Chapter 3 #2
With a groan, I place the map aside before unbuckling my sandals and kicking them off, letting them fall unceremoniously to the floor.
With deft fingers, I remove the belt from my waist, the dagger and purse coming away with it, and set them on the nightstand.
After a moment’s hesitation, I remove the earring, placing it among the other items; the goiteía marks on its surface fall into shadow.
A shiver trembles through me at the sensation of cobwebs falling from my skin. I pull the heavy braid of my hair over my shoulder, watching as it brightens from a deep brown shade to ashen blond.
I rarely take the earring off—I never know if I’ll be woken in the middle of the night—but I just want to feel like myself. Even if it’s only for a moment.
I frown, looking down at the simple golden ring on my finger, and then fall back among the pillows with a sigh. I close my eyes, trying to shut the world out, but it’s still too loud.
Too chaotic.
Thoughts clamor, each of them slaying the other to take precedence. Only for the slain thoughts to revive, avenge themselves, and begin the vicious cycle anew.
My hand drifts to the pocket of my pants, feeling the smooth texture of glass, and my fingers curl around the vials. I pull them free, setting one aside on the nightstand while I grip the other in a tight fist.
Just one. Every third night.
The promise echoes in my mind, pushing all other thoughts away as a solid weight settles on my chest. I pop the cork and pinch a seed between the tips of my fingers—ignoring the slight tremor in my hand—and place it in my mouth.
Biting down, I cringe at the bitterness, and then let it settle underneath my tongue.
The change is instant.
A haze of calm cocoons me, and warmth tingles in my lips.
My chest.
The tips of my fingers and toes.
My eyes drift shut, and darkness draws me into the quiet solace of a dreamless sleep—a brief, fragile reprieve where I won’t hear the whispers of what I’ve done or feel the jagged weight of what’s still to come.
I jolt awake to pounding on my bedroom door.
“You better not be hiding under the covers from me,” a teasing voice shouts from the hall, and the frantic beating of my heart calms.
Nyssa.
With a groan, I burrow deeper into my bed, dragging a pillow over my head to drown her out, but my feather-stuffed shield proves to be useless against incessant hammering.
“Open this door right now, or I’ll shout your name at the top of my lungs.”
A cringe rattles through me at her threat, and I curse under my breath. I throw my pillow across the room as I drag myself out of bed, then stomp my way to the door.
“Ae—”
I wrench the door open and pull her in before she has time to finish. With a quick glance to check the corridor is clear, I close the door and turn to her.
Nyssa stands beside me, an innocent expression on her face I do not trust for a moment.
“It was unlocked,” I snarl at her.
“I know,” she says with a smirk. Her hazel eyes twinkle as she pushes past me—as easily as she shoved her way into my life so many years ago—and calls over her shoulder, “This was a more effective way to get your sorry ass out of bed.”
She saunters across the room and begins rummaging through my wardrobe.
Nyssa is a maelstrom. She tears into your life like a raging wind, churning up the ocean with enough force to make the seafloor tremble.
A storm of chaos that fills you with equal parts fear and excitement, both terrifying and beautiful to behold.
I wouldn’t have her any other way.
“What are you doing?” I ask, amusement tugging my lips into a smile despite the annoyance I try to clutch on to. As she guts my wardrobe like it’s her greatest adversary, the last threads slip through my fingers and dissipate.
“Emergency intervention. If I left these decisions up to you, you’d never have any fun.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” I scoff.
“If I’m so wrong…” Nyssa pauses her perusal of my clothing and quirks a brow at me over her shoulder.
She’s already dressed for the night. Her curves are draped in a burgundy dress, the rich color blooming against her russet brown skin like wine poured over warm earth.
She wears gold bangles around her wrists and has artfully threaded chains through the dark cinnamon curls cascading down her back.
“Then tell me you didn’t finish your test, take on a sentry shift, and pass out upon returning to this little comfortable cave of yours. ”
I fix my gaze on her, determined not to let my eyes wander to the nightstand, where the somniseed vials lie hidden.
Guilt churns in my chest as my attention drops to the dusty linen pants and undershirt I collapsed in earlier.
I know my silence will speak for me. She’ll take it as an admission that she’s right.
Though I’ve shared my deepest secrets with her, confessing my dependence on the narcotic seed is a boundary I can’t bring myself to cross.
