Page 7

7

Tanwen had assumed they’d be leaving, but she hadn’t expected them to be forced to pack so quickly.

“Fill as many water sacks as you can carry,” ordered her father from where he was digging through the back of a cupboard. “We can find food easier than clean water.” He pulled free two small go bags and dropped them on the kitchen table. “Thol, go through these, and add anything else of value. I know we have better knives.”

Tanwen stood motionless, numb, as she watched her brother do as he was told, listened to the fast footsteps of her mother two floors above in their workroom. Aisling had run up there as soon as it was decided they’d be leaving that morning, hurrying to gather as many important meddyg supplies as she could fit within their sacks.

It seemed only a moment ago that Aberthol had insisted they wake their parents to tell them everything Tanwen had confided to him within their room. And yet the sun had somehow risen; a new day’s light was creeping into their kitchen’s windows.

Tanwen’s confession about the kidar searching for their father along with the bounty of ambrü had been met with thick silence before her parents had overwhelmed her with questions.

What did he ask you?

What answers did you give?

Did he say what he wanted?

You need to remember your exact words spoken!

There was a thankful breath after Tanwen’s answers, but then she mentioned that the kidar was of the royal palace, repeated his physical description: White hair, matching wings, golden brown skin, blue eyes. Big, very big. He had made it rain.

And that’s when everything had burst into chaos.

They were to leave immediately.

Tanwen and her brother had plenty more questions, but her parents had cut them off. There would be time for explanations later; for now they needed to get somewhere far—and fast.

“Tanwen,” called her father, bringing her back to their kitchen, to the swirl of movement. “Go help your mother,” he instructed. “Thol and I will finish here and gather what we can from the workshop.” When she didn’t move, he snapped, “Tanwen, now!”

She jumped, a rush of shame rising to her cheeks.

He was mad.

At her.

She dashed from the kitchen, climbing the steps two at a time as her guilt burned hot in her chest.

This was her fault.

This was all her fault.

She never should have gone foraging for the jadüri.

Why did she always have to test the rules, push the boundaries of what her parents said was safe?

This was the repercussions of such defiance.

Tanwen’s tears were warm on her cheeks as she entered their workroom. Her mother was busy sorting through their different ointments in the far corner.

“I need you to bottle the docüra,” said her mother over her shoulder. “And pack it within one of those sturdier pouches you’ve made.”

Tanwen did as she was asked, fighting the urge to sob as her vision blurred. More tears overflowing. The starlit bowl of docüra shook in her grasp.

Be stronger! she silently chastised herself, attempting to force away her anguish. You knew this was to come.

But knowing never eased pains.

“Wen.” Her mother’s soft voice had her looking up. Worry creased Aisling’s brow as she no doubt noted her daughter crying.

In quick strides Tanwen was within her mother’s embrace. Nothing could stop her sobs now.

“My wyrthia,” hushed her mother, rubbing her back. “I know this is a lot, but we have done this before. We will be fine.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Tanwen, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder. Her familiar scent of gardenia was a slight poultice to Tanwen’s aches.

“For what?” asked her mother. “Tanwen.” She gripped her shoulders, pushing her back so she could look at her. “None of this is your fault. You do understand that? Don’t you?”

“But if I had not gone foraging—”

“No.” Her mother cut her off with a shake of her head. “This kidar had obviously been searching for your father long before he stumbled upon you,” she reasoned. “You did well. You didn’t tell him anything. He does not know who you are. What you are. It was fortuitous that you were in his path.”

“It was?”

“Yes, otherwise we would never have known the danger we currently are in.”

“But we have always been in danger.”

“Well, yes,” agreed her mother, managing a small smile. “But this is of a different kind.”

“Who is this kidar?” asked Tanwen. “Why is he looking for Father now?”

Her mother appeared ready to answer until their attention was drawn to the rustling and hurried pecking against one of their windows.

“Willia?” Tanwen frowned, walking to open the pane, allowing the owl inside. “I never see you during the day.”

Danger. Volari. Your father and brother. Volari are in our forest!

Willia hooted and pumped her wings with her panic, causing various dried flowers and lists of ingredients to fly about the room.

“Can you calm her down?” asked her mother, shielding herself.

But Tanwen was seized in a grip of paralysis as she took in Willia’s message. “No,” she whispered and then repeated louder: “No!”

Hurry, urged Willia. Waterfall, she hooted before hopping back to the window’s ledge and flying out.

“What’s going on?” asked her mother, brows drawn in with confusion. “Tanwen, what did she say?”

“Volari,” Tanwen managed to sputter as she ran from the room.

Her mother was quick on her heels. “What about them? Tanwen!” She snagged her arm, forcing her to a stop on the stairs.

“She said there are Volari in our forest,” Tanwen rushed out. “She mentioned Father and Thol. They had gone to the workshop. We must help them!”

They were wind as they blew from their home, down the rope ladder to run toward the glen.

Even in her panic Tanwen noted how the forest lay quiet, animals hiding from prey.

Tanwen’s pace quickened with her consuming fear, her lungs burning as they reached the final slope that would bring them to the waterfall’s clearing.

She was ready to dash over, but her mother nearly knocked her to the ground, stopping her.

“Hush.” She covered Tanwen’s mouth as she forced them to crouch, voices reaching them. “We must see what’s happening first,” she whispered, breath labored from their sprint.

With heartbeat in her throat, Tanwen edged forward with her mother, peeking through the wide-leafed bush they hid behind.

The sight beyond froze Tanwen’s heart.

