I did not return to my room that night. My soul was restless. So when Caduan left, instead of going up the stairs to my chamber, I went down

until there was nowhere else for me to go.

A faint, sour stench that was oddly familiar permeated my nostrils.

There was a low buzz in the air—voices.

I followed the sound to an open arched door. Within it, bodies hunched over haphazardly placed little tables, clutching delicate glasses or large stone cups. It reminded me of memories that I could not place.

I entered the room. I barely received so much as a glance from the other people here. I liked that. I used to spend time in a place like this, I thought. I used to feel safe there. Safety now seemed so foreign that even the ghost of it was intoxicating.

“Aefe?”

The sound of the name shattered that thought.

My eyes settled on him across the room. The memory cut close to the bone—myself, screaming, “You cannot leave me here!”

No.

Not him, not Ishqa. A different face.

Meajqa smiled at me, lifting a glass of red liquid. Two raven-haired Fey women sat beside him, but he whispered something to them, and they shot me curious looks before relinquishing their seats.

“What a surprise to see you here,” he said, gesturing to the newly empty bench beside him. “Join me! You look like you need a drink.”

He grinned, but it was not a happy expression. It reminded me of grimaces of exertion from training soldiers. I wondered if perhaps Meajqa

was putting just as much effort into this, even if he tried to hide it.

My instinct was to back away, one awkward half-step. But then another murky memory flitted through me, a memory of wine over my tongue and all the things it could wash away.

So I took the glass from Meajqa’s outstretched hand and slid into the seat beside him. He let out an amused huff of surprise when my first sip was instead a series of gulps, mouthful after mouthful of the bitter liquid burning my throat. “I was right, you did need a drink,” he said. I set down the empty glass and he promptly refilled it.

This is good.

Everything that was too loud and too big and too harsh about this world, this empty body, was a bit duller. Easier. I no longer felt as unsettled by what I had just witnessed.

I liked this.

“What has you in such dire need of wine?” Meajqa asked, then chuckled and shook his head. “That’s a ridiculous question, isn’t it?”

I did not know what he meant. Instead of answering, I just stared at him. He was dressed differently than he had been in Caduan’s meeting. Or… no, his clothing was the same, just looser and disheveled. His shirt was unbuttoned, the wrinkled dark blue fabric now falling open past his sternum to reveal smooth scar-nicked skin. A strip of blue fabric, which before had been neatly draped over his shoulder, now fell haphazardly over his arm. One wing was tucked behind him, arranged to avoid the back of his chair. The color of his feathers was especially entrancing here in the darkness, with so many twinkling lights to reflect—with every shift, they could be silver, or copper, or bright gold.

It was so beautiful it seemed garish compared to his other side.

The stump was close enough to touch. Where silver-gold feathers would have spread into a majestic wing, they were instead interrupted by a vicious wound, the feathers failing to hide darkened, gnarled flesh. The shape of the bone jutted a few inches beyond the rest, as if whoever responsible had difficulty making the cut there.

“You seem to admire my best feature,” Meajqa said.

My gaze flicked back to his face. The smile had not faded. “I’m not offended,” he added. “Everyone loves to stare.” “She did that to you.”

“She?”

“The Aran queen.”

It seemed strange to refer to her that way when I knew her not by syllables on a tongue, but by the way her jagged mind felt sawing into mine.

A barely-there twitch in that smile. “She did. Though she had some help with the harder parts.”

“Why do you not hide it?” Most of his kind, I had noticed, did not keep their wings visible unless they were being used.

“Why should I?”

“A question is not an answer.”

His eyebrows rose. “It is not,” he agreed. “The unpleasant truth is that I can’t. I can no longer shift.”

He said it as if this was an amusing anecdote. But I knew that if I was within his mind, I would feel pain here—hot and sharp like blistering skin. I was so certain of it that for a moment, I could feel it myself.

“Why?” I asked.

“There are many unpleasant side effects to her magical experimentations.”

“Experimentations,” I repeated, thinking of a room of white and white and white. For the first time, Meajqa’s smile started to fade, his eyes going far away.

“I’m not afraid or ashamed to talk about what she did,” he said. “She clearly knew nothing about us, at least at first. She was just testing, I think. Trying to understand what she could do with us. Our blood. Our bodies. Our skin—or wings.” An ugly curl to his lip. “You might wonder how she was able to do that, when we are so much stronger than humans, physically.”

I was not wondering this. I knew the answer all too well. But I said nothing. Perhaps Meajqa preferred to repeat this answer.

“Her own magic was powerful as it was,” he went on. “It grasps the mind. And they had other methods… I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything, but I was conscious for all of it.” He leaned close enough that I could smell the wine on his breath. “Months. Do you understand that sort of helplessness?”

Months. I had lived it for centuries. I almost laughed, but it seemed cruel to belittle his pain.

