Page 67 of Flame and Sparrow

I pried my eyes away from the window and the golden horses and followed him.

He led me into a wide-open space at the very top of the tower. Its walls and floor were both made of white stone, making it appear more like an outdoor courtyard than anything. It seemed to be a central hub of sorts, with six closed doors spaced evenly around it. A table stood in the center of the room, surrounded by tall-backed chairs. It was easy to picture important meetings occurring regularly around this dark, elegant table.

The ceiling was the same as the one in the atrium, made of tinted glass letting in enough light to feed the plants growing all around the space.

I was surprised to see more things growing wild here, same as in that atrium; I had never associated the God of Fire with life. But there were living things everywhere in his palace, the most prominent here being flowering-vines that climbed trellises spaced evenly between the doors.

“I had no need for other tricks,” he told me, reaching for one of the red flowers clinging to these vines. It was withered, barely clinging to life, and I watched as he summoned a tiny bit of perfectly controlled fire to his palm and turned the bloom to ashes. He did this to a few more shriveled blooms, burning away the dead things to allow room for healthy new growth.

“Can I trust anything you say at this point?” I asked.

“Wouldyou trust anything I said to you at this point?”

“No.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Then does it matter how I answer that question?”

I looked away, still fuming, yet silent for the moment; at least he seemed to be giving me answers now. There was no way of knowing if they were honest or not, but I still preferred them to silence and being shoved away, alone, in my room or cottage or wherever else.

He left me for a few minutes, busying himself with speaking to the few beings who were moving in and out of the rooms here. Some of those beings, like Rieta, looked human. Others were clearly anything but, and I wondered: Had Dravyn created all of these creatures? And if not, then where had they come from?

I started to wander after him, questions racing through my mind, when a dark blur hurtled down through the ceiling and stopped me in my tracks.

Moth.

He swooped down from an opening in the ceiling, flaring his wings and flapping for a moment before spotting me. He gave a happy squawk before darting forward and circling me, and despite all of my questions and lingering, festering anger, I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him.

The smile faded quickly as the God of Fire returned to my side. He held out his hand, which Moth didn’t hesitate to land upon.

I watched the griffin preening for a moment, frowning. The pit that had opened in my stomach when I’d learned of Rieta’s true form opened wider, threatening to swallow me up again.

“I suppose I can’t trust this little beast either?” I asked. “Did you send him to spy and cause me trouble?”

“Him?” Dravyn chuckled. “I assure you I sent him nowhere; in case you haven’t noticed, he very much has a mind of his own.”

I watched the griffin for a moment—he was busy chewing contentedly on Dravyn’s sleeve—and I couldn’t think of any proof to the contrary.

“…It does seem like you could have sent a more capable spy,” I admitted. “One that wasn’t prone to bursting into flames at unfortunate times.”

“You don’t know the half of his unfortunate tendencies,” Dravyn murmured.

Moth gave his hand a sharp nip in response, making the god curse, and I promptly decided that if Iwasgoing to trust anyone in this realm again, it would be this griffin.

“He was one of the first creatures I ever brought to life in the Tower of Creation,” Dravyn said, giving his bitten hand a shake. “So the edges of him are admittedly rough.” Moth attempted another nip, which Dravyn managed to dodge this time. He shot his creation a withering look as he said, “The magic in that tower is wild and difficult to take charge of and shape—a true test of a young Marr’s grip on their divine power. Rarely is anything viable or desirable created on a first try; most gods destroy their first creations and try again, even. No desire to put their failed attempts on display…”

“But not you?”

He exhaled something between a laugh and a sigh, and the griffin leapt from his hand to the air, tumbled through a few less-than-graceful flips in the air, and then crashed into my chest.

I instinctively wrapped my arms around his squirming, flailing body. When I had him secured, I glanced up and found Dravyn watching us with a curious gleam in his eyes.

“I suppose the sight of him—and his flaws—keeps me humble,” he said.

I snorted.

A corner of his mouth lifted. “You don’t think me humble?”

“…If what I’ve witnessed thus far is youhumble, then I suppose I should be thanking the stars that at least you’re not any more insufferable than you currently are.”

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