path to the river is just beyond the rose courtyard—our secret meeting place where the oldest tree droops its leaves to shield lovers from prying eyes.

I edge along the perimeter of the garden wall, meaning only to peek around to see if Adellum is already waiting for me by the riverbank. It would be too risky to cross the more visible courtyard if any of Lord Arkan's guests are about.

The flash of dusky bronze skin and gray wings catches my eye, and my breath hitches. Adellum stands in the center of the rose courtyard, his tall frame bathed in dappled sunlight filtering through the trellis above. My lips part, ready to call to him—but the words die in my throat.

He's not alone.

A female xaphan stands before him, her posture as regal as any queen's. Her wings—pure silver, unlike any I've seen before—catch the light and scatter it like diamonds. Her white-gold hair falls in a perfect cascade down her back, and her gown hugs her slender form in a way that speaks of wealth beyond imagining.

"You've been impossibly scarce these days, Adellum," her voice lilts, musical and refined. "Sior says you've been hiding away your newest works."

Adellum's shoulders tense slightly—a tell I recognize from our intimate moments. "Sior talks too much."

She laughs, bright and clear, stepping closer to him. "He talks exactly as much as he should about the most promising artist in New Solas." Her hand reaches up, slender fingers touching his arm, lingering there. "I'd be honored to see what you're working on before anyone else."

The smile that crosses Adellum's face—that secret, half-smirk I thought belonged to our private world—makes something cold curl in my stomach.

"Would you now?" he asks, his voice dropping to that low register that usually makes my knees weak.

The woman—Lilleth—rises on her tiptoes, her silver wings fluttering delicately behind her. "I would," she whispers, and then presses her lips against his.

Adellum does nothing—doesn't pull away, doesn't push her back. He just stands there, allowing this beautiful creature to kiss him in the open courtyard, without shame or secrecy.

My heart shatters so sharply I nearly double over from the pain. The honey cakes in my pocket feel suddenly heavy, ridiculous. A servant's pathetic offering compared to the glittering world this woman represents.

The sack tears as I stumble backward, spilling crumbs down my apron. I can't breathe. Can't think. My vision blurs with tears as I turn and run.

I run as if the world is collapsing around me, because it is. My feet pound against the earth, careless of the noise I'm making, of the branches that claw at my arms as I veer off the path and into the woods that border the estate.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I gasp between sobs, the word becoming a crushing rhythm matching my heartbeat.

How could I have believed I was anything but a diversion? A secret toy he played with when bored with his glittering xaphan world. All those whispered promises, the tender touches, the way he called me his "little bird"—lies, all of them.

I stumble over a root and fall hard, my palms skidding against rough dirt. The pain is welcome—physical hurt to match the agony tearing through my chest. I stay there on my knees, dirty and broken, letting the tears come.

"He never even told anyone about me," I whisper to the indifferent forest. "Never once claimed me in the light."

A thalivern flutters past, its beautiful iridescent wings catching the sunlight filtering through the leaves. I watch it drift away, free and unburdened, as I kneel in the dirt, my world destroyed by a single kiss.