Rhae clutched the albatross skull in one hand and her favorite flute in the other, mentally going over the instructions for gliding between the sections of the Bridge on the wings that Thenxi had loaned to her. She peeked over the edge, taking in the vista of shattered stone and twisted steel below her until she grew dizzy and hopped back. No matter how many times she had rehearsed the next step in her head, launching herself into the void seemed overwhelming.
Her teacher gestured at the scene, a grand smile on her lips.
“To the right, you’ll see a crack five times as wide as you are tall, stretching four hundred feet from top to bottom. Use that to orient yourself in the air. The clouds may swirl and block out your vision, but stay calm and look for that landmark. You should still be able to see it from most places in the air.”
Thenxi paused in her speech and patted Rhae’s shoulder. "Don't look so discouraged, child."
Rhae didn’t want to disappoint the older woman after she’d put in so much effort to teach Rhae, but it was already mid-afternoon without much progress to show for their day’s work. She leaned forward to look again, but backed away without even approaching the launching point. “I’ll bet it’s beautiful once I’m in the air!”
Thenxi rubbed her temples. “We’ll take a break. Get some water and repeat the rules as I instructed. When we return, I’m throwing you off the edge if you don’t jump.”
It was clear to Rhae that Thenxi had lost her argument with Aravind. The crèche father had warned Thenxi that Rhae wasn’t ready for the heights. He’d tried to convince her to let him travel below with Meri and Rhae to practice tandem flying, but she’d chased him off and told him that Rhae was ready to dance with storms—a little ride in the air would be nothing compared to the fight to come.
As she chewed on dried fish and a green paste made from seaweed that only grew near the Western crèche, Rhae watched Taras and Meri practice with the cleric’s enchanted shield. The Bridge boy was a natural, as far as she could tell, unlike her, but for some reason Taras kept making him repeat the same movements over and over again. They all looked perfect. Why was Taras so mean, sometimes? Meri was trying his best!
Meri dodged a beam of light, stepping in a half circle to his left, crouched low. He balanced on the balls of his feet in a light, strong stance that reminded Rhae of a dancer. He met the next blast of light with the shield, bracing himself to take the attack head on. The incorporeal blow slammed into him, knocking him backward. He buckled and went down to one knee, but didn’t fall over. Taras clapped him on the shoulder and helped him back to his feet with a grim smile. Meri smiled back at the gruff Cleric.
Rhae scratched her horn. She didn’t know how he found the courage to keep training. If Thenxi pushed her the same way Taras pushed Meri, she would have quit already. The thought lingered in her mind for a moment, accusing her: she had quit already, she just hadn’t admitted it aloud yet to Thenxi. But her heart wasn’t it in, not since she’d seen the ragged wings. Why did they have to look so plain? She’d wanted to be a fairy.
A wave and smile from Meri prompted her into action. Rhae jumped up from her snack, snatched the wings, and marched back to the cliff. She fastened on the contraption, tightening the straps and checking the balance just the way that Thenxi had showed her.
“Where are you going, child?” Thenxi called just then, approaching with a new basket of food for Taras and Meri.
Rhae turned to her and waved, then fell backward off the rim of the world.
=+=
Grimhilt flipped through the pile of papers on his desk. Another late night, and still he couldn’t keep up with the influx of responsibilities. Indara had him chasing shadows in three directions at once. He sighed and stuffed the records into a drawer. At this rate, he’d have to hire an intern to take care of everything.
Surely Indara had better things to do than drown him in paperwork. She knew when she had promoted him that he possessed a narrow array of talents: namely, killing things. Paper was already dead—may the trees from which they came all rest in peace.
Grimhilt shook his head to clear the ridiculous thoughts and decided to compromise. He grumbled as he grabbed the remaining letters. One more go and then he’d turn in for the night. That was his best and final offer. He thumbed through his final report for the morning, discarding anything mundane, which looked like all of it.
