Page 58

58

The wind coming off the cliffs swirled and howled, mirroring the chaotic turmoil taking place in the distant palace.

“What’s happened?” Gabreel asked, eyes wide as he surveyed the scene.

The sky was erupting with Volari courtiers streaming out of the palace. Their colorful garments billowed, painted wings flashing under the moons’ light while guards evoked their sky magic, attempting to restore order amid the chaos.

Tanwen and her brother knelt at the cliff’s edge, ignoring the madness as they hastily assembled their gliders.

“The king’s been poisoned,” Tanwen replied in a rush, cursing her shaking hands as she feverishly worked to attach each of their power elixirs.

“ What? ” Gabreel swung around to face her. Thol froze in his task of snapping together joints.

Tanwen momentarily met each of their startled stares. “The king’s been poisoned,” she repeated. “He’s dead.” Tanwen knew how absurd it sounded, how impossible, but they really couldn’t afford to dwell on her words. They needed to finish building their gliders. They needed to leave—now!

“Oh gods,” Thol breathed as he clutched his chest, falling back on his heels.

“ Thol. ” Tanwen caught her brother, hating the feel of his bony shoulders beneath her hands.

Despite his reprieve of torture, Thol had remained hollowed out, haunted. Tanwen had been worried he wouldn’t be strong enough for the flight, but she had quickly pushed that fear away.

He had no other choice but to be strong enough.

He will make it, she thought, prayed.

He had to.

They all did.

A deranged laugh snapped Tanwen’s attention back to Thol. She watched with concern as his mirth grew until he was bent over, gasping for breath.

“Thol?” Tanwen asked hesitantly, brows drawn in. “Are you all right?”

“He’s dead.” Aberthol looked up at her. Exhausted relief mingled in his green gaze, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. “Is he really dead?”

Anguish pooled within Tanwen as she gripped his shoulder.

Her brother’s months of pain, which he had harbored quietly, tightly, within his soul rose to the forefront of his features. A rippling devastation that robbed Tanwen of air.

In that moment, the depths of her brother’s fear of the king became glaringly apparent, as did his burning hatred.

“Yes,” Tanwen said softly. “The king is dead.”

He can no longer hurt you.

Words she wished to say but could not. Tanwen knew the king’s torment would forever be with Thol.

Tears streamed unchecked down her brother’s cheeks, his body curling inward within her arms as he struggled to contain his overwhelming emotions.

Tanwen swallowed her own rising agony, as well as her guilt for not delivering the news more sensitively. She hadn’t thought about Thol’s position when hearing it.

Yet despite the delicate moment, her worry still slid to the palace, to the kidets who continued to fill the skies. They would not be left alone much longer.

“Is that why there were no guards outside the cottage?” asked Gabreel.

Tanwen glanced up at her father, a new twist of uncertainty filling her chest. “Yes and no,” she answered. “The ... prince sent them away.”

“The prince?” Gabreel’s brows rose, a wash of horror.

“Yes, he’s ... not as he seems. He’s our ally.” She stumbled over the admission, unable to contain her overwhelming desire to defend Zolya. Tanwen kept her thoughts from dipping too far into despair, the agony of leaving him earlier still raw and bleeding. “But we haven’t the time for this,” she urged, still holding a wilted Thol. “We can talk about everything once we’ve landed.”

Gabreel remained speechless, gazing down at her. His features were hard, a slip of distrust marring his brow. A look that said, What have you done?

Tanwen hated the shame that filled her chest at the thought of disappointing her father. But there was so much he did not know.

“Father, please ,” she begged, forcing this topic to the side as well as her feelings surrounding it. “We. Must. Leave. Now. ”

To emphasize her point, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. A storm was rolling in, though the air carried a metallic tang rather than the promising scent of wet soil.

Tanwen glanced to the palace, to the dark clouds forming above the pristine white citadel. It never stormed in Galia.

Magic.

Powerful magic.

Zolya, Tanwen thought with worry, or a High God.

Fear was a sharp lashing through her veins.

“We must go!” she demanded, hauling Thol to his feet.

Blessedly, her family didn’t put up a fight.

Quickly they finished assembling their gliders before strapping themselves in. They lined up near the cliff’s edge, Tanwen’s pulse a pounding drum as the wind fought against her.

“Do you have Eli?” asked her father.

And just like that, another near-crippling pain tore through Tanwen. She retreated a step.

Gabreel noticed her distress, for he settled a hand on her shoulder, his eyes questioning, brows furrowed with concern.

Whatever he saw in her gaze gave him his answer. “I’m so sorry, Wen,” he said.

Tanwen shook her head, forcing away the rising ache in her throat.

Later, she thought. We will have time to mourn everything later.

“Let’s go,” she replied, stepping back to their line.

Gabreel held her gaze for another breath before nodding. He handed them each a strange-looking belt with two round glass pieces.

“They are for our eyes,” he explained. “Protection that goes around your head like this.” He slipped his on, then tightened the strap at the back of his head. He blinked at them through the round glass, looking like an odd bug. “Falling from this height won’t allow us to keep our eyes open. The cold and wind are too great. We’ll need to wear these to see.”

