Chapter 36
JO
Messer says pigeons are nothing but flying rodents with brains the size of a pea, and that they’re dumber than rocks.
He swore that he was less intelligent when he shifted back to normal after that one time he forced himself to change into a pigeon.
But I don’t care what he says; I’ll always have a soft spot for birds.
The sound of shuffling wings and feathers whispers from inside the wooden structure, indicating there are still live birds despite being left behind without care.
Square windows spiral up the outside of the cylindrical structure, giving view of the birds within their cages.
We step through an iron archway and into the small workroom.
A counter divides the space, with an enclosed stairway tucked behind it.
Shelves stuffed with rolled parchment and tiny metal message tubes line the walls.
Quills and inkwells clutter the counter, and a half-written letter has slipped to the floor, abandoned.
A wash basin sits in the far corner; the inside stained with splatters of black ink.
I round the counter and approach the stairwell, Acker right behind me.
Signs hang from the wall at regular intervals, indicating the territory each section of birds has been trained to fly to.
The birds alongside the first twenty steps are designated only for Kenta.
Plaques on the front of each individual cage are engraved with the name of the town the occupant delivers to.
It’s not until step forty, nearly all the way to the top, that the hanging sign above reads Maile.
There are only a few cages, and all are empty.
“A town of this size wouldn’t correspond with foreign territories much, if at all,” Acker says, tone apologetic.
I consider my options. “Wells’s parents live in one of the port towns north of the capital, correct? I can send them a letter in the hopes that they can pass it along to my mother.”
When I look at Acker, I can see his worry in the pinch of his mouth. “It would take weeks for your message to make it to Maile, if Wells’s parents can even send it on,” he says.
Too long, he really means. “It’s the only chance I have,” I say.
As we begin our descent, a quiet flutter of wings stops us in our tracks. We move closer to the front of the cage and peer in. Tucked at the very back, hiding in the shadows, is a tiny bird. I check the plaque, and it reads Maile: Capital City.
Unlocking the cage, Acker reaches in and grabs the pigeon.
It’s so small, it nearly fits in the palm of his hand.
Acker extends each wing before flipping it over and inspecting its feet; the bird coos in response to being manhandled.
The band on its leg is marked with the emblem of the town we’re currently in.
“He’s small, but healthy. I’m going to find some food and water for him, so he doesn’t stop mid-flight to hunt.” He places the bird back and looks at me, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a hint of a smile behind his eyes. “Go write your letter.”
Most of the materials are easy enough to procure; parchment and ink were clearly not considered important enough to take during the raid.
I search the shelves for a new bottle of ink and fresh quill.
I flatten a piece of parchment on the counter with a paperweight and unscrew the lid of the new ink.
Dipping the quill in, I scrape the excess black liquid from the nib and carefully begin to write out my message.
I keep it short and to the point, and blow on the parchment to ensure everything is dry before rolling it up.
At that same moment, Acker appears from the stairwell. “Ready?”
I stuff the parchment into one of the cylinder tubes and snip a piece of twine from the roll behind the counter.
Calling my dagger, I twist the fractured hilt of the hearthstone blade in my hand, gripping it by its spine to not further damage it.
I angle the sharpened-tip against the tube and engrave a jagged letter into the side—J.
A marker for whoever receives it in Maile to know the message is from me and meant for my mother.
We return to the top of the stairs, where Acker retrieves the pigeon once again, holding it on its back so I can tie the message to the leg without the town emblem band.
Reaching through the cage to the latch on the other side, I push open the door that leads to the sky beyond.
Once secured back inside the cage, it takes so long for the bird to waddle to the opening, its feathers all fluffed up, that I begin to worry it’s too young to be of use.
But one good gust of wind encourages it to take flight, and then it’s gone.
I sigh, relieved.
Regardless of there being a chance the small bird doesn’t make it to Maile, I can at least say I tried. Acker looks at me with a soft expression I almost forgot he was capable of and it flusters me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, sharp voice echoing through the cages and disturbing the remaining birds.