When he reached the last paper, however, he sat upright, a bolt of awareness piercing through his haze of too-little sleep. Bless the Imperial prison warden; he had finally responded to Grimhilt’s repeated requests for follow-up and included a list of the dead attackers and their responsibilities.
The first few names on the list were minor offenders, but about a third of the way down, one name stood out like it was gilt in gold. He read it twice just to make sure that he wasn’t imagining things, but the letters never wavered as he traced them with his finger: Councillor Oskar Freyman: Indara's main rival before the purge.
Grimhilt poured himself a nightcap and settled into bed. Sleep was overrated when he had a snake to behead, but he didn’t feel like any more work tonight.
Morning came with the next blink of his eyes, just the way he preferred. Dreams were a nuisance, as far as he was concerned. Better to get up and get on with things, once sleep was over, but he admitted the rest had proven most refreshing.
Grimhilt shrugged on his uniform and belted his sword in place, practically strutting as he grabbed a sausage from the cold cellar and marched to the armory to begin training. As much as he dreaded dealing with politicians—and Freyman was the worst of the lot—nothing put him in a good mood as much as the prospect of a good fight.
He waved over an aide when he reached the armory. If Freyman had a hand in the plot, then violence was all but guaranteed. He would need to put a plan into motion if he wanted to keep a step ahead of that snake.
The soldier snapped off a salute. “How may I assist?”
“I need to order a requisition for weaponry.”
“Very good, Sir. How many weapons will you need?”
Grimhilt grinned. “All of them.”
=+=
That night, Grimhilt rested his chin on his hand, pretending to gaze soulfully at the stage, all his earlier excitement and bluster long forgotten. He vowed that he would never attend the opera again after he was done with this artifice. Naira was beautiful, true enough, but he could only stomach so much dancing in one night. Freyman hadn’t even showed yet, so Grimhilt was in it for the long haul.
Perhaps the fat man wouldn’t show up at all. That would be just his luck, stuck watching the theater without any payoff. He didn’t belong here. But his informants were usually solid, and they insisted that Freyman made an appearance at the Savona Theater almost every night, just as Aruna had promised. If Grimhilt didn’t run into Freyman now, there was always tomorrow.
“Perish the thought,” he muttered under his breath.
Applause rippled through the audience around him. Grimhilt swore at his lack of focus. He ran his gaze across the crowd, forcing himself to pay more attention. On stage, Naira trailed a long, silk ribbon behind her as she spun in tight circles, clicking out a complicated polyrhythm with her feet while singing. The peers were taken with her, but he’d seen similar shows from roadside buskers. Naira probably stole the act to begin with. None of these fops would know the difference—or care.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
The song finished and the curtain fell to polite, scattered applause. As soon as the lights came on for the intermission, the nobility turned to each other in business discussions. Grimhilt chuckled. Had they lost their interest in the show so quickly? Where was the excitement? The allure of money exceeds the beauty on stage, eh?
A disturbance at the side entrance caught Grimhilt’s eye. Attendants scurried to set up a new viewing area, decorating the private opera box with flowers, lamps, and silver fruit platters. Moments later, the doors swung open and Freyman entered with his retinue.
Freyman’s arrival caused a stir in the crowd. Whispered conversations broke out around Grimhilt as they tried to figure out the once-powerful man’s motives. Few of the nobility were as well-informed as they liked to pretend, apparently. Now the need to catalogue each other’s responses would overpower their supposed love for the theater. If only he cared a little more about politics. Then he could report to Indara and they could put together a watchlist of potential allies and opponents.
He shifted in his seat, wishing he could scratch his back without drawing attention. His stiff, starched suit aggravated his dry skin. The scent of some saccharine perfume assaulted his nostrils. He grunted, trying to push aside his frustration, but the second half of the show passed far too slowly for his liking. He should have sent a younger, more fashionable officer to scope out the place this evening; he stood out like a jagged scar on a lady’s otherwise pretty face.
