I flatten my palm andblow.
Nee tumbles through the air, fluttering back toward the moons as I retrieve my bits of bone, inspecting both. Almost identical.
Creators, I’m good.
With a steadying breath, I bring my ankle forward and wedge both picks into the lock, close my eyes, and use the honed tips to feel around the mechanism’s insides. Like mapping the lay of the land while soaring between Surí’s heaving wings. Hard to picture without the vision of Pah’s escorts flying either side, boxing us in.
It’s for your own safety,Pah would say every time he caught us trying to leave without them.Are you a princess or a fool?
My upper lip trembles to pull back from my teeth.
I hate that by being here I’m proving him right. A spark of rage I exploit, using it to double my efforts.
Brow bunched, I twist the pin, nudging a metal tab aside—
Nee stops fluttering.
My eyes pop open.
I hide the pins, scoop Nee into my palm, and pull her against my thumping chest, tucking the bits of bone beneath my pallet before I curl into a ball and dash the blanket over us both. Waiting.
I count to one hundred, back to one. Repeat.
Nothing.
Pulling a deep breath, I shove the blanket down and rock onto my knees. “False alarm,” I whisper, then lift my hand and blow on Nee’s wings.
She tumbles off my palm and immediately flutters back to my neck, where she nuzzles amongst my hair.
Weird …
“You’re okay,” I whisper, cupping her with my hand. I place her upside down in my lap and rub my thumb across her name, smiling. “I know change is scary, but it’s going to be okay. I promise. I’m going to look after you, remember?”
I lift the corner of my pallet and retrieve both picks, checking them for damage, when a deep liquid voice boots me in the chest.
“Who are you talking to, Princess?”
My body jolts with such violence that when my limbs recoil around myself—protecting my precious Nee—it likely presents as self-defense.
Hopefully.
“The wall,” I rasp.
My captor emerges from a slab of shadow, stepping close to the bars, his face cast in the darkness of his floppy hood.
The Scavenger King.
“The wall, you say?”
The question is a torrent of magma splashing against me.
Burningme.
“Yes.” Working to steady my voice, I say, “I guess the loneliness has taken a toll.”
“Ah.” He reaches into the pocket of his frayed cloak, pulls out a chunky key, and clunks it into the lock.
Shit.
