Wren
The library took three weeks to organize properly.
Not because it was particularly large, but because Elspeth and I kept disagreeing about methodology. She wanted strict alphabetical by author within each subject category. I wanted to organize by how often the books would actually be used. We compromised by doing both.
Tavrin watched us argue about the placement of a water-stained astronomy text for twenty minutes before quietly retreating to make tea.
“He’s afraid of us,” Elspeth observed.
“He’s not afraid. He’s strategic.”
She’d found her place here faster than I’d expected. Within a week, she’d claimed a corner of the library as her own workspace. Within two, she was correcting my shelving choices with the quiet confidence of someone who had always known exactly where things belonged.
“There’s an Academy,” she said one evening. “For archivists. They train scholars. Preservation specialists.” A pause. “I read about it years ago, in Uncle’s study.”
“You want to apply.”
“I want...” She stopped. Started again. “I don’t know what I want. I never got to want things. But if I could...”
Tavrin looked up from across the room. “Write to them. I’ll fly down to speak with them myself if necessary.”
“You’d do that?”
“You’re family.” He said it like it was obvious. “Family gets whatever they need.”
Elspeth’s eyes went bright. She looked at me, then at him, then back at me.
“Is he always like this?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s wonderful.”
I found her in the library at midnight, two weeks later.
She wasn’t organizing. She was sitting in the corner with her knees drawn up to her chest and tears streaming down her face.
“Elspeth.”
She startled. Scrubbed at her cheeks. “I’m fine. The dreams...” She stopped. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” I sat down beside her. “What do you dream about?”
“His hand. On my wrist. I keep feeling him grab me. And then I wake up and I don’t know where I am, and for a moment I think I’m still there, and he’s coming, and you’re not...” She broke.
I pulled her against my chest and held her while she sobbed.
A sound at the door. Tavrin, wings half-mantled with alarm. He took in the scene and his expression shifted.
He disappeared. Came back three minutes later with a blanket, tea, and a plate of the honey bread Elspeth liked. Set them down within reach and settled against the far wall.
Not intruding. Just present. Standing guard.
Elspeth cried herself out. Drank the tea. Ate two pieces of bread.
“He’s not going to hurt you again,” I said. “We’re here. You’re safe.”
“I know.” She wiped her face. “It’s just... the dreams don’t know yet.”
Tavrin’s voice, low and rough: “The dreams learn. Eventually. They learn that the danger is past.”
She looked at him. “How do you know?”
“Two hundred years.” He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t have to.
We stayed there until dawn. The three of us. Learning to be a family in the small hours, one nightmare at a time.
The next night, I woke with my shoulder blades on fire.
Not literally. But something was happening beneath the skin, a deep, persistent itch that no amount of scratching could reach. I’d felt it building for days.
I slipped out of the nest and padded to the washroom. The mirror was small, spotted with age, but I managed to angle myself enough to see my back.
Nothing visible. Just skin, unmarked and ordinary.
But the itch persisted. Deep beneath the surface. Like something was trying to push its way out.
“Wren?”
Tavrin appeared in the doorway, wings folded tight to fit through the frame.
“I’m fine. Just an itch.”
He crossed to me in two strides. Turned me gently. I felt him go still.
“Tavrin?”
“It’s starting.” His voice was soft. Wondering. His fingers traced a line down my spine. “The wings. I can feel them forming. Just beneath the surface.”
“Already?”
“The bond is strong.” He pressed a kiss to my shoulder blade, right where the itch was worst. “Your body is responding faster than I expected.”
“Will it hurt? When they come through?”
“Yes.” He didn’t lie to me. I loved that he didn’t lie. “But I’ll be here. And after...” He wrapped his arms around me, pulled me back against his chest. “After, I’ll teach you to fly.”
I let myself imagine it. The two of us, soaring over the mountains. The wind in my face. The world spread out below.
Something to look forward to. Something to grow toward.
I was changing. Becoming something new.
And for the first time since I was sixteen, I wasn’t afraid of what I might become.
The Academy letters came a month later. Full enrollment for the spring term.
“We’ll miss you,” I told her.
“It’s only a few hours’ flight.” She smiled. “For some of us.”
The words landed with a strange weight. Because soon I would be one of them. The itch between my shoulder blades pulsed, a reminder of what was coming.
Tavrin had flown down to speak with the headmistress himself. Had returned with enrollment papers and a fierce satisfaction that he’d been able to give her this.
I found Elspeth on the balcony at sunset, wrapped in one of Tavrin’s old cloaks.
“Are you happy?” she asked. “Really happy?”
The question caught me off guard. I turned to look at her, this sister I’d left behind and fought to retrieve, this girl who was becoming a woman in front of my eyes.
“Yes,” I said. And realized, as I said it, that it was true. “I think I am.”
Elspeth smiled. Small and secret and satisfied.
“Good,” she said. “You deserve it.”
We watched the sunset until the colors faded, then went inside.
This is my life now, I thought. A monster husband who couldn’t cook. A sister who organized her anxiety into alphabetical order. A library full of books I hadn’t read yet. Wings growing beneath my skin.
It wasn’t the life I’d planned.
It was better.