Chapter 37
Despite the concealing charm hanging from my neck, I hover in the dungeon stairwell, clinging to the shadows where the light from the antechamber doesn’t quite reach.
In all my years with the order, this is my first time down here. The cells are off-limits to Fledglings, and I was sent off to Eretria as soon as I was Named. Even if that weren’t the case, I know I would have avoided coming here for as long as possible.
The dungeons are well below the Aviary, the entrance located just down the hall from the kitchens. It’s always bothered me. The idea that someone thought it made sense to build such a desolate place so close to the most heartwarming one.
The atmosphere down here is cold and damp and heavy. Salt from the ocean has seeped into the walls over the years, and I can see some places that have started to crumble and been patched up.
Misery and despair taint the air, and—despite the chatter among the Nightwings in the guardroom—an eerie silence presses into my mind.
I take a step down into the room, freezing when the grit on the floor crunches beneath my foot. My eyes drift over the four guards seated at a rickety table and joking among themselves as though they have no cares in the realm.
As though they aren’t here guarding a man who is about to lose his life.
Disgust curls my lips, and I look past them, my gaze landing on the one stoic Nightwing stationed by the heavy wooden door that must lead to the cells.
Myna.
I hold in the sigh of relief that wants to break free when she doesn’t look my way. Instead, she huffs and shakes her head at the others before pulling a ring of keys from her pocket and slipping one into the door behind her.
Myna mumbles under her breath as she walks through, and a whisper-thin sigh escapes me when she leaves the door ajar.
Fighting to keep my body relaxed and placing my feet as carefully as I can manage, I follow her, watching the other guards as I slip through the crack.
My eyes narrow as I take in the gloomy corridor. Empty cells line the walls, their doors hanging wide like the gaping maws of beasts waiting to lure victims in.
The faint snick of the door closing sounds behind me, and I whirl, watching Myna as her dark eyes scan the surrounding space.
Even though I know she can’t see me, I remain motionless, as if my very being is sculpted from marble.
The only movement is the frantic pounding of my heart, a trapped bird trying to break free from the cage of my chest.
“You have five seconds to show yourself, Starling,” Myna says, her words shattering any lingering hope I had. “One…”
My eyes narrow on her, taking in the dark cloud of curls, the familiar scar that always pales whenever her lips pull into a smile.
“Two…”
Do I…have to kill her?
I cringe away from the thought, shoving it aside as violently as it pushed into my mind.
“Three…”
Perhaps I could think more clearly if she would allow me a mo—
“Four…”
“Oh, stop with the fucking counting,” I hiss, reaching up and pulling the necklace over my head. The telltale sensation of cobwebs sliding off my skin confirms I’m visible once more, so I send her a glare she can see this time. “How did you know?”
Myna crosses her arms and cocks a brow at me, entirely unfazed. “On the road to Port Belana, you didn’t truly believe it would take me that long to scout the area and return to camp, did you?”
“You saw?”
“Yes.”
Instead of the dread I expect to feel at her confirmation, a new feeling takes flight.
The hesitant flutter of something more dangerous.
Hope.
“And you said nothing?” I ask, trying to keep my words steady. To not let that tentative feeling creep into the cadence of my voice and betray me.
“Obviously not.”
“Why?”
She shrugs, a subtle shift of her shoulders that is both lethal and elegant at once. “Perhaps you’re not the only one who is uncomfortable with the Eagle’s plans.”
“Then help me stop him,” I plead, taking a cautious step toward her. “Please, Melantha.”
“Oh, we’re resorting to true names now,” she says dryly, her eyes flashing in the dim light. “So, should I call you Aella? Or address you as Your Highness?”
She knows.
The realization slams into me like a wave, leaving me momentarily breathless.
Suddenly, the ground beneath my feet seems less stable, the air around us charged with a new energy.
All this time, I’d wrapped myself in a veil of anonymity, believing it shielded me from recognition, from the past I had been cast from.
Yet here she stands, seemingly unaffected, casually tossing my true name between us like a weapon she’s decided, for now, to leave sheathed.
A denial rises to my lips, but it falters under the weight of her unwavering gaze.
“When did you figure it out?” I finally ask, forcing the words past the tightening of my throat.
She laughs bitterly, running her hands through her midnight curls.
