I realize, with chest-crushing finality, that nothing I say is going to change his mind.
That I have to let her go.
“Before I order the lantern flame to burn her in your hands.”
A small sob before I force my face smooth, my next words wobbly. “Can I— Can I say a quick goodbye? Please?”
For a moment, he just stares at me, then offers a single dip of his head.
Doing everything in my power to stop my chin from trembling, I murmura quiet “thank you,” then rest my lips against my curled fingers caging my little Nee. Something I’ll never forgive myself for.
But I don’t think about that right now as she bats against her confines—likely confused. Trying to nuzzle between my fingers so she can dart back to the safety of my neck.
Her favorite place.
Instead, I soften my swollen throat and sing to her, my words slow and gentle. A song that’s been with me for so long I don’t remember where I heard it first. All I know is, for some unknown reason, it means more to me than almost anything else. A lullaby I’ve only ever uttered to myself and with no risk of others listening.
Singing it before this monster breaks my heart, but it’s not for him.
It’s for my little Nee. A lilting goodbye so she isn’t taken away without knowing how much she’sloved.
Liu ath na, juu ta ne guile no …
Too la too. Too la too.
Liu ath na, juu ta ne guile no.
Eeah to ail. Eeah to ail …
Nee quells her fluttering and relaxes into my grip. Trusting me.
My next breath burns.
Slowly, I move my hands forward, then lower them to rest against his … trying to force myself to loosen my hold.
To let her go.
But all I can see are those three little letters. The blood splotch. Her crimped beak I desperately want to smooth.
All I can feel is the physical and mental fissures prying me open, shattering me in slow motion.
Han dui garl, igath da se se marth.
Eeah to ail. Eeah to ail—
The Scavenger King sighs, then dashes my hands apart.
He shoves to a stand with Nee caught between his ravaged fingers, wiggling more than she ever has, wings batting to the same tempo as my smashing heart. Slitting her captor’s palm with a papercut that drips blood on the ground.
“Please, be gentler with her. She doesn’t like being held that wa—”
The sound of ripping parchment severs me as he tears her down the middle, stilling her in one smooth, apathetic motion. I feel that same rip tear through the fibers of my heart, cleaving both chunks apart.
A guttural groan dredges up my throat, contorting my face on its rush to freedom.
He drops her lifeless halves and spins, storming from the cell before she even hits the ground.
I fall upon what’s left of my beautiful little Nee, touching her torn edges, her blood splotch, the crimp in her beak. I pull her against my chest, press her close to my heart—rocking.
