28. The Little Bird is Mine
28
THE LITTLE BIRD IS MINE
GAbrIEL
D eath has always come naturally to me. Perhaps it’s because of my upbringing, or perhaps it’s my father’s blood coursing through my veins.
Either way, these sailors are no match for me. It doesn’t matter that I’ve lost the element of surprise because they’ll be dead in minutes.
There’s a ring of metal being drawn behind me. I turn around to find the taller of the two remaining seafarers gripping a fisherman’s knife in his scarred palm.
I smirk, and my bond with Mist awakens. I feel her curiosity as I tug on our bond three times, a signal we’ve used many times over the years. Knowing my familiar understands what I’m asking of her, I swing my sword through the air. My blade sings as I meet the sailor’s attack head-on. He grunts, and I spin out of the way.
Death is a dance, and this man is no match for me. We spar for a few minutes before I turn on my heels. I slam the tip of my blade through his back. It sinks through skin, bone, and then his heart.
The man falls to the ground with a thump, and I pull my blade from him. A muffled cry comes from my left. The sound calls to me like a rope tugging in my stomach, and I can’t ignore it. I snarl, twisting around.
The last sailor is holding the little bird against him, her back to his chest. One of his dirt-covered hands is clasped over Wren’s mouth, and the other is digging the tip of his knife into her throat. Her hair is disheveled, and her Mark is a pulsing blue swirl on her forehead.
Wide violet eyes filled with panic meet mine, and her nostrils flare as she trembles.
“Stop moving, bitch.” The seafarer must have a death wish because he nicks her throat.
Red beads above the blade, and Wren whimpers. The sight of her blood has my lips curling and my heart thundering in my chest.
Rage courses through me, a wave of anger unlike anything I’ve ever felt. All-consuming, it’s the only thing I can think about.
Why? Why am I reacting like this? Why does every part of me want to roar at the sight of her in danger? Why does it feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest and is about to be destroyed?
I’m not sure. All I know is I was tracking the little bird after she fled the River Market, and when I found her, three horrid men were pawing at her. Touching her as if they owned her. How fucking dare they?
She was struggling, trying to get away, and they were holding her against her will.
I acted on instinct, drawing my sword and driving it through the first man’s throat. He was far too close to my Given, and I couldn’t let him touch her.
And now this asshole has his hands on her.
As if she’s his. As if he thinks he can do with her as he wishes.
He’s dragging her back, his dagger still at her throat.
“Don’t come any closer,” the soon-to-be-dead man snarls.
I meet his gaze, my stomach twisting at the promise of death glinting back at me. Tightening my grip on my sword, I growl, “Release her.”
In direct opposition to my command, he draws her closer to him. She gasps against his hand, the sound an arrow to my heart.
He takes one step back, then another. Wren is forced to move with him lest the knife dig deeper into her neck. Another bead of blood rolls down the column of her throat, and a snarl rumbles through me.
A sense of possessiveness I’ve never felt urges me forward, and my bond with Mist thrums frantically.
There’s no time to question the way I feel or wonder why this gods-blessed is making me feel this way.
“She’s mine ,” I growl, not taking my eyes off the sailor.
My little bird. My prey.
How dare he try to take her from me? I didn’t track her from the forests outside Grenbloom to Saltwater, just to watch her die.
Especially not after my unpleasant encounter with the king.
That’s probably why I feel unnaturally possessive towards her. My father’s demands have put me on edge.
He smirks, dragging Wren further down the alley. “You come any closer, and I’ll slit her lovely throat. She’ll bleed out before you get here.”
Wren whimpers again, and a tear slides down her cheek. I’ve never hated the sight of someone else’s pain more than I do at this moment.
Comforting words rise to the tip of my tongue, and I want to tell her it’ll be all right. I won’t leave her with this man who so clearly thinks he’s won.
But there’s no time. A flash of black further down the alley catches my eye, and the corner of my lips quirks upwards.
“You could try,” I tell the dead man walking, needing to distract him for a moment longer. “But you have a slight problem.”
