When the Moon Hatched (The Moonfall #1)

Chapter 11

I drop from the wind tunnel’s mouth, using the abundance of cracks and divots to latch myself to the side of the wall and scale downward, threatened by a fringe of rock shards that hug the base of the wall below. The hungry promise of a swift and brutal death that hasn’t yet been able to chomp down on me. Or Essi.

Thankfully.

Gripping a jutting piece of stone, I transfer my other hand to the space beside it, then drop before what appears to be more flat wall—a perfect, runed illusion. I swing through what’s actually a large, ever-open window, into a snuggle of slightly warmer air rich with the smell of something rich … buttery … freshly baked …

I land in a crouch, my appetite returning with a salivating vengeance. “Yum, is that—”

“Buttermin loaf,” Essi says, slouched over a seeing scope at our small feasting table laden with tools, tinctures, and metal pots, scratching at whatever’s beneath the scope with one of her etching sticks. “I could smell the blood on your boots the moment they shot down the chute.”

Reaching the table, I pinch a finger of loaf from her plate and stuff it in my mouth, groaning through my first bit of sustenance since I set out last aurora fall—the dense pillow of savory goodness drenched in melted butter, slathered in a sweet layer of bogsberry preserve.

I smile.

I love bogsberry preserve. Essi doesn’t. Meaning she left this piece specifically for me, knowing I’d be ravenous the moment I swung in the window. Not that she’d admit to it.

Not that I’d want her to.

She pretends not to worry about me; I pretend not to worry about her. We coexist in parallel with zero expectations—bar the odd supply list and the fancy things she makes for me—and it works blissfully.

Perfectly.

I wouldn’t change a thing.

“Things got messy,” I say through my mouthful, moving into our rough-hewn kitchenette. I lift a cloth on the freshly baked loaf and slice off a fat chunk, topping it with a scrape of butter and a dollop of preserve. Cranking open the icebox, I root around for a bulb of bright-green fruit, slicing it into segments I pile on my plate. “Want some goro?”

“They’re not ripe.”

I spin with the plate balanced in my hand. “Sure they are.”

“The butt end goes yellow when they’re ripe.” She peers up from her task, red brows almost bumping off her pretty freckle-dusted face. “That one will blow your tongue off.”

I stuff a pale shard in my mouth, and my face screws up as I choke on the zesty tang. “They’re not ripe,” I sputter, spitting it into the trash bowl.

Essi chuckles under her breath, then tucks her head back down, peering through her looking glass and getting back to … whatever she’s doing.

I slide my fruit to the side and focus on the loaf while watching her work, my gaze shifting from the graceful, deft movements of her fingers to her delicate features. Tawny eyes. Nose slightly upturned at the end. A null clip is cut from the tip of her left ear that’s a little longer than mine and with more of a backward tilt, giving her this hypnotic, ethereal visage.

Coils of hair hang well past her hips like a thick ruddy cape that matches the metallic specks in her eyes—such a unique shade of red I’ve never seen before—the only splash of color that brightens her appearance. Ever.

I take another deep bite of loaf, thinking back to the dae she moved in. I told her she could do whatever she wanted to the previously sparse decor. Naturally, our shared living space is now the same color as her entire wardrobe.

Black.

The rough kitchen counters. The jagged ceiling. The fibrous rug that covers the uneven floor. Even our plump, heavily cushioned seater by the window, big enough to fit three despite the fact that we never have visitors. By choice.

My gaze lifts to the window specially runed by Essi to ward off intruders, remembering the slumber I woke to her standing over me in the midst of one of her episodes. Black smudged beneath her haunted stare as she waved a blade about, screaming at me to fill a cup with my blood. Now. That it was a matter of life or death.

The end result: an entrance that all but murders intruders. Stroke of genius.

“This is delicious, Essi. Thank you,” I say, taking another bite.

“Of course. Glad you like it.”

Understatement. She knows her buttermin loaf is my favorite. No idea what she puts in it, but damn, it’s good.

“What’re you working on?”