He does a poor job of attempting to tame his grin. “Like what?”
“You’re married, Acker,” I say as I stalk past him, heading back down the stairs.
“It’s not like me being promised to another stopped us before,” he says flirtatiously as he follows me.
I don’t have much in the way of a counterargument, but I stop and spin toward him, spitting out my next question as a challenge. “Why would Irina agree to overthrow her parents?”
“She wants to spare their lives.”
“You’d kill them?” I ask, curious. “Your own wife’s parents?”
“If they don’t take a knee, then yes.”
The way he says it with such nonchalance doesn’t sit right. “How does that make you any better than the rest of the terrible men already in power?”
A closed-lip smile graces his features as he takes the next step down, bringing us closer. He reaches forward, movements slow and deliberate as he brushes a finger over my brow, into the dip of my temple. His gaze follows his hand before he meets my eyes again.
“Because I don’t want them to bow to me,” he says, voice low. “I want them to bow to you.”
His words rattle me, so much so that I have to brace a hand against the stairway wall to prevent myself from losing my balance. “Wha … Why would you say that? I don’t—” I shake my head. “I don’t want anyone to bow to me.”
“But they already do. Your people love you,” he says, pride making his eyes shine. “You were able to sway my own people right out from under my father despite the fact that they could barely tolerate your presence when you initially arrival in the capital.”
It takes me a moment, but then I figure it out, figure him out.
“You know that if you win this war, the support of the people will be critical if you’re to hold on to the throne afterward.
You want to use me to bolster the public’s opinion of you.
” Just as he wanted to the first time he brought me to Kenta.
“No,” he says, sharply, eyebrows shadowing his dark eyes as he frowns. “I want to rule with the wife I originally wanted. The wife I should have fought for. Your favor with the people is to be expected, because it’s fucking impossible not to love you. I should know. I’ve fucking tried.”
I tilt my head away from his lingering touch. “I don’t believe you.”
He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “Rightfully so. I just kidnapped you.” Then he brushes past me, leading the way down the stairs.
Dumfounded, I spin in place as I watch him descend, trying to get my mind to catch up with everything he just said.
I hurry so as not to lose sight of him around the curve of the stairwell, but just as I catch up, he halts suddenly, and I have to pinwheel my arms to stop myself from toppling into him.
He reaches out and unlatches the door to an occupied cage and leans in to open the external hatch.
This bird doesn’t waste any time before leaping from its perch and winging away.
“What are you doing?” I ask, still off-kilter.
“They’re only going to die if we leave them,” he says, moving to the next cage. “Might as well let them go.”
He has a point. They’ll arrive at their destination without a message attached, but at least …
I stop him with a hand on his shoulder before he’s able to open the next cage. “Wait,” I tell him. “I have an idea.”
Once I explain, it doesn’t take him long to give his assent and we spend what little daylight remains executing the plan.
I write the messages and stuff them into the little tubes, and he ties each to a bird before releasing them.
He sends the birds with the longest flights out first, and by the time we reach the last one, night has fallen.
I inspect the parchment bearing the last message to make sure none of the ink has a shine to it. All hail Captain Wren, the new king of Kenta.
Edmond will know the messages aren’t Wren’s doing, but the damage will already be done.
The people will be confused. Some will flee.
Tales of Wren’s depravity are far-reaching and woven deep into the collective memory of Kenta.
If Edmond defends his alliance with Wren, he’ll appear weak, and most will believe he’s been manipulated by the captain.
And if Edmond forsakes him, he’ll lose Wren’s army.
“You really are the queen of deception,” Acker says, with a wry smile, taking the message tube from me.
Of all the things he’s said to me today, this is the one thing I know he actually means.
As he ascends the stairs to send the last note, I move to the wash basin to clean my hands. The bar of soap is specially made to remove ink, but it still takes a lot of scrubbing to make the black fade from my skin. The stain under my nails can’t be helped at all.