He growls. “I don’t know what kind of games?—”
A feline snarl cuts him off, and I arch a brow. “No games, but I’m afraid you forgot to look behind you.”
The sailor’s eyes widen, and he follows my gaze over his shoulder. He yelps in surprise, but it’s too late.
Mist leaps off a crate, sailing through the air with a vicious snarl. The predatory sound echoes through the alley, a warning to everyone with ears.
Death is here, and she is fierce. Mist lands on the sailor’s back, and he screams as her claws dig into his mortal flesh.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I run and grab Wren’s arm with my free hand, pulling her away from her attacker.
Thank the gods, Mist came with me into Saltwater. The king’s visit spooked me, and now I won’t risk going anywhere without my familiar. It’s those damned nightmares—my father’s “warnings.”
Each time I wake, I feel for my bond with Mist, needing to reassure myself it’s still there. It is, but the relief I feel is diminishing with each passing day.
A pained yell fills the air as Mist rips open the man’s back. The sound is cut off as she turns his throat to ribbons. Perhaps I should feel bad that the asshole is about to die a painful death, but since he was about to hurt my little bird, I find myself hoping he suffers before Mist sends him to the Underworld.
Leaving Mist to her meal, I pull Wren away from the dying man.
“Come,” I command.
She’s compliant, for once. The action is so far out of character that I know she’s in shock from the attack.
That knowledge has me moving faster as I lead Wren around a corner, away from the dead men. This alley is darker than the last, cast in shadows by the tall buildings rising above us, and it’s secluded.
Tucked away from the hustle and bustle of Saltwater, I return my attention to the little bird. Her chest is heaving, and her eyes close as she draws deep gulps of air.
“Did they hurt you?” I ask, my voice rough as I look her over, searching for injuries. “Before I… did they touch you?”
This question is all that matters right now, all I can focus on. Spots of blood mar the column of her throat, a reminder of the fate I narrowly saved her from.
Violet eyes open and meet mine, as if she’s trying to understand why I’m asking her these questions. Why I care. To be honest, I don’t know the answer. All I know is I’m pulled towards her, and I’m too relieved to have found her to keep fighting against it.
Seconds pass, each longer than the last. She still hasn’t spoken.
“Did they?” The words escape me on a growl.
Burning suns, if they hurt her, I will find a way to travel to the Underworld and make them suffer for what they did. I will rip them apart and make them suffer for an eternity. No amount of pain would be sufficient if they hurt her.
“I… they wanted to, but… no,” she says, her eyes locked on mine.
I wasn’t too late.
I stagger back a step, exhaling. Thank Esyn, I got there in time.
My next breath comes more easily, but I still don’t let go of Wren. I can’t.
Now that I’m touching her again, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let her go. That strange sense of possessiveness is still coursing through me, and I’m filled with the strangest urge to make sure she stays safe.
Those thoughts are confusing, so I shift my attention to the wrist I’m holding. It’s so much smaller than mine. Her skin is unblemished, lacking the scars and callouses I carry on my flesh.
My fingers circle her wrist, and if I wanted to, I could break her easily.
I don’t want to, though. In fact, if there’s something I learned watching those men handle her so roughly, it’s that seeing her broken might break me .
What the fuck is happening to me?
My gaze falls from hers, snagging on her wrist. I swipe my thumb across her pulse, and it flutters like wings flapping beneath my touch.
So soft. So fragile.
She hitches a breath and tries to take a step back. “Hunter?—”
“Don’t say it,” I breathe, interrupting her.
This moment is like glass—one wrong move, and it will shatter. I’m not ready for that. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for that.
I don’t want her to tell me to stop any more than I want to look up and see her glowing Mark reminding me that I’m hunting her. I’m not ready to go back to what we were.
Right now, we aren’t predator and prey or Hunter and Given.
At this moment, it’s just the two of us, and it’s good . Fear and nightmares and glowing Marks have no place here.
She steps back, but I don’t let go. She’s caught between me and the brick wall. There is nothing else. Just me, her, and this damn pull that I’ve felt since we met.
“Gabriel,” she tries again, her pulse fluttering beneath me.