“A diamond cap for your tooth,” she says, etching away. “I’ve been trying to find an ore dense enough to withstand these fiddly runes. Freak accident, but I discovered diamond works. Oh!” Hand poised, she flashes me a wide-eyed glance that’s so full of life it renders me breathless—no doubt high on whatever thought just threaded through her spectacular mind. “Did you get my lark?”

“Mm-hmm.” I tuck my hair behind my ears and make for the oddly shaped stone basin that caught all the bits I pushed through the chute earlier. “I got blood on it but did my best.” I set the plate aside to rummage through my belongings. “What does the diamond crown do?”

“Emits an invisible, impenetrable barrier around your head and chest without cutting you in half.”

Hand stilling, I look over my shoulder at her. “Without cutting me in half? You mean … my body?”

She nods so fast her hair’s a sanguine churn. “Took me a bit to figure that out. Promise it’s good now, though.”

Right.

“Glad you’re thorough , ” I say, gripping the bag.

“Always. It’s almost done. A few fine runes with that new etching stick and it’ll be ready to activate. Figured it’s a good time to attach it since Rekk Zharos is hunting you.”

“See you’ve been reading my messages again.”

She shrugs, adjusting the scope of her looking glass. “It flew through the window after you left. Bumped against the sill until its nose was squished. I put it out of its misery by unfolding it.”

“And reading it.”

“My eyes slipped.”

They have a habit of doing that.

I shake my head, sliding the bag across the table for her to rummage through. Flip side of using so much blood in the active runes etched around the window, the parchment larks sometimes think the window is, well … us . Ergo, the source of Sereme’s eternal frustration whenever she can’t get ahold of me.

Essi pulls her head from the bag, her face a tad paler. “No spangle poo?”

I blink at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“From Yeskorn, the Undercity librarian. He’s got a pet spangle. Is it in your pocket? Please tell me it’s in your pocket.”

“There’s no shit in my pocket, Essi. Why do you need spangle poo?” She opens her mouth to speak, but I swiftly cut her off. “Remember my brain’s not as big as yours. If you start talking about biophysics, I’ll perish.”

She opens her mouth again, closes it, seems to think for a bit, then starts to talk. “The stone they eat is rich with a special ore that’s otherwise hard to find because it forms in minuscule drops that never grow larger than a pinhead. It doesn’t break down in their digestive tracts, so it’s the most effective way to gather it. It’s a creamy color, and it melts at a much lower temperature than most other ores, making it the perfect adhesive for binding runed caps to your teeth.”

“You’re joking.”

Her brows crush together. “For the first time in my life?”

All the warmth drains from my face, my hand whipping out to steady myself against the table. “ That’s what you used to bind the other activation cap to my tooth?”

She nods.

“ Spangle shit ?”

“I rinsed the actual feces off, then sterilized the ore. But yes. It had been … shat.”

Creators .

I shove my tongue to the right side of my mouth, feeling around said cap. “Let’s file that under Things Raeve Doesn’t Need To Know ,” I mutter, making for the cabinet where I pull out a mug.

Ever.

“Noted. I, ahh …” I glance back to see her shuffling in her seat, scratching at the back of her head. “Given Rekk’s renowned accolades, I was hoping to get it attached …”

“There’s no rush.” With this new, rather revolting information, the least amount of rush ever .

“What if he targets you?”

I lift the jug of filtered water from our icebox, filling my mug. “I’ve been instructed to lie low, and we both know Rekk can’t get me here. The only way we’ll clash is if I accidentally run into him on my way to pick up my handsaw and accidentally slit his throat, accidentally going against Sereme’s direct orders and accidentally saving the life of one of my comrades.”

The only upside to being indispensable? I’m almost certain Sereme won’t fatally maim me for the transgression. Just rough me up until she feels like she’s got control again.

The usual shit.

Essi’s chair grinds against the floor as I gulp my belly full of water, draining the mug before I place it in the basin and grab a band off the counter, using it to pull my heavy hair back into a high updo.

The silence grows prickly and needles me from behind.

