Chapter 11
A scream pierces the silent night, cut off by a loud crack.
Shattered planks of a boat…bubbles floating to the surface of a dark, hungry canal…a too-small hand reaching—
The sharp knock at the door jolts me awake, each deliberate strike pounding through my skull like a relentless drumbeat.
Pain flares behind my eyes as I squint at the sunlight streaming into the room, spilling over the murals hung on the spacious walls.
The bed I’m buried in, draped with a luxurious canopy, mocks me with its comfort I cannot truly enjoy.
A groan escapes me, the aftermath of yet another fitful night without somniseed clinging to me, dragging at the edges of my weary mind.
The vial tucked away in my nightstand feels like it’s glaring at me, its weight a silent taunt. I shove the thought aside and burrow deeper into the blankets, seeking solace in their fleeting warmth.
The knock comes again, sharper and more insistent.
“Anemoi strike me down,” I mutter under my breath. “Is a single decent night of sleep too much to ask?”
“Not even the gods can save you from this, Starling,” a voice drawls from the doorway.
I peer out from under the covers, my glare meeting the infuriating sight of Raven leaning against the frame.
His smirk tilts wider under my stare, all sharp lines and deliberate mockery. Something flickers in his amber eyes—challenge, maybe—but it only kindles the irritation already simmering in my chest.
“Everyone’s waiting on you,” he says, his gaze sliding over me with pointed patience before drifting toward the other side of my bed. “Including you, Sparrow.”
Next to me, Nyssa groans from under her own cocoon of blankets.
Although she and Myna have a room of their own within the chambers we were provided, she snuck into my room instead.
Nyssa’s head emerges slowly, her curls a tangled halo of defiance.
“I second Starling. Wake me when the Anemoi decide to end this misery.”
Before I can open my mouth to agree, Myna’s sharp voice cuts through the air. “If I have to deal with these insufferable idiots, so do you two. Move it!”
Raven arches a brow in mock amusement, his presence a persistent reminder of the mission we can’t afford to fail.
Resentment twists in my chest, scraping against the already frayed edges of my composure.
Reluctantly, I shove back the covers, my limbs heavy with fatigue.
Nyssa groans and follows suit, glaring at me as if this is my fault.
My lips tug upward in a faint smirk at the sight of her still in last night’s wrinkled dress, but the amusement is fleeting.
When I glance down, the stale smell of smoke and wine clinging to my own clothes pulls a similar flush of embarrassment to my cheeks.
“Give us a moment to change?” I ask Raven, forcing patience into my tone even as I stare daggers at him. His jaw tics in silent annoyance, but he rolls his eyes and retreats, shutting the door behind him with a grudging thud.
Nyssa and I move with unspoken urgency, stripping out of our clothes and replacing them with loose linen pants and tunics.
I step into the adjoining private bathing chamber, a tranquil haven of smooth marble, intricate mosaics, and the subtle aroma of essential oils.
With a longing glance toward the sunken pool, I lean over the basin and splash cool water on my face in hurried, desperate handfuls, hoping to wash away the stubborn haze of exhaustion.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirror fixed to the wall—drawn, pale, but resolute.
There’s no choice but to press forward. No rest. Not now.
When we step into the sitting room, it’s a study in exhaustion.
The space is larger than the bedroom, its warm, autumnal-hued furniture scattered about in a way that feels both inviting and chaotic.
Draping veils of fabric hang over the tall windows, partially blocking the sunlight, casting the room in a muted glow.
The others nurse steaming cups of calda like lifelines, their bleary eyes reddened from a relentless night of searching.
Even Myna looks frayed around the edges, her sharp demeanor softened by fatigue.
My muscles tense as I glance at the vessel of calda on the low table, its faint curl of steam rising like hope in the air.
I pour two cups, passing one to Nyssa before sinking into a seat.
The liquid does little to soothe the pit in my stomach, but at least it drives away the sluggish haze clouding my mind.
Lory eventually breaks the silence, his voice low, strained. “What’s the update, Commander?”
Raven steps forward, his presence heavier, more commanding now.
He unrolls a series of parchment sheets across the table, the intricate floor plans of the palace spilling into view.