Her father and brother stood on the final path that led to their workshop, bridging the shadow of the forest’s edge and the sunlight of the open glen, surrounded by Volari guards. The door to their hidden workroom was flung open. Exposed. Discovered. Winged soldiers stomped in and out, adding to a pile of scrolls and miniature models nearby. Burn marks led from the door along the dry grass, smoke lifting from a recent fire being snuffed out. A quick fight had taken place. One her father had lost. His band of horns had been removed from his head, now a useless heap by his feet. Blood trickled from his nose, and Aberthol was held by a soldier, a knife at his throat, his eyes wide with panic.

A wave of nausea crested over Tanwen as she took in the tallest of the group, the one whom the rest seemed to bend toward. His white wings were blinding from where he stood beneath the sun, his plumage soaking in the daylight. His matching hair was a stark contrast to his brown skin. His gray high-collared coat strained over his broad shoulders.

“That’s the kidar,” Tanwen hissed. “The one who questioned me.”

“That’s Zolya Diusé,” replied her mother.

Tanwen whipped her gaze to Aisling, an ocean of shock crashing through her. “The crown prince?”

Her mother nodded, attention not wavering from the scene taking place mere paces away.

Holy gods, thought Tanwen, her mind tipping in every direction.

She had stood before the crown prince.

The one soul in Cādra who would slit her throat without hesitation if he knew she was Mütra.

The son of the king who had banished her father from Galia and ordered his wings to be ripped from his back, all for falling in love with a Süra.

The crown prince of the children of the High Gods was here , trapping her father and brother with his small army.

But why?

“What should we do?” Tanwen asked, her heartbeats yelling at her to rush forward. Her instincts were weighted shackles to her ankles, keeping her still.

“We wait,” said Aisling.

Tanwen hated that answer, but she noted how her mother must have as well, for her fingers were digging into the dirt by her knees, her back a tense coil.

“There is no use fighting, Gabreel.” Prince Zolya’s deep voice reached them, his sharp features made harsher by his look of indifference. “The king wishes you returned to Galia, and what the king desires will always come to pass.”

“But what value do I have to King Réol?” asked her father. “The last words he spoke to me carried the name of traitor. His last orders were the tearing of my wings so I may become like the Süra I loved so much.”

“Whatever lies in the past, your mind will always be of value,” said the prince. “King Réol requests another mine.”

Tanwen could not see whatever expression her father might have made to such a comment, his back toward them, but she sensed the air mount with new tension, heard the quick, shocked gasp from her mother.

“Then I would suggest,” began her father coolly, “that His Eminence implores the services of André Bardrex. For isn’t that who replaced my services to the crown?”

“Bardrex unfortunately proved ... unfit for the position,” explained the prince. “You are who King Réol has requested be reinstated as his royal engineer.”

“I respectfully decline,” said her father.

There was an impatient sigh from Prince Zolya. “You know well enough, Gabreel, requests from His Majesty are orders.”

There were fast heartbeats of quiet. The harrowing silence of a soul cornered.

“I will never create another of those catacombs,” seethed her father, his tone the slamming of a door. “I would send myself to Maryth’s Eternal River before I repeated such a mistake.”

The prince cocked his head, studying her father. “And what of your son’s life?” He nodded to where Aberthol was held captive by a brown-winged kidar. “Would you send him there with you?”

“That is my apprentice,” her father quickly explained.

The kidar holding Aberthol huffed his disbelief. “Do not lie to us, Heiro. Even with your beard and his horns, it is easy to see he is your kin. You and your Süra lover sure do know how to make trouble.”

There was a pause before her father replied, “ Did know.”

The kidar’s gaze narrowed. “She left you?”

“She was taken by Maryth with my son’s birth.”

“Penance for her sins bearing this abomination.” He spit on the ground. “ Mütra. ”

“Enough, Osko,” ordered Prince Zolya as his eyes scanned the forest’s edge, suspicion clear in his furrowed brow.

Tanwen and her mother lay flat, panicked breaths stirring the dirt.

Please, do not let the Volari enter the forest. Tanwen sent a desperate plea to Bosyg. Please keep us safe beneath your branches. Please, please, please.

The goddess of the forest must have listened, for the prince’s attention returned to her father. “While this is the king’s orders, you still have a choice, Gabreel,” he explained. “Stay and see your son’s throat cut before your own, or come with us and see him live.”

“How do I know you will not kill him as soon as I am gone?”

“Because if you come, so will he,” explained the prince. “And so long as you stay alive, so shall your son.”

Despite his promise, Tanwen’s mind screamed Trap, trap, trap from where she remained tucked behind the bushes. At some point, she and her mother had gripped each other’s hands, a small tether to the anguish ripping apart Tanwen’s heart.

I need to do something!

I need to act!

I need to save them!

She felt the presence of her animals at her back, sensed their own heartache. But they remained at a distance, this scene a too-familiar part of their world. There were those who hunted and those who were hunted.

Tanwen’s family was the latter.

She wanted to scream! Or cry. Or both.

Her father shifted his head just so, as if he wished to turn and steal one last glance at whoever might be watching from within the woods. To find her and her mother. But then his attention turned to his pilfered workshop before Aberthol, who was held pinned by his throat. Her father’s shoulders lifted and fell with a heavy breath. “I will come.”

No! Tanwen made to rush forward, but her mother held her down.

“It will not help.” Her mother’s hiss was hot and harsh in her ear as she kept them pressed to the ground, a quiet tremble in her voice, a breaking of a soul. “It will not help, my wyrthia.”

Her father and brother were shoved together as they were swallowed within a net and lifted into the air. Her father’s inventions and research were gathered into another.

Tanwen and her mother remained motionless, in shock, as the children of the High Gods grew to mere silhouettes within the blue sky before disappearing entirely.

Gone.

Empty.

Vanished.

Tanwen barely registered her mother crying, her shaking body lying beside her in the dirt.

She was too deeply consumed in her own grief, in her own remorse of inaction.

Her family had been ripped apart, and all Tanwen had done was hide.