Gods. The sound of my name on her lips, the way she forms those syllables, has me closing the distance between us and leaning over her. My breath brushes over her forehead, and my heart pounds with the knowledge that her kissable lips are inches from mine.
I could claim her in a heartbeat.
“No,” I whisper. “Not yet. Don’t speak yet.”
We can’t ignore the barriers between us forever, but for now…
Holding her gaze, I slide my sword into its sheath before resting my hand on the wall above her head. I’m not gripping her wrist tightly, and she could break my hold if she wanted to, but she doesn’t. She stares up at me, her breath catching and her cheeks reddening beneath my gaze.
Everything else seems to fade away. In this singular moment of time, there is nothing in this world but the two of us: the bastard son of the king and the captivatingly beautiful woman he’s drawn to.
My eyes sweep over Wren, committing every part of her to memory. Her bright eyes, sharp cheekbones, and brilliant curls that shimmer in the sunlight. She’s changed. Her pale blue dress has been replaced by a cream curve-hugging tunic and trousers that make me imagine what bedding her would be like.
My feet draw me closer to her. I can’t help it. Asking me not to be in her space right now would be like asking me not to breathe.
Gods-damn impossible.
Her heart rate picks up, her pulse beneath my thumb flapping like wings. She really is a little bird, and one wrong word will have her flying away from me.
My chest tightens at the thought. This moment can’t shatter. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I move even closer, lowering my head. Every movement is slow and controlled, giving her time to react. To yell at me. To say something.
Wren doesn’t pull away, though. Her lips part, and she breathes my name.
My heart thunders and every part of me wants to draw her closer. Long, eternal moments pass as we remain frozen and sharing the same air.
I want to kiss her, claim her, and make her mine. I want to take her so thoroughly that no one would ever question who she belonged to.
I want her in ways that don’t make sense.
It feels like we’ve been standing there for hours, although it’s likely only been a few seconds. I wish I could freeze this moment and stay here forever, but we can’t.
Time is no one’s friend, least of all mine, and all too soon, a horn is blown somewhere in the city. The call for sailors to return to their boats shatters the moment, and Wren sucks in a breath.
“You… you saved me.” Her brows furrow and an insane part of me wants to lift my thumb and press out the crease. “They were going to… but you stopped them.”
“I did,” I say through clenched teeth, the mention of the fate she barely avoided sending fire running through my veins. Thank Esyn, I got here in time.
“The panther… it’s yours?”
I nod.
“And you saved me.” She seems stuck on that. “Why? Why would you do that? Why not let them take what they wanted and kill me?”
Why, indeed? It’s a good fucking question, and I don’t know the answer.
All I know is that when I saw Wren in the River Market this morning, it felt like a missing piece was settling in my soul. Like I could breathe again now that I’d seen her.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, least of all my prey.
Nothing else had mattered in that moment—not the nightmares about broken bonds and eternal emptiness and not the fact that my father’s words have been haunting me since he made his unwelcome appearance.
All that mattered was that she was here, and so was I.
I’m not sure what’s happening to me. To us. Does she feel the pull, too? I want to ask, but I’m not sure I’m ready for her answer.
Instead, I tell her the truth. “I couldn’t let them hurt you.”
My voice is quiet, and my words hang in the air between us. Wren’s Mark seems to glow brighter on her forehead, drawing my attention.
Gods, that thing is a fucking torch, even in the middle of the day. At night, it must be visible for miles. How has she made it this far without attracting attention?
She must notice the direction of my gaze because she reaches up, pulling her hood over her forehead.
“I see.” Her tone makes it clear she doesn’t really understand.
Well, that makes two of us.
An eagle caws above us, and my back tightens. I raise my eyes, searching for the king’s red-eyed familiar, but there’s nothing but blue sky.
When I lower my gaze, clarity has entered Wren’s eyes. I hate it almost as much as I hate waking up feeling empty after nightmares from the king.
“Birdie,” I murmur, trying to prolong this moment between us. Can’t we ignore everything else for a few more minutes?
She stiffens in my grip and tries to pull away.