“I know what it is to be helpless,” I said. “Locked in a place where you see nothing and feel everything. Humans are greedy creatures. They only know how to take. For five hundred years I did not even understand how much they stole.”

My body, my past, my name, my face. My soul.

“Five hundred years,” Meajqa repeated, softly. “I heard stories of… you. What you were.”

“I became nothing. A tool to be used by them. Even my emotions were no longer my own, only mirrors to theirs.”

His solemn expression enhanced an already-unpleasant resemblance.

His gold eyes flicked to mine, and I looked away.

“I make you uncomfortable,” he murmured. “Why?” “You are Ishqa’s son.”

It was the first time I had ever said Ishqa’s name aloud. In my mind, he was shades of betrayal and anger, not a person.

“I am, unfortunately. The king told me what he did to you. As Ela’Dar’s head diplomat, I needed to be aware. Especially after my father’s… departure. His actions…” His voice grew a shade too serious. “I wish I could apologize to you for my bloodline’s betrayal. I know that I can’t, but I wish I could.”

His words were meaningless. I knew this. And yet, I found a strange kinship in Meajqa’s sorrow. It was messy and raw, like my own.

“And now he is helping the humans, despite everything.” He let out a rough laugh, took another drink of wine, and set the glass down hard. “Good riddance. We’re better off without him. He may be willing to abandon his people to go help the humans, but we have a king who embodies loyalty to his own. To Caduan, we are not disposable. One has to admire that, even when it makes matters of diplomacy difficult.” His gaze grew thoughtful. “And I have never seen my king so committed to anything as he is to this. He will burn them all to the ground in the name of a single Fey life.”

The hair prickled at the back of my neck. Meajqa’s long silence, and his stare, cut through me.

“He is doing this for you, Aefe,” he said.

“He only brought me here because he wants my help.”

“No. Maybe that’s what he wants us to think. Caduan is a private person. No one knows how he managed to bring you back. Nor will I ask. I

am no talented magician—such things are beyond me. But there are things I do know. I know hearts and minds, and I know the king’s as well as any other. Humans hurt Fey one too many times. Again and again, he saw it happen. Thus, he calculated an inarguable equation. He will remove the future possibility. This is the decision his mind made, and he made it for all of us. But his heart?”

One hundred and eighty thousand days, and I thought of you in every one.

My own heart—strange thing—was suddenly very loud, as if pounding against the insides of my ribs.

Meajqa leaned closer. “His heart is what truly lit the fires of war, and the fire burns because of you. The decision was for all of us, yes. But the vengeance? The vengeance is for you.”

FOR DAYS, I did not see Caduan. I stayed in my room, pacing. Every day, a maid would come and tell me that I could leave if I wished. Every day, I declined. On the third, I asked about Caduan. The maid gave me a strange look.

“The king is not well.” was all she would say.

For days I sat there. Sleeping. Sitting. Dreaming of the inside of others’ skins. Dreaming of past nightmares. Dreaming of white and white and white. Every day, when the maid came, I would ask about Caduan. Every day, I received the same answer.

I didn’t know why I cared so much.

But on the sixth day, after the maid’s footsteps disappeared down the hall, I stood and went to the door.

PEOPLE KEPT LOOKING at me and I decided not to care.

I had never been to Caduan’s quarters before, but I knew it was at the highest point of the castle, and I knew it was not far from my own. So I walked, bare feet treading over the marble tile of the halls and then the cold copper of the stairwells, up and up. The stairs curved, following hammered-

glass windows. Once I reached the top, I paused. Ela’Dar spread out beneath me, the city crawling over the forest-covered mountains as if it had grown alongside nature itself.

I remembered what it once had felt like to stand at the top of black cliffs and see my entire world stretching to the horizon.

Caduan had built a majestic kingdom. But five hundred years had taught me that there was little that could not be torn apart. Once, I had taken comfort in the certainty of destruction. But now, I was dizzy at the thought. I wondered what Caduan felt when he saw this view. Did he feel pride at what he had created? Or fear at the possibility of watching it crumble?

My ears pricked at the faint echo of a familiar voice. Behind me, a narrow hallway led to a door that was slightly ajar.

I approached it, peering through. There was a small room within, chairs and couches arranged around its center. Bookshelves lined the walls, plants spilling over their edges and winding across the shelves. In one chair sat Caduan, somewhat sprawled, his clothing simple and hair messy. His gaze flicked to me the minute I approached the door, and he straightened, a certain spark lighting up his expression. He looked… pleased to see me.

For a moment, I thought, without meaning to, It is good that I came here.

“Aefe,” he said. “Come in.”

I obeyed. But when I pushed the door open and stepped inside, I realized that Caduan wasn’t alone. Luia, Meajqa, and Vythian were there, too. They gave me greetings I didn’t return, except for a small smile to Meajqa that I couldn’t help. Then I looked between them, to the table at the center of the room and the map spread across it, adorned with red marks.

