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Well, mused Tanwen quietly as she hurried from the princess’s chambers, that was strange.

Very strange, agreed Eli.

Her friend was curled within a small pouch tied along her waist. A carrying case Tanwen had constructed to blend in with her white uniform. If Eli insisted on accompanying her everywhere, he might as well travel less conspicuously. Tanwen surmised Madam Arini, as well as those in the palace, would not take kindly to him sitting atop her shoulder.

She certainly did not need to draw any more attention to herself, and not only because she was Mütra.

The prince doesn’t seem to like you, stated Eli.

How convenient, returned Tanwen. Since I do not like the prince.

Which was the truth.

And yet . . .

Tanwen.

The memory of her name whispered from his lips trapped her heartbeat in an erratic pounding. He had been a shock to see, standing so stoically alone in the princess’s bedchambers. And then when he had dived to save her tonic, bringing him to kneel before her. A mass of wings and muscle and glowing beauty. It had sent every alarm bell ringing within Tanwen.

Because she had enjoyed the sight.

Tremendously.

It had poured wicked imaginings into her mind. She the queen, he the imploring subject.

Tanwen commanding, him obeying.

Her family set free. Safe. Returned.

And then he had yelled at her.

Scolded her.

As if she were a child.

Tanwen’s cheeks flamed once more, ire sparking as she quickened her pace. She needed to get to the lower level of the palace, where the servants roamed freer. There she could properly collect herself without the gaze of winged guards or strolling court members.

But it was not merely being in the presence of the prince that had dizzied her thoughts.

Princess Azla’s speech had been revolutionary, inspired, and it had stirred awake precarious musing in Tanwen. If even she, a princess, could experience the injustices of their world, of being a woman, how many others felt the same?

Perhaps her argument around learning a trade was a bit ... shortsighted, given Süra had to work to put food on their tables, whereas Volari were born into their idle privilege. But even so, Tanwen understood what it was to yearn for a purpose, wanting to work in something that brought her joy.

While the inequalities between women who were Süra, Volari, and especially Mütra were vast, at the end of the day, they each held the same shortcoming: not being born a man.

Rounding a corner, Tanwen was so lost in her thoughts that she hardly took in the group until she nearly ran into them.

“By the Eternal River,” hissed the woman in the center, steadying her held basket. “Slow down, Weasel! If Madam Arini saw you running on the primary floor, she’d have you lashed. In fact, I see no reason why I shouldn’t report the incident myself.”

Tanwen’s spine went rigid, her grip tightening on her tray, and not only because of who stood before her but because she eyed their gardening material.

Tanwen was going to be late to her next shift.

Bogs, she silently cursed.

Rats, squeaked Eli from her hip.

Hush! she warned him.

Her day was certainly starting out miserably.

“My apologies,” said Tanwen, averting her gaze and taking on the meeker persona she had used all her life. While there was a time and place to stand up to Gwyn, currently she had little energy for it. Tanwen merely wished to be on her way so she could quickly change and get to the greenhouse.

Gwyn glared at her along with her two other atenté companions, Owen and Efa.

“You should report her, Gwyn,” said Owen, a statue of chiseled muscle and rigid posture. His eastern horns were painted gold, contrasting against his short-cropped black hair and complexion. “How else will the Weasel learn?”

“We can take the burden off of the madam and teach her ourselves,” suggested Efa, her grin slick and sharp on her pale face.

I will bite holes in their uniforms tonight, promised Eli within his pouch.

At Eli’s threat, Tanwen suppressed a grin, though apparently not well enough.

“You find our threats amusing?” Gwyn’s gaze narrowed, chin lifting.

“Not in the least,” said Tanwen. “I truly am sorry to have gotten in your way. As you can see”—she waved to her general white dress—“I’m already going to be late to our gardening post, so my scolding from Madam Arini will be inevitable. You do not need to go out of your way on my behalf.”

Gwyn sucked in her cheeks, as if she found anything Tanwen said to be repugnant. Her attention dropped to the tray Tanwen held, to the empty glass. Her eyes became slits. “You were with the princess.”

Tanwen stood perfectly still, though her pulse galloped in fear.

They had been sharing duties to the princess for a week now, but it had become clear Tanwen was spending extra time with their charge. A development Gwyn was none too pleased about.

“Princess Azla never indulges in docüra this early,” Gwyn accused, picking up the glass on Tanwen’s tray and giving it a sniff.

Her nose wrinkled.

Gwyn was a talented atenté, to be sure, but she was no meddyg.

“What is this?” she questioned, accusing tone so like Prince Zolya’s. “Answer me, Weasel! What have you been up to?”

Tanwen swallowed, eyes darting to see if anyone might be close, but the towering hall was annoyingly empty. Only the clouds beyond the columns were witness to their moment.

“I’ve merely been obeying the orders from our princess,” said Tanwen.

“ This ”—Gwyn pushed forward the glass, as if she was resisting hurling it at Tanwen—“appears to be going beyond our regular orders.”