I turn.

Essi’s no longer facing her project. She’s facing me , hands on her knees, eyes wide and brimming with worry. A look that impales me through the chest so hard I feel it poke out the other side.

“Stop,” I growl. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Why is she looking at me like that?

Her eyes gloss over with a sheen of sadness that’s so much worse. “Raeve, I can’t lose you—”

“We don’t do this, Essi. We work just fine the way we are. Don’t break something that’s not broken.”

Her brows pinch together as she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Like the words are too big to wrestle free.

Good. They should stay in. I don’t want her to tell me she’s worried. That she cares. I don’t want to say those same words back to her.

The folk I care about die.

“The point is moot, anyway.” I spin, rinsing my mug and plate in the basin, eyes firmly cast on the task. “I can’t go to the Undercity until I receive a lark signaling the all clear.” I dry both bits of crockery, put them away, then move to the trough and gather my things. “I’m exhausted. I’ll get these stupid feathers off my lashes, catch some rest, then collect your spangle shit once I receive a lark from Sereme. Deal?”

She doesn’t answer.

When the stretch of silence grows too loud, I spin, looking into her big, tear-filled eyes.

Shit.

“Deal , Essi?”

Lips pinched into a thin line, she nods—the slow beat of a reluctant agreement.

I make for the trapdoor that leads to my suite and lift the hatch, stilling halfway down the steps when Essi’s words impale me like a blade thrown between my ribs, wedging deep. “I don’t like Sereme any more than you do, but for once, I think you should listen to her. Please, Raeve. I ne—” She sighs, pausing before she throws another verbal dagger, this one knocking the breath right out of me. “You’re the only family I have.”

I squeeze my lips so tight together I’m surprised they don’t fuse.

Essi’s broken. Actually, this entire cycle’s broken. I need to close the cover on it and flip a new one—a normal one—where folk stop voicing their concerns for my well-being and calling me family. I don’t get nice things like that without a price tag too heavy for me to pay.

“Please don’t go to the Undercity without me. You know I hate it when you go down there alone.” I step out of her line of sight, swinging the trapdoor back into place with a heavy clunk.

M y suite is sparse compared to the rest of our living space, the only decoration aside from a single piece of wall art being the moons I’ve drawn upon my otherwise unpainted ceiling with bits of coal. Essi’s never asked why, though by the way this dae is going, it wouldn’t surprise me if she charged down here and dumped the question at my feet like a steaming pile of spangle shit.

“Dammit,” I mutter, lumping my stuff on the ground. I release a heavy sigh, casting my low-lidded stare on my twill pallet stretched across the ground by the large window that dominates my southern wall.

No stuffy blankets or pillows. Just a comfortable space to curl up and pass out. Something I want to do right now, but if I don’t pick these feathers off, I’ll wake up looking like a scraggly Moltenmaw midmolt, missing sprigs of my lashes.

Been there. Done that.

“Don’t be lazy, Raeve. Deal with your shit.”

I scoop my things off the floor again and move through to my dressing space tucked behind the back wall, hanging my gown, pulling my daggers free from all the hidden compartments like plucking a bird of its plumage. I shelve them all except the one I keep strapped to my thigh, checking my skinsuit for blood. Finding none, I decide it’s fine to sleep in and hone the dregs of my energy into scrubbing my boots, removing the damn feathers and taking care of my business, battling through a yawn as I step back into my sleepsuite.

I pause before a flat piece of stone hanging on the wall, carved to look like a nesting Moonplume. Easing it aside, I reach into the hole behind, retrieve a small wooden box that I carry to my pallet, placing it beside the window.

The pane of glass is stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a view of The Fade’s gradual smudge into the distant Shade, framed by frosty runes that make the window look like stone from the other side. Another one of Essi’s clever adaptations.

Seeking that wonky moon in the distance, I see the rising aurora tangled around it like the frayed threads of a silver gown unraveled by the handsy wind.

A soft smile fills my cheeks despite this weight settling in my chest, like something’s sitting on me. Something that feels a bit like … regret .