I went still. A terrible feeling rose in my stomach.

“Excellent timing,” Vythian said. “We were just discussing you.”

Five words, and the air in the room suddenly went cold. Caduan gave Vythian a sharp look that seemed to imply many things. I could not read the muscles on Caduan’s face, but I understood enough. I knew what it was to have my name on the lips of men looking at maps with red marks on them.

Already, I felt foolish.

“What does that mean?” I said, my voice hard.

Caduan’s glare to Vythian withered as he looked to me. “Nothing important. We can discuss it later.”

The anger took my breath away. My muscles were trembling, my jaw tight, my body betraying all the signs of my rage. Where that warmth had once glimmered in my chest, now there was a sharp ache, like a knife between my ribs.

“You can not lie to me,” I hissed.

The remnants of Caduan’s smile disappeared. He turned to Luia, Vythian, and Meajqa. “Go. Leave us alone.”

There were murmurs of protest, ceased by Caduan’s command, “Go!”

After a moment of hesitation, they shuffled from the room. I could feel them staring at me—could feel, in particular, Meajqa’s curious, pitying gaze

—but I didn’t break my own from Caduan.

The door closed. His exhaustion did nothing to dull the striking green of his eyes, and I wished now, more than ever, that I knew how to read what lay in their depths.

“You’ve heard of Tisaanah Vytezic and the artifact that she now possesses,” Caduan said.

The sound of Tisaanah’s name brought me back to uncomfortable places. I didn’t answer.

“The wayfinder she possesses,” he continued, “offers a method to locate and perhaps even harness deep reservoirs of magic known as Lejaras. They are far deeper and more potent than any magic known for hundreds upon hundreds of years. For a long time, I believed they were just myths. So did most others. But the rumors have persisted for centuries. The humans who destroyed my House did so because they believed one of these pools existed there.” His expression darkened, and he paused briefly before going on.

“Even a single Lejara is incredibly dangerous. All three together could reshape reality itself. They are perilous to wield, and can only be accessed at specific locations capable of channeling such immense forces. But if the humans were to achieve this, and find such a place, it would be catastrophic. They would have the power to annihilate all of us.” He rose to his feet with a heavy effort, and I instinctively took a step back.

“You, more than anyone,” he said, “understand how terrifying it would be if they acquired such power.”

And I did know. Intimately. I knew exactly what humans did with unrestrained destructive power because I had been that power, and it was my hands that spilled the blood of their own kind.

Still, I remained silent.

“Aefe,” Caduan spoke my name like a caress—too soft for the anger churning inside me. “I never wanted this for you. But we must find these magics and use them before the humans do. Believe me, I’ve tried every other way. But you are the only key we have.” He stepped closer, and I moved back again. “You, Aefe. I need you.”

Three words that struck like a blow.

I need you.

I had heard those words before, whispered or begged in the minds of the humans who held me. I need you, they would plead, before they unleashed me to inflict death upon their own. I need you, they would croon, before they betrayed me.

And here he was—Caduan, another one attempting to wield me, saying it again. I need you.

I want what you can give me. Be my weapon.

The hurt spilled through me like acid. “No,” I said. “No, I will not do it.”

I cannot do it. Not this. Not again.

Caduan looked pained.

“This cannot be a request, Aefe,” he said, gently. “Not this time. I tried to find every other option.”

My blood pooled in half-moons in my palms as my fingernails cut into my skin.

“I told you, no.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Choice. Choice! I hated that word, hated it the way I hated dreams that never materialized.

“I have never had a choice. I have been given the choice to be— to be

more than this. I will not be your weapon. Not again. Never.”

I did not realize I was shouting until my throat began to ache, my voice growing hoarse.

My hand closed around a quill sitting on the desk beside me. Distantly, I heard a loud slam as the door flung open, smashing against the wall. Luia ran into the room, her sword drawn.

Caduan shouted—“Luia, stand down!”—in the same moment that the quill went hurtling directly towards his emerald eyes.

He grabbed it from the air before it made contact, fist white-knuckled around the golden pen.

“One hundred and eighty thousand days I have been at the mercy of human kings,” I snarled. “And if you think you are any better than any of them, you are a fool.”

Still, Caduan met my stare. Calm. Affectionate, even.

Perhaps in another life I would have killed him—killed him for making me feel so ashamed, so betrayed, so abandoned. But today, I turned on my heel, pushing past Vythian and through the door. “Let her go,” I heard Caduan’s voice say.

“Aefe—” Meajqa murmured as I passed him, softer than the others, but I ignored him, too.

I walked down endless stairs, out the door of the castle. I walked through Ela’Dar’s streets, and I did not even care about the stares.

I kept walking and walking and walking, until I was no longer in Ela’Dar at all.