Page 49 of The Art of Exiley

“I heard that he proposes once a year, and she always says no.”

“Why do you think she won’t marry him?”

“I heard he once proposed with a bouquet of handpicked flowers, one from every country in the world.”

“Chorus would never align herself with the Blood Crown.”

“But Prince Alex is nothing like the king.”

“They need to marry so they can conceive the Child of Three to bring us out of exile.”

“The Child of Three isn’t real, and no one wants to go back anyway.”

“Everything written in the Testaments is real!”

I wonder the same things as the apprentices. This particular story doesn’t sound like it could have really happened—princes falling from the sky and singing strength—but then again, there’s so much I would never have thought possible before coming here.

The Child of Three is another common topic in my Testaments class. Apparently, at the time of the Exodus, when the Makers were first exiled, one of the Prophets of Naiot prophesied that the Child of Three (TBD on why they’re called that) would one day come and reunite them with the rest of the world.

The consensus seems to be that the prophecy Chorus recorded having in the Testament of the Fall of Naiot confirms she will be the mother of this three-pronged messiah. The jury seems split both about whether anyone actually believes this will happen and whether they even want it to. But I’vetaken the existence of the prophecy as a sign that the Makers are at least open to the idea of one day collaborating with the provincial world. Though I sure hope we don’t have to wait for this Chorus lady to finally agree to marry the prince and then wait for an infant to grow up before we can make any headway.

The thing I’m most curious about the Fall of Naiot is who the hell the strangers are. The Makers are sure they are the Inquisitors, but I know it must be someone else, and what could they possibly have had planned that was bad enough that the prophets thought dying was better?

I resolve to learn as much as I can about Chorus and the prophets. And I’ll need to ask Kor if the Families have any record of Naiot or any events that coincide with the tragedy described.

I take the reference book, maps, theTestament of Chorus, and a few other random books to make sure that my selection doesn’t look too suspicious, and I find a steward to help me check everything out. Then I head back to my room to photograph everything for the Families.

13

Kaylie leads me to the stables carrying a basket of apples and carrots. We’re going to meet Peggy, the wind horse, and Georgie and Hypatia have promised me it will be the highlight of my week.

When I told Michael I was interested in the Bioscience guild, he recommended that I reach out to Kaylie for some additional mentorship since she’s a master of the guild.

She’s been really helpful. She gave me some suggestions for projects for my gallerie, and today she wants to give me some background on the origin of the guild, which is the newest guild in Maker society.

The stable is large and well kept. Horses stick out their heads curiously as we pass each stall. They stamp their feet and shake out their manes. We approach the last stall, the air pungent with the spicy scent of animal and earth. On the wall outside the door hangs an ornate saddle made of purpled-brown leather. It has no stirrups, and there is a glass compass set into the bronze horn grip.

I hear melodic humming coming from the stall.

“Peggy has an admirer,” Kaylie jokes. “He comes here often. He’s probably already groomed her, but she needs to be taken out to stretch.”

The “he” turns out to be Rafe, who is rubbing Peggy’s neck and feeding her an apple. I almost don’t recognize him because the soft look on his face transforms him into a completely different person.

Yet even this soft version of him can’t keep my attention once I lay my eyes on Peggy.

She is stunning.

She has a silvery blond coat and a lustrous champagne mane, and at her sides lie large, iridescent wings.

I have to remind myself to breathe.

“We’re taking her out to fly,” Kaylie says to Rafe, who upon seeing us has reverted back to the familiar version I know, all hard edges and contempt.

“I was just leaving,” he responds. Ever since our Sire lab confrontation, Rafe has mostly just been ignoring me, though I continue to work with Mbali at his table.

He whispers something in Peggy’s ear—of course he’s more civil to an animal than to me—and then, with a tight smile at Kaylie, he pushes past us and exits, not even acknowledging me.

I reach over and tentatively stroke Peggy’s neck. “How is she even possible?”

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