1 - KYREL

Content note: This story contains fantasy violence, injuries and blood, breathing distress, childhood bullying and prejudice against birdfolk, strong language, sensual scenes, and a scene with fade-to-black intimacy.

1 - KYREL

The chair broke. One discreet crack beneath my right thigh, followed by the slow surrender of a gilded arm.

I caught the loose piece before it struck the palace floor.

A court attendant approached.

“My apologies, Sir Kyrel. That chair should have been replaced.”

I stood, placed the arm on the seat, and resisted the urge to swear.

My cloak slipped open over the blue-green plates of my armor. I drew it closed before the attendant could assess how much of the damage belonged to Peryx.

Three hours of waiting had left me tired and hungry. My order expected more patience with furniture than I could offer.

Beyond the audience doors, somebody was discussing the replacement of a chapel roof. I had carried an unconscious novice out of that chapel. Hearing its decorative significance explained for the third time made my blood boil.

The attendant touched her earpiece. “Her Highness will receive you now.”

I thanked her and followed her inside. The chair had already suffered enough from accommodating me.

On the conference table, quartz weights secured a survey drawn by generations of royal cartographers. Above it, the electronic wall display carried a map of the Peacock Lands, with reports appearing along the roads.

The Palace expected centuries of craftsmanship and modern circuitry to be equally useful.

Princess Aquila stood at the head of the table. She wore a solid white dress, her only ornaments a small gold crown embroidered at her breast and a hair clip studded with sapphires and emeralds.

I set the broken chapel tile beside the quartz weights and bowed.

“Three injured, Your Highness. The remaining novices have been moved into the western dormitory. We need the southern road closed until the air has been assessed.”

“The restoration committee has already advertised access to the public,” an advisor said.

“Let’s proceed with a closure regardless.”

Aquila delivered the answer without raising her voice. Her attention remained on me.

“Explain why Peryx cannot resolve this through its existing authority.”

“Your Highness, we can protect the sacred grounds. The disturbance crosses civilian roads and settlements. Captain Sekoras has reports from our patrols, but he cannot order a village evacuation or examine a private restoration project’s records.”

She enlarged the map. “And your assessment?”

“A Tempest Vacuari. Unconfirmed, but the pattern is consistent. Violent pressure changes, localized gusts, and oxygen loss. At the chapel, the roof lifted while the courtyard trees barely moved.”

An advisor reached for the tile.

“The building was recently surveyed. Its maintenance allocation—”

“May be examined after the people have shelter,” Aquila said. “Their protection does not depend upon the quality of their masonry.”

She gave three instructions.

Close the affected roads.

Release the emergency supplies.

Combine our reports with those from the foothills.

Then she asked for the names of the injured. I provided them. She entered each name herself.

That was what I remembered when I left: the princess recording a novice’s name while an advisor waited to explain the logistics of a roof.

My greatsword waited with the palace guard, secured in its traveling sheath.

He returned it hilt first.

Two stones sat at the crossguard, blue on the left and green on the right, with a pair of slender peacock feathers bound beneath them.

My father, Percival, had worn those feathers on his ceremonial sword. Their fine green eyes had survived the years better than the ribbons that bound them.

But this blade was mine.

I fastened the harness across my back and went into the gardens before I said any of the less ceremonial thoughts occupying my head. I smoothed the left breast of my cloak, settling the embroidered peacock flat over my heart. I shifted the sword strap clear of the smaller feather badge at my shoulder.

A gardener confronted an actual peacock beside the ornamental pool.

“You are a sacred emblem. Kindly stop uprooting the begonias.”

The bird inspected another begonia.

My phone vibrated. Captain Sekoras, commanding officer of Peryx Fortress, had sent a brief update: the eastern road remained open; the missing apprentice had been found visiting his beloved.

Tell his mother immediately before she dismantles the fortress, I replied.

Then a woman said my name.

I knew her voice before I turned.

Eleven years had changed its depth.

They had done nothing to the particular firmness with which she used the second syllable.