“There were signs. So many I feel foolish for not piecing it all together sooner. Your hair color never quite suited you. You handled court life and etiquette better than a Songbird fresh from the nest should have been able to. But then when I saw your the?kós and realized Sparrow never stopped calling you Aella, things started falling into place.” She hesitates, her voice softening as she speaks again.
“When we got back, I slipped into the palace. In the king’s chambers, there’s a portrait of your mother. You look just like her.”
Myna falls silent, and I search for something to say, but her revelation has stolen my ability to speak. Instead, we both stand in silence, eyes locked, each of us warily watching the other, cautiously waiting for the next move in this standoff.
“Does the Eagle know of your magic?” Myna eventually asks, and a quiet laugh huffs out of me. It echoes faintly, the sound too foreign in a place like this.
“No,” I reply carefully, drawing out the word. “No one else knows. Can you even begin to imagine the chaos if someone with wind the?kós were exposed?”
Myna curses under her breath and starts pacing, the muscles bunching in her shoulders as she runs a hand through her hair again. When she turns back, I can see the conflict swirling in the dark depths of her eyes, losing the battle to a glimmer of resolve.
“This is dangerous, Aella.”
“No, Myna, this is wrong,” I say firmly, latching on to her uncertainty and ignoring the way my heart lurches at the sound of my name falling from her lips.
“You know that just as well as I do. What the Eagle has planned…I can’t stand by and let that happen.
And after the time we spent together in Eretria, I don’t think you can either. ”
Myna closes her eyes and draws in a deep breath. When she opens them again, they burn brighter and clearer than before.
“If I allow this—if I help you—we are going to do this my way.”
Relief floods through me, and I don’t bother hiding my smile.
“I can work with that.”
Myna’s decision hangs heavy in the air between us. Her expression shifts, resolve hardening into something unshakable. “Go,” she says, her voice low but unwavering. “I’ll make sure no one comes in. You’ll have only a few minutes—make them count.”
I nod, swallowing the surge of gratitude rising in my chest. Turning away, I head deeper into the corridor.
From the antechamber, the sharp edge of Myna’s orders slices through the murmurs of the guards. Her commanding tone quells the chatter, any lingering murmurs cut off by the door closing behind her. The shadows of the dungeon tighten their grip, the oppressive darkness closing in around me.
Ahead, the dim flicker of a torch casts an unsteady glow against the damp stone walls, illuminating the iron bars of the only occupied cell. “I was wondering if I would see your face again, little bird.”
Xan sits slumped against the damp brick wall, his dirty silver hair brushed roughly to the side, as though he’s been running his hand through it repeatedly.
“Is that so?” I ask, keeping my voice low so it doesn’t carry down the corridor.
“It’s nice to look at something pretty before you die.”
“I’m flattered,” I deadpan, before I take a step closer, examining the goiteía carved into the iron bars.
They’re basic markings, mostly to infuse strength into the metal and cause pain to anyone who touches them.
It’s almost laughable how poorly guarded Xan is—but they would never imagine deception from someone within the order.
Just another example of the Eagle’s hubris at play.
Xan shifts, drawing my attention, and I take a moment to study him more closely. Fresh blood, weeping from half a dozen large cuts across his chest, stains his ripped tunic.
He averts his face from me, but I can still discern a split above his right eyebrow, blood dripping from it like garish face paint. He still wears the collar and cuffs, but is at least no longer burdened by chains now that they think he’s secure enough behind these bars.
“What happened to you?” The question is hollow and broken, leaving an acrid taste in my mouth.
His responding laugh is self-deprecating. The sound is like a knife twisting in my chest, tearing through nerves and tissue. “It would be much quicker for me to list all the things that haven’t happened to me.”
I unsheathe my dagger and run my thumb along the flat of the feathered blade. The movement draws his eye, and he zeroes in on my weapon.
“Where did you get that?”
I frown, remembering how he’d appeared interested the first time he saw it, when I removed his muzzle. At first, I’d thought he was simply interested in any weapon. But maybe it’s something more. I shift the dagger, watching the way he tracks it. “I’ll trade my song for yours.”
“Typical bird,” he bites out, slumping back against the wall.
“I haven’t survived this world by just giving my secrets away for nothing.”
Xan tilts his head and considers me. Slowly, he pulls himself up from the floor and prowls toward the bars.