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You’ll know, Tared had said.
All of a sudden, that seemed a perfectly reasonable instruction.
‘Feather,’ I whispered, and itfit, somehow – the same satisfying sensation that came with slipping your hand into a perfectly tailored glove, or with mixing a jar of paint to just the right hue on your very first try. Soft and harmless at first glance. Brimming with godsworn magic at a second. All I was, all I wasn’t … ‘I’m calling it Feather.’
Really, how had I evernotknown that would be its name?
‘Inspiration through murder,’ Creon said, the smallest smile quirking around his lips. ‘The alves will be proud of you.’
‘Careful.’ I glared at him as I fastened the sword back over my shoulders with jittery fingers, ready to grab it and fight. Unnervingly, the weapon seemed lighter than before. ‘I’m allowed to draw blood with it now, if you recall.’
‘You can duel me all you want once we get out of here alive.’ Somehow he managed to make it sound like the most scandalous of propositions; whether he was trying to soothe his own fears or mine, I was grateful for it. ‘Unusual as it may be, there are people more deserving of your violence in the building right now.’
I managed a chuckle. ‘First time the Mother is actually saving you, then.’
His laughter was equally strained.
We resumed our path towards the stairs, past the fallen bodies, past a few dusty crates of broken bricks that someone must have put here in better times. The tunnel remained silent behind us. Perhaps the latest explosion had finally convincedour pursuers that others would be far better equipped to deal with the trouble of our existence; they may have decided that they’d be of more use by retreating to the battlefield outside and risking their lives against living, visible opponents.
The stairs were eerily quiet, not a soul moving in the pale sunlight falling in from above. The corridor waiting for us at the top was equally deserted, nothing but the rubble of fallen statues and doors hanging askew to bear witness to the violence that had washed through the building in the past twenty-four hours.
Amused.
Where was the trap?
I used some more iridescence to scan the area before us for magic and found nothing but lingering traces of a short fight. So we tiptoed on, through the pressing silence, to the corner at the end of the corridor. Another hall opened up before us, as battered as the one we’d just crossed and just as empty—
No, wait.
It was not empty atall.
I only noticed the child on my second glance around, her small body huddled behind a marble pedestal, her dirty white dress blending in easily against that background. She was barefoot, her long dark hair dusty and tangled. There were no parents to be seen anywhere, dead or otherwise – just a handful of blood smudges staining the floor tiles, painting a grim picture of how she may have ended up in this cursed place all alone.
Her shoulders were rising and falling swiftly. Still alive, then, although I couldn’t tell if she was wounded.
‘Hello?’ I tried.
Even my hushed voice echoed through the unnatural silence. The child didn’t move – didn’t give the impression she had heard me at all.
Good sense made me scan the room with iridescence before stepping forward – no major traces of magic, again, althoughsome sparkles lit up around the little girl’s head. Next to me, Creon was watching her with bottomless eyes, strong fingers resting on the hilt of his largest knife in an unmistakable warning.
Can we go closer?I signed.
His nod was too slow for the motion to hold any reassurance.Her emotions are … messy.
I grimaced.Can’t blame her.
He granted me that point with a grim smile, gesturing for me to go ahead.
Even as I walked towards her, deliberately noisy so as not to startle her, the child didn’t so much as lift her head, curled up in her own little world of misery. For a moment, I wondered whether she might be sleeping; when I knelt before her, her breath didn’t even quicken, and her face remained hidden behind her arms and those thick, black tresses.
‘Hello?’ I whispered again.
Her head jerked up.
A face from hell stared back at me.
I recoiled as if I’d been slapped, a choked cry slipping past my lips. The creation before me … It still had all the elements a face should have – mouth, nose, eyes. But the little girl’s lips were a pale blue, the skin chapped and bloodless. Her nose was crooked and likely broken. And hereyes…
