Page 58 of King of Storms and Feathers

Ignoring the mouth-watering smells of cinnamon and cardamom, I drank in the sights outside the window, my breath hitching when we passed Arrow’s waterfall pool and I realized I had a perfect view of the streets surrounding it. I committed to memory as many landmarks and possible hiding places as I could.

A flash of yellow cloth caught my eye, and I craned my neck to get a better look. “That man disappeared through a hedge,” I said, pointing at a wall that was possibly only a ten minute walk from the waterfall pool.

Laughing, Ildri gave my knee a maternal squeeze. “That was a gold reaver elf, like our Sayeeda. What you saw was a doorway, an exit from the city that only opens for the reavers.”

Rubbing my clammy palms on my tunic, I gritted my teeth to stop myself from asking questions. Even the most innocent of them would raise my companions’ suspicions.

My mind raced as I wondered if there was a way to force the mysterious door open without reaver magic. Perhaps I could coax some details about it from Ari tomorrow.

As she worked in Arrow’s apartment, she often answered my questions distractedly and revealed more about the court and city than she probably intended. Especially if I peppered vague comments about Raiden into the conversation.

“Human, you can have the last cake,” Esen said, offering the sweet to me on the cloth, her lips twisted in the approximate shape of a smile. “The king asked me to be nice to you today. It’s a peace offering.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the cake before she changed her mind. I was too hungry to refuse a delicious treat just to annoy her. I scoffed it down, then licked the honey from my fingers. “Got any more of those in your satchel?” I asked. “I’m sure the king would approve if you gave me another.”

Esen laughed, a harsh unpleasant sound.

Last night I’d stayed awake too long, waiting hours for Arrow’s grip to loosen, and now tiredness overwhelmed me. I yawned and let the fae’s conversation wash over me, angled my body toward the window, and studied the view.

Coridon was a large, bustling city, and I stared wide-eyed as the carriage rattled along gold-paved pathways past shops and dwellings. Gold glinted from arched doorways and high turrets, flashing brightly in the sun and making me squint.

After a while, the faces of the fae traveling on carts and carriages blurred, my thoughts floating in a haze, and growing duller, as my error slowly dawned on me.

The cake… Esen had poisoned me.

Feeling sick to my stomach, I studied Ildri. Her eyes seemed clear. Her smile and words were sharp as she chatted, sharing her hopes that before long, the court would visit the Auryinnia Mine again.

Beyond my control, my eyes closed and didn’t open until Esen shoved my shoulder, hissing in my ear, “We’re here. Wake up.”

Raiden and Ildri stood out front of an enormous black-stone building, which I assumed must be the city’s famous gold foundry. Instead of slapping Esen’s smirking face, I shot her a glare and climbed out of the carriage, trying not to trip over the chain between my legs.

Raiden steadied me as I swayed on the pavement. “You all right?”

I nodded and shook him off.

Concentrating on every step so I didn’t fall flat on my face, I caught up to Ildri, who threaded her arm through mine and guided me gently forward. I couldn’t tell by her inscrutable expression if she knew that Esen had drugged me. Perhaps she didn’t care.

The foundry manager, a tall elf with long gold hair and bronze-colored wings folded against the back of his uniform, met us at the entrance. With a proud smile, he swept us into the building, eager to begin the tour.

Inside, a hellish nightmare of heat and flame enveloped me, the air reeking of coal smoke and magic that made my already reeling head spin faster. The manager’s pale eyes flicked down to my chain, then quickly away, and I wondered if the king had warned him to pretend not to notice it.

Hoping I didn’t pass out, I stared over a railing at the floor below, where enormous clay crucibles hung above large furnaces. Fixed on bars, the crucibles tipped, pouring gold into ornamental casts. The manager told us that when they cooled, they formed the sheets of gold, filigree feathers, and lightning bolts that the builders used to decorate the city.

Rows of fae sat in front of the fires, dressed in loincloths and blowing air into the bottom of the flames with leather pipes they held to their mouths. The heat was so intense that they probably only remained conscious by using magic. I didn’t envy them their jobs.

I longed to pester our guide with questions, but in my fuzzy, drugged state, all I could do was nod and pretend I understood his lecture. I focused my energy on staying upright, the crash and bang of irregularly beaten metal in the distance shuddering through my teeth and bones.

“What’s wrong?” Raiden asked. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, focusing on his face with great difficulty.

He gave me an odd look, then headed toward the guide, who beckoned him over to watch a demonstration of new gold beading equipment.

A wave of nausea swamped me, and I fell behind as the party moved into the next room. Clutching my stomach, I ducked between some inactive machinery and vomited on the floor.

“Poor little human,” Esen said from behind me. “Feeling unwell, are you?”

Wiping my mouth, I turned and faced her. “Thanks to you.”

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