“You’re a Hunter.”
I can’t deny it. The truth of what I am is as plain as the swirl on her head. “Yes.”
The air grows heavier with each passing moment. My heart is a booming drum, echoing in my ears.
She licks her lips. “Are you still hunting me?”
I exhale, squeezing my eyes shut. It’s just a moment, but it’s long enough for the king’s final words to echo through my mind.
Bring me Wren Nightingale, Gabriel.
Even though it pains me, even though it feels like my heart is inexplicably breaking as I open my mouth, I admit, “Yes.” I remove my hand from the wall above her head. “But?—”
Her face hardens, and I can sense her building walls between us, shutting me out.
“Let me go,” she says, shoving my chest. “Just pretend like this didn’t happen.”
“I can’t. The king won’t allow it.”
An almost frantic look appears in her eyes as she shakes her head. “The king isn’t here. He doesn’t have to know.”
Na?ve words from someone who’s never met my father or felt the sting of his whip slashing across their back.
“He would know,” I say grimly.
Somehow, the king knows nearly everything. I’ve learned a hard truth over the years: Esyn blessed my father with immeasurable magic. The queen and my half-brother both have power, but theirs pales in comparison to his.
I’ve seen him level buildings with a thought, suffocate a row of convicted felons with a clench of his fist, and ruin lives with the flick of his wrist.
“Please,” she whispers, the desperation in her voice a knife to my heart.
I wish I had another answer. I wish I weren’t a Hunter. I wish we weren’t destined to be enemies.
My next words break my heart. “I can’t.”
Most people would give up at this point. Suns, most people would’ve given up days ago, but not her. The little bird is tenacious and stubborn as hell, which is equally gods-damn infuriating and attractive.
“I saved your life,” she bargains. “I could’ve let you die in Mora, but I didn’t. I gave you the antidote. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“You only had the antidote because you’re the one who drugged me in the first place.”
Instead of showing remorse, she lifts her chin. “You were asking for it.”
“Excuse me?” I sputter, my fingers flexing. “I was just doing my job.”
“I told you, I don’t want to be Given.” Whatever softness had been in her voice has vanished.
This again. I don’t understand why she’s running. Raking my hand through my hair, I shake my head.
“Why not?” I ask. “Is it really worth all of this? Being hunted for the rest of your days? What’s so bad about serving the gods?”
Wren stares at me as if I asked her whether the sky is blue. As if I’m the one defying logic by running from my fate.
“Of course, it’s worth it,” she says incredulously. “I don’t want to die .”
Die?
My brows knit together. I have the vaguest recollection of her saying something similar when she drugged me, but I thought I’d dreamed it.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Birdie? You’re Marked to the Given. It’s not like I’m bringing you to the executioner’s block.”
At least then, I’d understand why she’s fighting me so hard on this.
That violet gaze sharpens, and she stares at me as if I’m a puzzle she’s trying hard to solve. Then she does the strangest thing.
She laughs .
The melodic sound is like the first birdsong after a long storm, and it stirs deep in my soul. Her laugh is beautiful and entrancing. I want to hear it every day for the rest of my life.
She yanks her arm out of my grasp, and I’m so enthralled by the sound of her laugh, I let her go. She doesn’t go far, standing a few feet away from me.
“Suns have mercy on my soul,” she gasps out between heaving laughs, gripping her sides while staring at me in disbelief. “You don’t know.”
I suck in a breath and hesitate for a moment before asking, “Know what?”
She takes a step back, her gaze never leaving mine. “Of course, you don’t. It makes so much fucking sense now.”
The last part is muttered, as if she’s speaking to herself. What is she talking about?
I move towards her. She steps back again.
The distance between us is making my heart ache.
“I’m going to need you to explain what’s going on here, Wren.”
Her mirth dries up, and something dark flickers through her gaze. “Let me guess, Gabriel .” This time, when she says my name, there’s no warmth. Nothing that draws me to her. Her voice is pure steel. “You think the gods-blessed are sent to work in the temples once they’re Given.”
