Chapter 24
O stern Vaegor—King of The Burn—came to visit Mah and Pah and, well …
Me.
Since I’m now eighteen, I’m apparently mature enough to be marketed off to the highest bidder, like livestock set for slaughter. At least that’s what King Ostern thought. That Pah would agree to an arranged bind between me and one of his sons who has cruel eyes and an even crueler smile, simply because The Shade has a swelling need for agricultural produce we’re struggling to service.
Too bad for Ostern, I told Pah I’d rather eat nothing but my Moonplume’s shit for the rest of my existence than pair with Tyroth Vaegor—and meant it.
Pah said I have a foul mouth. That if I grew up in the Boltanic Plains like he did, I’d have been made to shovel faunycaw dung for an entire phase for that single comment alone. Or be whipped for my insolence.
I told him I’d happily take a whipping over Tyroth Vaegor.
Pah said that’s exactly why he left that place, and that he wouldn’t sell me for all the grain in the world. Then he kissed me on the forehead, called me remarkable, and told me to spend some time with Slátra and Allume so kings could talk politics without a foul-mouthed princess listening in.
I love Pah, but I wish he’d stop calling me remarkable. If I could squish that word like a bug and pop it from existence, I would.
I asked Haedeon if he’d like to come with me to the hutch, but he just stared at the wall like he always does. I accepted long ago that he never came home from Netheryn—not really. I swore I wouldn’t leave him there, but I did.
He doesn’t laugh anymore.
He doesn’t eat butterberry chews.
He doesn’t speak. Which means he also doesn’t argue when I push him into the hutch so he can watch me work on Allume’s wing that’s growing stronger with each passing phase. Honestly, I think she’ll be sturdy enough to take her first flight soon.
Since he was a little boy, all Haedeon wanted was to ride on the back of his own Moonplume …
Perhaps if I can give him that, he’ll smile again.