6. 5 #4
They walked in silence toward a pair of grand wooden doors; the grains worn from time and history. Two guards stood beside them, straightening as the women approached. With practiced grace, they pulled the doors open.
Beyond, a gentle chorus of birdsong spilled out, warm and welcoming, like nature itself had risen to greet them.
The aviary felt like a secret tucked away from the world—warm sunlight filtering through panels of glass above, casting golden beams across lush greenery and the soft rustle of wings.
The air was sweet with blossoms and birdsong, a living lullaby that settled into Mabel’s chest and quieted everything else.
She stood in the center, breath caught. It was far larger than she’d imagined, more like a sanctuary than a cage. Birds of every color flitted through the trees and branches, their feathers catching light in flight.
“They’re all so beautiful,” she said, wonder softening her voice.
Frey stood beside her, smiling fondly. “I’ve raised each one of them from hatchlings. Whenever I find an abandoned nest, I bring it here.”
As if summoned by memory, a bright-feathered finch darted to Frey’s shoulder with a cheerful trill. She lifted her hand, conjuring a scatter of birdseed with a simple gesture. The finch fluttered down, pecking contentedly at her palm.
“Go on,” Frey said gently. “Hold out your arm.”
Mabel obeyed slowly, eyes fluttering closed as she lifted her arm. She waited, still as stone, until she felt the unmistakable weight of talons settling on her skin—firmer than she expected, and somehow familiar.
She opened her eyes.
A raven—sleek and shadow-dark—perched on her arm, head tilted, watching her. Remarkably similar to the one she had conjured moments before.
Mabel’s breath hitched. “Hello,” she whispered.
The raven leaned forward and tugged playfully at the clasp on her bracelet. Mabel laughed softly, the sound rippling in the wind.
“She likes you,” Frey said, stepping closer and offering Mabel a handful of seed. “She must know you’re a raven, too.”
Mabel held out the seed, and the raven delicately picked through it, eyes still fixed on her as if seeing more than she let show.
“She’s beautiful. Does she have a name?”
“Kara,” Frey replied.
Mabel smiled, repeating the name. “Kara.”
The raven then eyed her necklace suspiciously and pecked at it, just as the illusion had.
“She recently hatched a brood,” Frey added. “Would you like to meet them?”
At Mabel’s eager nod, Frey led her to a tree nestled at the edge of the enclosure. In the crook of a branch, an intricately woven nest cradled three downy raven chicks—awkward, feathered bundles that blinked up at them with unformed curiosity.
“They’re almost fledglings now. Too small to handle yet, but you can look,” Frey said. Kara had already returned to the tree, watching over her young with vigilance.
“Where’s the father?” Mabel asked softly.
“Nearby, I’m sure,” Frey replied. “They stay close. Ravens mate for life. They’re very loyal.” Then, after a pause. “When they’re old enough, if you’d like … one of them can be yours. As a companion.”
Mabel turned to her, startled. “Truly? You’d let me have one?”
“Of course,” Frey said, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “I think you would be wonderful for them. And they, for you.”
Emotion swelled in Mabel’s chest. She looked back at the baby birds, eyes blurring. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice cracking.
Frey’s smile gentled. “What’s the matter, dear?”
“You’re just … very kind,” Mabel said, wiping at her eyes. “Aurevyn has been very welcoming. I-I’ve never been treated with such kindness.”
Frey wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Well, you will have to get used to it, child.”
They stood like that for a moment—just the two of them, surrounded by birdsong and sunlight. Then Frey stepped back.
“I’ve treasured our time today,” she said, planting a soft, motherly kiss on Mabel’s forehead. “Take as long as you like in here. I will call for you again when I’m free, but now I must talk some sense into my husband.”
She turned and drifted toward the doors, her presence lingering like a warm breeze long after she was gone.
Mabel stayed where she was, heart full, the ache of being known settling deep into her bones.
Drawn by the gentle harmony of chirping and water, Mabel wandered deeper into the aviary until she found a creek threading through the grass.
Its current flowed soft and steady, weaving through wildflowers and mossy stone.
She lowered herself onto the grass beside it, the ground cool beneath her.
With a contented sigh, she lay back, letting the sun warm her skin as she closed her eyes.
The melody of the space cradled her. Birds chirping overhead, wings fluttering through leaves, the rhythmic hush of the stream nearby. Every sound was familiar, sacred. Comforting. A lullaby from a world that, for once, asked nothing of her.
She smiled faintly as her thoughts drifted to the raven Frey had promised her. A raven of her own. It felt unreal.
For now, though, there were no decisions to be made. No parents to appease, no title to shoulder, no eyes watching. Even the thought of Theodore slipped sideways in her mind, too distant to hold on to.
Here, in this pocket of warmth, Mabel was just herself. And slowly, gently, that quiet wrapped around her like a blanket, soft, still, and full of peace.