The contraption was terribly uncomfortable but felt sturdy, and Tanwen could see well enough out of them.

“Make sure you jump with your head high.” Her father quickly repeated the lesson he had made them both memorize. “Your eyes and chest need to be thrust to the horizon to achieve the correct body position for flight. And keep your legs straight, arms strong and level, and toes pointed. Otherwise, you risk spinning out. Remember, use the wind; don’t fight it.”

Tanwen and her brother and father faced the dark abyss in front of them.

A terror like nothing Tanwen had ever felt gripped her as she gazed into the void. Dark clouds lit by moonlight swirled beneath her feet, nothing but down, down, down.

“Bring me!” shouted a familiar voice, piercing through Tanwen’s panic.

Tanwen turned, finding Huw racing toward them up the hill.

Like Tanwen, he had changed out of his atenté garb and into his northern-clan attire. He wore black trousers and a brown tunic. His blond hair was in disarray from his run, his pale cheeks stained red from his exertion.

“Huw?” Tanwen questioned, her shock and confusion swirling. She tore off her eyepiece to see him better. “What—why are you here? How did you know I’d be here?”

Huw bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. “There’s a lot someone can learn,” he panted, “when others think they are alone.”

Tanwen frowned, not understanding.

“I am like you,” he said, forcing himself upright to meet her gaze. “I am Mütra.”

Tanwen nearly fell from the cliff, his words barreling through her.

Huw was Mütra?

In quick flashes Tanwen recalled all the times he’d suddenly appear or disappear, his uncanny ability to blend in seamlessly.

Was this his Mütra power? To be a chameleon of sorts?

“ Please ,” said Huw, his desperation palpable. “Take me with you.”

Behind him, the sky flashed once more before raindrops began to fall.

“ Tanwen ,” warned her father. “We must go.”

“Huw,” said Tanwen, anguish ripping open her heart. “I’m sorry ... I can’t. These gliders only support our own weight.”

Huw’s features crumpled, a devastation, but before he could respond, a blur of blue and green came barreling toward them from the sky.

“ Princess. ” Tanwen yelped as she awkwardly tried to bow in her contraption.

Azla was a storm of despair and panic as she took fumbling steps forward. “Essie,” she croaked, nearly falling into Tanwen’s arms.

Oh gods, thought Tanwen, holding the princess awkwardly. Her emotions were growing overwhelming, dizzying. Too much was happening! None of which was what needed to happen—them leaving!

“She’s gone,” Princess Azla sobbed into Tanwen’s shoulder. “Gone!”

Tanwen tightened her grip, her pain surging. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Princess.”

“Zolya told me where you’d be. That I was meant to find you,” explained the princess. “He told me you were in the room when ...”

“Yes,” said Tanwen, voice thick with emotion, with regret. “I was there when it happened. You must know, she didn’t have a choice, Princess. The king ... Lady Esme didn’t have a choice.”

“Tanwen.” Her father’s voice reached her through the wind. “What’s going on?”

Her family and Huw were looking at her in a swirl of confusion, disbelief, and urgency, waiting.

The clouds rumbled ominously overhead, heralding harsher rain.

If they didn’t leave now, flying in such a storm would grow impossible.

Without thought, Tanwen turned back to Azla. “Come with us,” she urged. “We are leaving Galia and have somewhere safe to go.”

Princess Azla momentarily blinked through her grief, finally taking in her surroundings. She looked to the odd mix of company who watched them and then to where they all stood, dangerously close to the cliff’s ledge. “What are you wearing?” she asked, brows drawn together.

“Something that will allow us to fly,” explained Tanwen. “But I need to know your answer now. Will you come with us?”

Princess Azla bit her lower lip, indecision swirling as she glanced back to the palace. “Zolya told me to go with you,” she admitted, though she still gave no definitive answer.

Tanwen tried to ignore how her heart filled hearing that Zolya had entrusted his sister to her.

“Lady Esme would want you to be free of this place,” argued Tanwen. “Especially without her here. She always wanted you to see the world.”

Over the princess’s shoulder, Tanwen noted a group of kidets angling their way.

Tanwen’s heart stopped beating.

“We must go!” yelled her father, seeing them too. “Now!”

“I will come,” said the princess.

A wave of relief crashed into Tanwen. “Good,” she breathed. “Then you can carry my friend.” Tanwen pushed Huw toward Princess Azla.

Each of them looked at one another, eyes wide, startled.

“You are strong enough to carry him, yes?” Tanwen challenged.

Offense flared in Princess Azla’s features. Without a reply, she scooped up Huw with deceptive strength, spread her wings, and descended over the ledge.

Huw’s cry of terror got swallowed in the clouds.

The guards had seen Gabreel now, out of his cottage. They sped faster forward.

Tanwen and her family toed the cliff’s edge.

“Remember,” yelled her father over the storm. “Whatever you do, don’t faint.”

Together, they jumped.