The hardness in her voice sets me on edge, and Mist appears in the corner of my vision. I raise a hand, signaling for my familiar to stay back as I stare at Wren.
Even with her hood on, I can make out the faint blue glow of her Mark. She’s destined for the gods… isn’t she? A few minutes ago, I would’ve said yes, but now… now I’m not sure.
“Of course, they are. Everyone knows Marked Ones are fated to work for the gods.” It’s one of the first lessons children are taught.
“No. They’re killed,” she says matter-of-factly.
“What?” The word bursts out of me. “No.”
Has she lost her mind? Is that why she’s running so hard?
“Yes.” She holds my gaze, and I stare into her violet eyes, searching for a hint that she’s lying. There isn’t one.
In her mind, this is the truth.
I step towards Wren, trying to reason with her. “That’s not true. The priests and priestesses are Marked?—”
“Those Marks are fake, Gabriel,” she interrupts me, her voice hard. “Stickers.”
“I… what?” I can barely form words, barely comprehend what she’s saying.
“Think, Hunter. Really think about it. When was the last time you saw a glowing Mark on a gods-blessed older than twenty?”
She takes another step back from me, and this time, I don’t mirror her movements. I’m too focused on her question, too focused on running every single visit to the temple through my mind. Because… what the actual fuck?
She’s right.
In all my years and all my journeys through Myreth, I can’t recall ever seeing a glowing Mark on a gods-blessed past their second decade of life.
It’s odd because even though my father’s a blood-thirsty tyrant who rules with an iron fist, he’s also strangely obsessed with the deities. I’ve been in dozens of temples, and even though I’ve seen the workers’ Marks, they’ve been brief glimpses. None of them have prominent Marks like Wren.
Could they really be fakes?
My stomach spins with the implications of what she’s saying, and my mouth dries. “But…”
“Think,” she urges me, her voice tense. “Have you seen one?”
My lungs tighten, and my fingers twitch at my sides. My bond with Mist strums frantically in my chest, and her concern fills me. I shove it away, desperately trying to understand what Wren is saying.
They’re killed .
The little bird’s voice echoes through my mind, and I tug on my hair. How can this be?
The giving season’s existence can be traced back to the foundation of Myreth. The festivals, the honor the gods-blessed receive, and the lore in our culture are all centuries old.
If Wren is telling the truth, this would have to be the most elaborate ruse ever spun. People would have to be in on this, carefully crafting the lies from the inside.
The enormity of this situation is staggering.
Hours go by, or maybe they’re minutes, before Wren pulls back her hood and points to her glowing Mark.
“You haven’t seen a real gods-blessed in the temples,” she says softly, her voice strangely calm. “The Marks they wear are fakes, just like the ones in the Giving Festival.”
She keeps saying that, but how can it be true? “Wren?—”
“You know I’m right, Hunter.” Pity flickers through her eyes as if she knows she’s peeling the truths of my life away, one word at a time. “They’re killing us. Giving Ceremonies are nothing but well-planned murders. The gods-blessed are sacrificed.”
She says it evenly, as if she’s reminding me that Esyn is the Mother Goddess and that she has three sisters, not telling me that everything I’ve ever been taught is a lie.
If this is true, I’m no better than the man who fathered me.
A tremor starts in my hands, working its way through my body. Bile rises in my throat, and my head spins. Oh, gods.
I search her eyes again for any sign that she might be lying, but all I see is truth. If Wren is lying, she’s the best gods-damned liar I’ve ever met.
Which means…
I am my father’s son .
The thought slams into me, stealing my breath. And then, while I’m still off-kilter, the little bird continues. She runs her fingers over her bracelet as she recounts an awful tale of sneaking into a temple to watch her best friend’s Giving.
When she’s done telling me about her friend’s murder, all I can do is stare at her. Each breath feels shorter than the last.
All this time, I worked so hard to become a Hunter and be different from the king. I fought and clawed my way to the top, desperate to become a Master of my craft.
And now…
Now I find out that every single escaped gods-blessed I caught was murdered . That I was the one who handed them over to their deaths.