I know she’d try to stop me; her concern for me would compel her to.
But that’s precisely why I keep this truth locked away.
I’m not addicted. Truly, I’m not. It’s just the only way I know to escape the memories that torment me in my sleep.
“That’s what I thought.” Her voice carries a note of finality, prompting me to look up just as she pulls a powder-blue dress from the wardrobe. She holds it against me, as if gauging how well it might fit.
My eyes drop to the dress, and a frown tugs at my lips.
“This one,” Nyssa states, draping it over my bed and pushing me toward the nook with the basin. “You have two minutes to wash the day’s dirt off. Don’t get your hair wet.”
“Nyssa, I really don’t—”
“Come on, just one drink and then you can leave,” she pleads. “This is the one night when the Aviary chooses to look the other way, and I know the others will want you there.”
The others.
My traitorous eyes drift back to the window—to the luminous stone walls of the palace. Walls separating me and the people I once cared for. After being sent to the Aviary, I felt each one of those losses like they were physical cracks in my heart.
A spider’s web of fractures.
It made me build my own walls. Brick by brick, surrounding myself to keep others out. It’s simpler that way.
But my mortar must be weak, because it disintegrates before Nyssa. After everything she has done for me, standing by my side time and again, offering this is the very least I can do for her.
Suppressing what feels like my hundredth groan of the day, I strip off my clothes and let them fall to the floor. The Aviary’s bathing rooms are communal, so I have no hesitation about baring myself, especially not in front of Nyssa.
The lure of the warm, gently steaming pools calls to me.
A proper soak would be divine, washing away not just the grime but the fatigue weighing on me.
With a wistful sigh, I push the thought aside.
Grabbing the cloth hanging from the basin’s edge, I dampen it and methodically scrub every inch of my skin.
When I turn back around, Nyssa has already laid out my clothing, accessories, and sandals, neatly arranged and ready for me.
“Have I told you lately how much you annoy me?” I ask.
“At least thirteen times this week.” Nyssa throws a towel, and I snatch it from the air before it hits me in the face.
“I heard a song today,” I say, drying myself off. The phrase is a significant one among Aviary members. It could either mean you have learned a piece of information you need to share, or it could confirm the other person you’re speaking with is a member of the order.
“Anything noteworthy?”
“The crew on The Nightingale were singing an interesting tune.”
“The ship Alpha Flight was aboard?”
“The same.” I worry my bottom lip, hesitating before my next words. “Apparently, they’re going back again. Soon.”
A small frown creases the space between her elegant brows. I hate seeing it there. Putting it there. “Luc—Lark mentioned nothing.”
I smile at the way she fumbles over her brother’s name.
Lucaz went through his Naming five years ago, and she’s never quite adjusted to calling him Lark.
He’s been on countless missions since then, but it wasn’t until last year—after his promotion to Nightwing—that the Aviary assigned him to Alpha Flight and sent them across the sea.
The past year has been challenging for her since it’s the longest time they have spent apart all their lives.
My breath stutters when what she said sinks in, and I peer up at her, my fingers curling around the rough fibers of the towel. “You’ve seen him?”
“I saw him briefly this afternoon. They’ve all been in and out of briefings since they returned, but…” She pauses, frown deepening before she shakes her head. “I’m sure it’s nothing to be concerned about. Lark will tell me if it is.”
“Of course he will,” I agree, shoving off the unease that has been lingering since this evening. I trail my fingers over the soft fabric of the dress Nyssa picked out, smiling at the silken texture beneath my fingertips.
Over the years, I’ve developed a deep appreciation for pants while training with the order, but I miss having a reason to dress up. To be soft and feminine.
The Aviary is no place for soft things.
Being soft leads to a watery grave at the bottom of the Solorai Sea.
“Lark is coming tonight,” Nyssa says behind me, and the back of my neck prickles at her hesitant tone.
“Oh?” I drop the towel on the end of my bed and pick up the dress, but her next words freeze me mid-motion.
“Raven might be there too.”
I brace myself against the memories and the ache they so often bring, fighting to keep them from flooding my mind. Yet, despite my efforts, one slips through the cracks of my defenses.
Callused fingers trace softly along my cheekbones, their touch igniting a spark as a smoldering gaze ensnares me in molten amber.
“We’d be breaking the rules.”