Page 96 of King of Storms and Feathers

The Zareen’s wings were made of iridescent purple-black feathers with tips of bright gold, a perfect match for the king’s.

I bit my tongue and watched them leisurely flap their massive feathered appendages at each other as a constant procession of fae filed past and filled the baskets on the tables with ceremonial kanara feathers.

When the ritual was finally over, Arrow swaggered toward me, his smile transmitting a ridiculous degree of self-satisfaction. With a flick of his wings, strands of hair blew over my face, and the glorious feathered attachments disappeared as if they’d never existed.

I would have paid many gold feathers to learn about his wings, but I quashed my curiosity, took his offered arm with a smile, and pretended I hadn’t noticed them.

A deep frown appeared between his brows, and I swallowed a laugh, pressing my lips together tightly.

Two could play the Storm King’s childish games. When he woke tomorrow morning and found me gone, he would have no choice but to declare me the winner.

As the sun set in fiery shades of magenta and plum, Ari led me into the elevator, then back to the tent to prepare for the evening feast. Arrow and his inner circle remained in the palace, occupied with the affairs of state and kingdoms, and I was very glad not to be a part of it.

It baffled me that over a millennium, countless fae had murdered members of their own families, started wars, all for the chance to sit on a throne. Good luck to them, I thought, spending the rest of their days mired in politics, when instead, they could go fishing for river trout.

The Storm Court’s domed tents dotted the landscape around the base of the mountain, and Ari escorted me to the grandest of all. The reavers had furnished the space with low couches, a bed of stacked feather mattresses set in a pillared frame, and far too many cushions and candles.

After I bathed in a narrow tub carved from a single trunk of the white sapoula tree, I dressed in swathes of gossamer silk, then Ari braided my hair in a style that covered as much of the shaved side of my head as possible.

“When you leave Auryinnia tonight, it is crucial no one sees your shaved hair,” she warned.

“Why is that important?”

“Well… we don’t want anyone to recognize you and report back to the king, do we?”

In the mirror, her eyes dropped from mine as she spoke, and a chill prickled my skin. She was keeping something from me, but I was nervous, my mind occupied with the escape plan, so I let it go.

“Tonight, when you retire to the tent, I will bring wine. As we’ve discussed, the king’s goblet will be drugged, but only lightly. He will believe he is drunk, likely talk some nonsense, over share, and then fall into a slumber that I pray to the gold will last many hours. Wait until you’re certain he’s fast asleep, then slip out under the rear of the tent, behind the bed. I will be waiting directly outside with travel clothes and essentials, cloaked by reaver magic and invisible, but I will see you.”

“And if he wakes while I’m casually ducking out underneath a flap of canvas?”

“Pretend you’re sleepwalking. Ildri will occupy Raiden and Esen. The wine she gives them will also be drugged.”

Guilt gnawed at my insides. Poor Ildri. It wouldn’t be easy for her to drug her beloved son.

Ari gripped my chin between her fingers, studying my face. “I won’t use kohl on your eyes tonight. It’s too hard to rub off for the purpose of discreet travel.” She grabbed a jar of gold paint and dusted some over my eyelids, my lips, and cheeks. “We’ll speak more later. Go now before you’re missed, and be sure to play your part well.”

“I’ll do my best. Wish me luck,” I said and kissed her cheek before she could draw away.

Ildri entered, her red waves poppy-bright as they tumbled to her waist against a gown of shiny emerald and gold. Holding her arm out for me to grasp, she smiled. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. Thank you Ildri. For everything.”

“One day soon, you will understand the balance Ari and I hope to maintain by returning you to your people. Tonight, you must trust us. That is all. Thank the gold you’re a brave soul.”

Although the night was warm, I shivered as we strolled through the campfire smoke toward the mountain. Soldiers cooked meat and drank ale, their raucous laughter only increasing my anxiety. But a sickle moon shone a calm light upon me, and I interpreted its presence as a soothing message, hearing it whisper in my mind: all is well, human—do not be afraid.

I wasn’t afraid. Not much, anyway. I refused to think about what might happen once I left Auryinnia, and I concentrated on the memory of the forest and the bright-green gaze of my brother, Ash.

Because, tonight, what I’d dreamed of since the day Arrow took me from the gilt market was finally coming true. I had allies, people who cared about me, and they were helping me return to my home. To my family.

So what if a small part of me would miss the Storm King? After I learned of my birth name, I would scour that feeling off with dirt and stones, then bury it in the forest’s dark earth. Along with the name Leaf and all memories of Arrow’s sweet kisses.

“I was beginning to think you’d escaped again, little Leaf,” said the king as he cut through the crowd celebrating in the reaver hall.

“I wouldn’t be so foolish.”

“Yes, because you know that no matter where you flee, I will follow. I will never let you go. You are my marked one, my Aldara, bound to me forever.”

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