“Kyrel.”

Ainara waited at the water’s edge with a dark green messenger bag against her hip.

A loose braid crossed one shoulder.

Her mantle concealed the folded wings beneath it, though their familiar breadth gave them away.

The fingers around her bag’s strap ended in small dark claws.

Her amber eyes traveled from my boots to my shoulders.

“Well,” she said. “They have been feeding you well.”

I had faced armed men with a steadier pulse.

“Ainara Avoir.”

“You’ve retained your powers of observation. Sir Kyrel now, I presume?”

I nodded and crossed the path.

Then I stopped at the distance a formal greeting required, which was absurd.

This woman had once fallen asleep against my shoulder while I sat motionless for an hour.

“May I?” I asked, opening my arms. She came against me without hesitation.

I held her between the roots of her hidden wings, mindful of the familiar places.

Her cheek rested against the cloak covering my breastplate.

Bitter orange lingered in her hair.

Under the citrus and travel soap was a scent I remembered from summer afternoons: warm feathers and clean linen cloth.

I had missed the girl who stole my sweets. I had not prepared for how badly I would want the woman close to me.

She eased out of the embrace to examine my face.

“I see that your eyes still hold a radiant composition of verdant hues.”

“Remember when you blamed the manufacturer? All because your coloring sticks couldn’t capture them?”

“I never did have the right green. The colors were inadequate.”

Her palm remained against my cloak and mine remained at her waist.

She removed hers first.

“I didn’t expect to find you in the capital,” I said.

“Nebesprings sent me. The officials needed a witness to accompany the photographs.”

“You brought a report too?”

“I brought a village report, three witness statements, and a jar of plum preserves for my aunt. Only the preserves have received an enthusiastic reception so far.”

I offered the broad edge of the ornamental pool.

She sat, drew her bag onto her knees, and opened it with brisk precision.

The photographs ended my pleasure in the morning. A bathhouse roof lay folded into the square, and a fruit terrace had been stripped uphill. In another image, a woman knelt beside a child whose skin had gone gray around the mouth.

“The child recovered,” she said before I asked. “Her father carried her beyond the pressure. I thought you should know that before you saw the next photograph.”

“And your family?”

“Alive. My mother has taken charge of feeding half the village. My father insists he can hold a hammer all day despite the medic’s opinion.”

She rubbed her thumb along a scrape on her hand.

I wanted to take that hand, and I wanted her several miles away from every photograph in her bag.

“The Court has released assistance,” I said. “I’ve just come from the audience.”

“Then I can go home knowing that.”

“However, I’ve also been informed that the direct road is closed.”

“There are others.”

“Yes, dangerous ones,” I muttered.

There she was: the girl who had once informed three raucous Galourian boys that they had chosen the wrong afternoon to bother her.

People remembered me arriving at that school gate. They usually stopped the story before Ainara’s part.

“I know the roads, Kyrel.”

“If this is the creature we suspect, knowing the road won’t be enough. Let me find the route that keeps you alive.”

She considered me. “You can come, if your duties allow it.”

“I would like to accompany you to Nebesprings.”

The admission changed her face. The brashness stayed, but her fingers loosened around the photographs.

Her audience notification arrived. She rose and straightened the jade clasp at her throat.

I caught the edge of her mantle before it slipped from one shoulder.

“Your wing,” I murmured.

“Thank you.”

She settled the cloth. I withdrew before I could find another reason to touch her.

The gardener passed with the disgraced peacock under one arm. She watched it go, then studied the feather insignia on my shoulder.

“Is that how they carry you out when you misbehave?”

She pressed her lips together. I wanted to put my mouth there, and the clarity of that thought nearly undid me.

“I’m about to head inside. Wait for me,” she said.

“I will.”

While she presented her report, I called Sekoras and secured the escort assignment.

Then I returned to the pool. The gardener had restored the uprooted begonias.

Glistening water caught the light in silver-green threads.

I listened for her steps through every opening of the audience doors.