Chapter 5
Dawn breaks on Naming Day all too soon, the sun rising with unwelcome haste.
After last night, I tossed and turned in my bed, Calliope’s words a relentless echo in my mind.
She has always had a way of getting under my skin, of knowing me better than I know myself.
Like I am the very flower she calls me, and with a few simple words she could peel away my petals and see right into the pistil of my being.
Only this time, her words left a heavy weight on my chest. One that has only grown as I prepared for the ceremony today and continues to press upon me now.
My cohort and I stand in lines of pairs before the ornate arched doors of the Aviary’s ceremonial hall, all six of us cloaked in the same white ceremonial garb.
The instructions strictly dictated the order of our procession for the ceremony.
I stand at the back, with Nyssa to my right.
I can sense her throwing me furtive glances, but I keep my eyes straight ahead, glued to the intricate carvings etched into the wooden doors.
They swing open, a screeching groan of hinges shattering the silence. The sound scrapes its way up my spine, prickling my skin with unease. As our cohort moves, I draw in a deep breath, steeling myself as I step forward with them.
In all my years at the Aviary, this is my first time entering the ceremonial hall.
Stone columns line the walls of the large square chamber, stretching up to a ceiling that has been transformed into an artful canvas, its paintings portraying the history of the Sorrows and the rise of our order.
The history of a kingdom and its secrets on display, all captured by a masterful hand.
Several Owls stand along the far wall, dressed in white ceremonial robes like our own, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods.
The last light of day shines through the arched windows of the western wall, setting dust motes alight and pooling in amber puddles on the polished marble floor.
In the center of the hall is a circular dais, adorned with a golden pedestal in the shape of an eagle in flight.
The eagle’s wings spread to support the weight of the ancient tome resting on its back.
The Book of Names.
The book holding the identities of every single person inducted into the order. Including mine, after today.
I tear my eyes away from the book and turn my attention to the man standing beside it.
The Eagle.
Lord Amon Malis is more than the ruler of the Aviary—he is my captor, the orchestrator of my torment.
It was his gilded tongue that coaxed my father into handing me over to the Aviary, binding me with his manipulative words and oppressive authority.
And he spent the years that followed cutting my metaphorical wings with calculated cruelty.
Breathe.
The reminder echoes through my mind, and I force air through my gritted teeth, fighting the urge to fist my hands as bitterness rises like bile in my throat.
His features are sharp like cut glass. Fathomless eyes the color of a soulless night sky, sleek black hair braided down the back of his golden robes that gleam against his sun-burnished skin. Those barren eyes flick toward me, and a shiver travels unbidden down my spine.
Like a well-orchestrated dance, our two lines split, the six of us forming up around the circular dais before standing to attention.
When I first came to the Aviary, our number was nine, but over the years a third of our group have gone missing.
After no answers and countless punishments, we became all too acquainted with the Aviary’s first rule.
Ask no questions.
As one, we wait with bated breath. My heart thumps painfully against my rib cage as I fight to keep my expression neutral and my posture straight. The tension in the room hones to a lethal sharpness as endless moments pass.
Finally, the Eagle cuts through the silence.
“We have chosen each of you for this day.” His steely voice echoes around the chamber like the metallic song of blades clashing in battle.
“From Fledglings you have been reared, guided, and trained in our order—now it is time to spread your wings. Today is not only an acknowledgment of your accomplishments, but also the ultimate test of your dedication and loyalty to our kingdom. You will each drink from the Eagle’s Kylix, and—if the great god Notos deems you worthy—you will be recorded in the Book of Names.
From this day forth, under the watchful eyes of the Aviary, you will shed your past self and begin your life anew. ”
The dissident part of me is tempted to ask what will happen if Notos doesn’t deem us worthy. To question how he will judge us, considering he disappeared centuries ago. Fortunately, I manage enough self-restraint to hold my tongue.
“Fledgling,” Lord Malis says, his eyes fixed to my right. “Make your vow.”
My body tenses as Mateo steps forward, head held high and voice clear as he speaks.