Each line speaks of his tireless effort to map the labyrinthine halls, but the shaded sections—areas eliminated, locked doors left unpassed—feel like silent accusations of failure. My chest tightens.
“Between us, we’ve covered most of the palace,” Raven begins, his tone clipped, precise. “We have already checked the shaded areas. That leaves a few key areas. They’ll be harder to reach, but we have plenty of time, with the trials distracting the court.”
Heron leans forward, his frown deepening as he points to rooms on the maps. “I searched these areas here, and they were all clear.”
Lark and Lory both point out the areas they searched, and Raven crosses them out with a piece of charcoal.
The tension in the room tightens like string pulled taut, each word another twist of the knife.
Heron’s eyes flick toward me, his pity only fueling the frustration building inside me.
I ball my fists, forcing my own feelings down. Now isn’t the time to crumble.
“We have no choice but to continue,” Raven says, his voice hard as steel as he sweeps his gaze over the group.
“Starling, your focus is on winning the trials and securing your place in the Eretrian court. Ours is to find the weapon. But if you see anything—symbols, clues, anything out of the ordinary—you tell me. Sparrow and Myna, you’ll remain as handmaidens for now.
The rest will comb through every shadow of this palace, no matter what it takes. ”
His words hang heavy in the air. I glance at Nyssa, her expression mirroring my own grim determination.
Then his stare lands on me, precise and unwavering.
“How did it go last night?” Raven asks.
I shrug, the motion tense. “Nothing of note. The royal family stayed in their seats the entire time. Keres spent most of the evening observing the competitors, but there’s little to report. Though they announced the final trial—it’s supposed to be some spectacle, a performance of sorts.”
Lark scoffs, his voice dry with disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like the prince.”
“Making women perform and vie for his attention?” Myna snaps, her words cutting through the room like ice. “It sounds exactly like him.”
“Enough,” Raven growls. The command pulls every set of eyes back to him, but his gaze holds mine for a moment, heavy and searching. “Do you have a plan?”
“I’m going to dance,” I reply, my voice steady even though my heart races. The words hang in the air for a moment, met with silent skepticism.
“We’ll evaluate your talent,” Heron says, cutting straight to the point.
My jaw tightens, but I force myself to stay calm.
I’ve spent long hours under the guidance of royal instructors and Calliope.
Outside of those taught by the Aviary, it’s my strongest skill.
Before I can defend myself, Raven cuts in.
“She has the talent—I know.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.
The words hit me hard, a mix of emotions surging through me.
It’s not just that he’s speaking for me, as though I can’t prove myself—it’s the layers beneath his statement that unsettle me.
A reminder of a shared history I would rather forget.
But alongside the irritation, there’s something else: begrudging gratitude that he believes in me.
My stomach churns, anger and appreciation tangling together.
I glare at him, searching for some acknowledgment, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
Instead, he faces the rest. “What of the first two trials? Do we have any information about those?”
“None,” Myna answers, her voice holding an edge of frustration. “They’re tightly guarded secrets, to avoid tampering. Each set of trials is unique, designed to reflect the whims of the royalty.”
The room plunges into silence once more. The stakes are suffocating, and yet, I have to push forward. My eyes latch on to Nyssa’s determined expression beside me, which bolsters my resolve.
For her. For all of us. I can’t fail.
“You all need to focus on the weapon. Time is limited, and we can’t afford to waste a second.” I rise to my feet, forcing the storm of emotions in my chest into the carefully crafted box I’ve built for moments like this. With them locked away, I turn my focus to the task ahead.
The first trial is about to begin, and I intend to win.
The Flight retreat into the shadows, granting me a moment to adorn myself like royalty before rushing to the palace’s lower halls. There, the other contestants are already assembled, the atmosphere heavy with tension and the unspoken burden of rivalry hanging over us all.
My heartbeat pounds in time with the steady scrape of heels against marble as the competitors shift in place, their unease an untamed energy crackling between us.
I force myself to exhale, clinging to the illusion of calm while Lydia’s venomous gaze threatens to skewer me from across the room.
Zina and Helen mirror her malice, their expressions sharp with disdain, as though they can destroy me with their collective glare alone.