I gasp, the weight of her words threatening to ruin me. I wish she were lying. I wish her words didn’t ring with a truth that I can feel in my core.
But they do.
The faces of the gods-blessed I’ve hunted flash through my mind. The red-headed boy from Woodmarket who escaped his Giving five years ago. The tall gods-blessed with white hair from the province of Etelle, who I peeled off her lover in a cave. Both women had been sobbing as though I was tearing their hearts out of their chests.
I’d thought the women were simply being sentimental, but I was wrong. Esyn help me, but I was so fucking wrong.
A dozen other faces blend together in my mind until all I can see are their glowing Marks shining brightly as I deliver them to their respective temples.
I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was serving the gods. I may not have wielded the blades that brought about their deaths, but I played a role in their demise.
My fists clench, and bile rises in my throat as the truth settles in my core.
I thought I was a fucking decent man. Not a good one—I’ve killed enough people that both my hands and soul are covered in blood—but I thought…
I thought I was better than him.
It turns out I’m not. I’ve dragged runaways back to be Given, unknowingly delivering them to be murdered. For fuck’s sake, I’ve chased Wren all around this province for that very purpose.
And it’s all a lie.
The more I think about it, the more questions I have. Who is behind all this? Why are they doing this? And what happens to people who learn the truth?
There’s no way something this big—this awful—could happen for centuries without someone learning what’s happening. Does the resistance know? Small groups of dissatisfied citizens pop up occasionally, but my father is quick to silence them by any means necessary.
Have they learned the terrible truth? Is that why they push back on the king’s rule despite his bloody attempts to force them down?
I’m not sure how much time goes by as we stand there. The truth is a thousand-pound weight settling on my shoulders. Wren stands a few feet away from me, her hands clenched at her sides. She hasn’t looked away, and I know she’s trying to figure out what I’m going to do.
I don’t fucking know.
I know what I should do—I should grab her and bring her to the nearest temple, as the king requested. But this conversation has made it clear there are other things I should’ve been doing for some time now.
I should have questioned the lack of gods-blessed with glowing Marks in the temples. I should have wondered where the Given went after their ceremonies. I should have asked myself why people were running from their fates in the first place.
There are a multitude of things I should have done. Many people I could have helped instead of bringing them to their deaths.
It’s too late for the others, but Wren…
She’s still here. Still alive.
A man without morals is more monster than man, Gabe .
My grandmother’s soft voice runs through my mind, confirming that I’m making the right choice.
My chest heaves as I inhale deeply and step away from the little bird. She tracks my movement as I reach into my cloak, unhooking a bag of coins from my belt. It’s one of two that I have—the other is with Steadfast in the stables—and it’s heavy in my palm. This should be more than sufficient. I toss it to her, the bag jingling as it flies through the air, and she catches it.
“What—”
“Run,” I snarl, repeating my command from the first day we met. “Get out of here, little bird.” My chest aches as I take another step away from the woman who has turned my world upside down. “I never want to see you again.”
Her mouth falls open, but she isn’t moving.
Why isn’t she moving? Doesn’t she understand what this is costing me?
“Go!” I cry, my chest tightening as though a giant is squeezing me in their fist. “Take the money, buy a ticket on a ship, and get out of Myreth. Just… leave .”
I can’t help the others, but I can save her. This won’t wash away my sins, nor will it provide my soul with the absolution I crave, but at least it’s something.
I’ll be giving a lot up by doing this—my promotion to Master Hunter, my bond with Mist, and whatever else my cruel father has in store for me—but I’ve done so much harm. Caused so much pain.
This is the least I can do.
Wren is still staring at me with disbelief in her eyes. Isn’t this what she wanted? Hasn’t she been begging me to let her go from the moment I realized who she was?
“Run, damn it!” I scream, my voice echoing through the alley. “Get out of here!”
And gods help me, she does.
She sucks in a breath, shoves the money into her bag, and runs like she’s a rabbit being chased by a wolf. Her cloak flaps behind her as she races away from me, disappearing around the corner.
Only then do I sag against the wall, scrubbing my hand over my face. What in Esyn’s holy name have I done?