“From this time forward, under the eyes of Notos, god of the Southern Land and Wind, Bringer of Summer, I pledge my life and allegiance to the Aviary and the Sorrows. I vow to be the eyes of the Eagle and the wind beneath the wings of our order. From this day until my last day.”
An Owl steps into the circle and approaches Mateo, gripping a large kylix by its handles. My eyes narrow on the vessel as a thrum of power emanates from it. A trickle of unease runs through me at the unfamiliar markings carved into its golden surface—they’re unlike any goiteía I’ve seen before.
After a brief hesitation, Mateo reaches out to grasp the handles, bringing the vessel to his lips. He closes his eyes, throat bobbing as he swallows. The rest of us hold our breath. Not a whisper of air escapes us as we watch the scene unfold.
Up on the dais, Lord Malis raises his eyes from the pages of the book, the shadow of a smile on his face. “Welcome to the Aviary, Petrel. May your flight be long.”
Mateo steps back to his place in the circle, a broad grin breaking out on his face when our eyes connect. I return it, relief soaking into my bones, easing away some of the tension I’ve been carrying.
I watch on in stoic silence while Lord Malis carries on with the ceremony. As each of my cohort makes their vow and receives their name, I vaguely wonder how many bird breeds there are in the kingdoms.
The thought shatters apart as a shrill scream pierces the air.
The Owl snatches the kylix out of Luci’s hands, and she claws at her throat, carving red welts into her skin. She chokes on another scream, blood dripping from her mouth, before she collapses with a wet, rasping gasp.
We all watch in horrified silence, shock freezing our feet to the marble floor beneath us as Luci finally falls still.
“Such a shame.” The Eagle’s vicious words slash through the room—carving a hole through my chest and tearing the air from my lungs.
I blink, and suddenly, the vision of another girl flashes before me—too young, too delicate for a place like this.
Another blink, and the image dissolves, my sight sharpening once more.
My focus shifts from Luci to him, only to find his black stare boring into me as the next word leaves his lips. “Continue.”
To my right, Nyssa trembles beside Luci’s unmoving body.
Her usually warm skin is a pallid shade as she speaks her oath, accepting the vessel with shaky hands.
I hold my breath as she brings the kylix to her lips, only releasing it once she hands it back and appears unaffected—the air escapes my burning lungs in a tenuous sigh of relief.
She’s safe. Nyssa is safe.
And then the Owl stands before me.
“Fledgling.” Lord Malis’s cold voice forces my eyes back toward where he stands on the dais. There’s something more in his tone, like he’s daring me to refuse my fate.
Daring me to give him any excuse to punish me and put me in my place.
I despise the way he watches me, like he’s always waiting for something.
A fractured plank of wood cuts into the sole of my foot as I stand on the dock, trapped in the Eagle’s gaze as he watches for any sign of weakness. The air around me hangs heavy and motionless, as if it, too, is waiting with him—holding its breath.
I shove the memory back and lift my chin, meeting Lord Malis’s bottomless stare as he continues.
“Make your vow.”
The words flow from my lips, and pride burns within me at the strength in my voice. With the final word, I accept the kylix, drinking the very last drops of liquid.
Thoughts race through my mind as magic crawls through me. It forces itself down my throat and claws through my bloodstream, attempting to scent every secret and every shadowed corner of my soul.
Perhaps I’ll be the next to drop dead. Maybe whatever goiteía are carved into the kylix will deem me unworthy and claim my life as penance.
I smother a gasp when power surges within me, cresting like a wave rolling into shore, cascading through my entire being. It crashes over the crawling sensation with such force the magic from the kylix disintegrates.
Moments of tense silence pass, and throughout them all, I refuse to drop the Eagle’s gaze. Refuse to let even a sliver of the confusion whirling inside me slip past my defenses.
Eventually, the lingering sensations fade entirely, and Lord Malis drops his eyes from me. I inhale sharply with relief as the sound of a quill scratching against parchment penetrates the pounding of my heart in my ears.
“Welcome to the Aviary, Starling. May your flight be long.”
Starling.
I pass the name back and forth in my mind as I lie in my bed, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.
I savor it. Despise it.
Twist it back and forth to examine each letter and syllable, uncertain whether the thrill it evokes outweighs the sorrow.