Tanwen’s temper momentarily flared. “You don’t even know what this is.”

Gwyn’s brows lifted. “Well, it’s obviously not docüra, Weasel .”

Tanwen wanted to roll her eyes at the name. At least those in Zomyad had been more original. Weasels were amazing animals. Clever, playful, steadfast.

Gwyn could call her a weasel all she liked, but it would stir only amusement from Tanwen.

“No, it’s not,” admitted Tanwen. “The princess required certain services from me this morning, which I complied with, as every servant is meant to for their charge. I can say nothing more on the matter. It would be going against the code of—”

“Don’t lecture me on the protocol of our roles,” cut in Gwyn. “I have not risen in my rank by happenstance, you graceless farmhand.”

That’s it, declared Eli, offended. I’m going to chew through not just her uniform but all the straps in her sandals. And I’m going to leave a nice trail of—

“Of course,” Tanwen said placatingly, cutting off Eli. She needed to get out of this tangle before it got worse. “Again, I apologize for disturbing your morning. I am only doing as I am told. Please, let me pass so I may prepare for our next shift.”

Tanwen lowered her eyes, hands holding her tray subserviently.

Stay hidden, thought Tanwen, reawakening her mantra given by her mother. Do not bring attention to yourself. Be small.

The silence in the hall stretched painfully long—Gwyn, no doubt, measuring if Tanwen was currently worth the fuss. In the end, it appeared she was more than worth it, for Gwyn leaned in and whispered, “I see what you really are, Tanwen Coster. I see what you hide.”

Tanwen’s breath hitched, blood draining from her face as an all-consuming fear grasped her spine. She knows? She knows what I am.

“You are not a weasel,” said Gwyn. “You are a snake, like the rest of us. But know this: my bite is fatal.”

Gwyn dropped the tonic jar, sending it crashing against the marble floor. The glass’s shattering was sharp, hundreds of pieces fanning out.

Gwyn bumped Tanwen’s shoulder as she passed, as did Efa and Owen. A bruised knocking that pushed her back a step.

It would have hurt more if Tanwen was here to make friends.

But she wasn’t.

She was here to save her family and return home.

Let them hate me, she thought.

They wouldn’t be the first who did, nor the last.

Tanwen waited until she no longer heard their retreating steps to begin picking up the broken glass.

Her relief was instant despite the mess at her feet.

I’m safe, she thought. I’m still safe.

Yes, agreed Eli, but you’re definitely going to be late now.

“That was rather the point of her dropping this,” grumbled Tanwen, carefully gathering the sharp shards.

Should I get out of here, then? asked Eli.

“Might as well,” sighed Tanwen, unclasping his pouch so Eli could scurry out. “Be safe.”

Always, he replied.

Some of the tension in Tanwen’s shoulders eased as she watched her friend slip through a crack along the far wall. If it wasn’t for Eli, her search for her father and brother would have come to a standstill. Tanwen’s days were too full, her nights always occupied, to roam about aimlessly. While she worked, Eli looked. The palace grounds were vast, to be sure, the maze of corridors underneath even more complicated than the wide-open buildings above. But Tanwen had faith.

They had made it this far.

Had gotten to the palace.

Tanwen would find her father and brother.

How she was to get them out of the palace and down from a floating island?

Well, that was a worry for later.

“I had wondered why you liked hanging out with me,” came a familiar approaching voice. “But now that I know you keep mice as companions, your taste for the strange makes sense.”

“Huw,” squeaked Tanwen as she stood, heartbeats exploding in her chest. She had thought she was alone in the hall. “I ... uh. That’s not my companion.”

“No?” questioned Huw, blond brows raised in disbelief as he stopped in front of her. “Then why were you talking to the critter like a dear old friend?” he challenged. “And why do you have a pouch perfect for its size on your hip?”

Tanwen stiffened. “It’s for herbs,” she explained.

“Herbs?”

“Yes.”

“Because us atentés are in need of herbs often?”

“I have begun to need them often, yes,” she said, her defensiveness flaring. “You know I’ve taken on other duties for the princess. I’m actually returning from giving her a tonic just now.”

Huw eyed the empty tray in her hands and then the scattering of glass by her feet.

“I ran into Gwyn,” Tanwen explained.

“Ah,” Huw replied, features softening.

Without further questions, he bent down, beginning to collect the shards.

Hesitantly, Tanwen followed.

The silence stretched tensely between them, the sound of each collected piece of glass hitting her tray loud and taunting. Tanwen was a swarm of nerves, desperate to fix whatever Huw might have witnessed with her and Eli or, worse, come to surmise.

When they both stood, broken glass gathered, Huw met her gaze.

“I do not care if that mouse is your pet or not,” he explained. “And I certainly won’t tell anyone what I saw, but I am not like most.” He looked at her earnestly, almost with concern. “You must be more careful, little fawn. I won’t always be around to help clean up your messes.”

Huw left Tanwen standing there and headed toward the greenhouse, his words sounding more like a prophecy than a warning.