My smile falls.

Essi called me family and I walked away. After everything she’s been through, I walked away .

What the fuck is wrong with me?

How can I look at that moon with so much love in my heart—love that ricochets off my ribs every time I look at Essi?

Stupid question. I know exactly what’s wrong with me.

Loving that moon feels safe. Moonfalls are so rare it’ll likely always be there, accepting my quiet adoration.

Loving Essi … it makes me feel like I’m handling something fragile that’ll break apart in my hands if I tighten my grip even the slightest bit.

Sighing, I lift the lid on my small box.

Nee bats her plain parchment wings and rises from the hollow, fluttering around me in a churn of giddy motion, nuzzling my face, shoulder, neck. She tries to wiggle into my ear, making it impossible not to smile.

“Careful not to hurt yourself,” I murmur, gently nudging her away from my face and easing her toward the rest of the room so she can stretch her little wings. She does a few lofty loops, then tucks her head and plummets— too fast.

Too far away.

She collides with the floor beak-first, and I flinch.

Fuck.

I scramble up and dash to her, swooping her into my palm. “Nee, I really wish you’d stop doing this …”

She jerks, flipping onto her back, baring the three beautifully scrawled letters visible on her abdomen, the rest of her message tucked within the darts of her streamlined body.

I cut her an incredulous glare, unimpressed by the not-so-subtle nudge for me to unfold her. “You know, of all the tricks you use to get me to read you, this is my least favorite,” I mutter, waiting for her to move again. To dart back into the air and burn off all the energy she’s built up while I’ve been out.

Nothing.

“I’m serious.” I jiggle my hand. “You look dead. Stop it.”

Still, she doesn’t move.

I blow on her. Again.

Again.

My heart crimps. “ Nee —”

She waggles her parchment tail, and all the breath shoves from my lungs as prickly relief packs me full.

I shake my head, rubbing my sternum. “This is called rewarding bad behavior ,” I grouse, gently unfolding her crushed beak, head, tail, wings, then body, baring her message that’s more than five phases old:

Three small words I’m certain were never meant for me—not that it’s stopped me reading them again and again.

I devour the delicate sweep of each tailored letter, brushing the pad of my thumb across them like a Nee belly scratch as I recall the moment she came to me.

She must’ve gotten lost on her journey to whoever she was intended for, instead nuzzling into the crook of my neck like she was seeking comfort from a storm. I’d opened her, read her message, and realized how important she was—come from somebody who was not okay, though they perhaps didn’t know how to say it aloud.

I’d folded her up and blown her back to the sky, asking Clode to carry her high into the currents so she could recalibrate and head in the right direction.

Find the one she was intended for.

The next rise, I’d woken to her resting in my palm, a tear in her wing and a very squished nose, like she’d battled against Clode’s currents … and won .

Hard to part with her after that.

I sweep my thumb over those three words again, then gently fold her back up, flattening her beak crimp and checking that her rip hasn’t gotten any bigger. She bursts from my hand in a flutter of motion and bats about the room like she’s burning off a furnace full of energy.

“If you’re not more careful, I’ll pack the room with down feathers,” I warn, and she flips through the air, swooping toward me in a wobbly glide, dipping into the crook of my neck where she nuzzles in. I settle my hand atop her and rock until she stops wiggling, my thoughts drifting back to Essi. To the jarring way she looked at me through those big eyes glazed with … too much .

Sighing, I make for my pallet, then cast my stare to the sky outside.

Fallon once told me that as a youngling, she used to lie on her back and wish upon the moons—wishes that would sometimes come true.

Magic, she called it.

I’ve never believed in things that make no sense to me—aside from Essi’s magnificence. But perhaps I should start wishing on the moon I love so much. Ask it to find a way to replace my heart with a soft and squishy one so I never have to see Essi’s eyes flood with sadness again.

Creators, I’m an asshole.

I curl up on my side, snuggling Nee, looking at Hae’s Perch while humming the gentle tune that always clears my mind no matter how loud the world seems.