“Nuieljuakui taf maruli …”
Something flutters against my neck again.
I sigh.
Guess another creature made its way in here seeking something warm to nuzzle against. If I have to kill another vuillo moth so it doesn’t lay eggs in my hair, I’ll scream.
I reach up and cup the fluttery thing, pulling it away—
nee
My heart jolts. A pitching ache I try to ignore.
… Not a dream.
The lark wiggles its tail, and I flick it off my hand, scrambling into a sitting position.
They don’t usually do that.
I stare down at the thing lying sideways on the stone … stained, bloody, a little bent out of shape. Last seen when I blew a name upon its wings with all the foolish hope of someone clinging to the belief that true magic exists.
The sort that grantsmiracles.
That I could simplywillMah back into existence, into my arms, if I only tried hard enough. Now here it is, return fold spent, looking just as beat-up and hopeless as I feel. Like a mirror I don’t want to look at, disappointed in the reflection staring back.
I sigh, set the lark aside, and cover it with a small mountain of straw.
There.
A frosty breeze threads into the cell, sending a chill scuttling over my skin. Like Clode’s taunting me with a breath from the outside world.
Repressing the urge to swear at her, I gather my torn and filthy gown around my legs and grip my diadem, pulling. A familiar nausea churns in my gut as my head splits into a screaming ache, like I’m trying to rip thick roots from my skull.
Swallowing the saliva gathered beneath my tongue, I try wedging my nails around the diadem’s sides, certain there must be a seal I can break … despite not having found one the countless times I’ve tried in the past. And with tools much fiercer than my jagged fingernails.
Warm blood leaks down the side of my nose, dripping into the folds of my dress as I pick, scratch, and gouge, my gaze bouncing from one scribbled letter on the dark-gray wall to another. Letters that appear to have been drawn by a youngling learning to write.
In this place.
I veer from the thought, looking at the ceiling covered in moons all etched in coal. Moons that remind me of—
I squeeze my eyes shut and hug my gurgling gut.
There’s the sound of fluttering wings, and I frown at the little lark taking itself skyward, shedding stalks of the straw pile it somehow escaped.
It’s tenacious, I’ll give it that.
It bounces between the sooty moons until it’s directly overhead, tilts forward, and plummets, hitting me right between the eyes before tumbling into my lap.
“Ouch,” I mutter, rubbing my head as I stare at the lark—unmoving, its beak crumpled. Something that bothers me too much.
Taking its little face between my fingers, I press it back into shape, noticing a small rip in its wing. Like it put up a fight to get here.
I wish it hadn’t. That it was still out there, fluttering around aimlessly. Free, not down here in this hopeless, lonely hole with me.
I set it on my knee and lean my head against the wall, watching. Sigh when it flips onto its back and bares its belly again.
nee