A smattering of applause brought his attention back to the task at hand. He stretched, a series of pops in his back betraying his age, and dismissed himself from the box. Below him, on the ground level, Freyman pressed hands and smiled at old colleagues, while his servant bowed and excused himself.
Grimhilt ran through his memory of Freyman. What was the servant’s name? Sundial or something. No, that’s a time measuring device. He sighed and slipped off through the crowd to tail the servant. Instead of returning to the coatroom, the man glanced about the theater lobby in a perfunctory sweep before trotting over to the performer’s door and slinking backstage.
A lopsided grin spread across Grimhilt’s face. The evening was finally turning in a more familiar direction. He ducked inside the door, threw on a spare mask and robe hanging from one of the stagehand’s carts, and tailed the servant. The thought struck him that Indara would laugh at his ridiculous disguise, but he didn’t care as long as he got the job done. Maybe this would be a good story for his next batch of recruits.
He found himself in a dingy hallway with faded stripes of red paint along the walls. Twin rows of plain, wooden doors led to what he presumed were private dressing rooms. At the end of the hall, a large door with a gold-gilt frame proclaimed its superior status. Freyman’s servant stopped in front of the door and knocked.
The destination bore no nameplate, but Grimhilt would wager his entire month’s salary it belonged to Naira. No other performer carried that kind of prestige, not even here in the Savona Theater. She was nobility of a different kind.
Bet that rankles some feathers around the roost.
Grimhilt padded closer, put his ear on the door. Inside, he could just make out the lilt of muffled voices. Snatches of conversation filtered out to him, incoherent babble shot through with theatrical phrases and what he assumed was stage jargon.
All this way for flattery? Since when did Freyman play the sycophant?
He waited for nearly twenty minutes, listening to foreign-sounding terms, trying to get his bearings. Perhaps this had been a mistake. As he turned to leave, however, Grimhilt heard the last thing he expected: a marriage proposal.
=+=
Rhae shrieked in excitement. The rush of air and the pressure in her stomach made her hands shake, but she focused on the albatross skull in her grip and rolled over, catching a thermal lift with her wings. The sudden shift in momentum swept her sideways, knocking her out of the warm, rising current. She mastered her panic and leaned her body left, just as Thenxi had taught her, slowly regaining equilibrium. The skull seemed to have less effect out here than she’d expected, but Rhae hung on and willed herself to slow down and control the fall sideways. Bit by bit, she shifted back toward her target, using the fissure for a guide.
Fear melted away when she looked down this time. A faint ray of light shone through the clouds above her, playing on the water below. The light might be weak sometimes, but it was still there, painting the waves even in the gloom. Rhae smiled, imagining that she was that ray of sunlight: smaller and weaker than the other members of the team, true, but she lifted everyone’s spirits at just the right time, shining into the darkness and telling everyone it would be all right.
She laughed in wonder. What had taken her so long to jump? She’d always dreamed of flying in her childhood, and now she was soaring above the ocean, drifting in dark storm clouds between ruined sections of the Bridge. What a story to tell when she got back to Fair Haven!
A shape flitted past her. Rhae turned her head to see Thenxi flying by, smiling at her like a proud grandmother. Another shape joined them, and then another. Meri, zipping about with an enthusiastic, nearly reckless abandon. Aravind, graceful despite his bulk. Others she didn’t even know yet—although their presence with her in flight made her like them instantly—filling the sky until she was certain the entire Western clan had turned out to fly with her.
Together they twirled through the sky, looping and spinning until they reached a landing spot on the island below.
“Wait! How do I land?” Rhae screamed at the fliers around her, but no one answered. The wind snatched away her words. She watched the others spread their wings wide, slowing the descent, and bending their knees when they touched down to absorb the impact. For once it didn’t look that hard.
Rhae lifted her arms to the sides, opening the wingspan as wide as she could. Cold air rushed across her face, catching the wings, slowing her down, but it wasn’t enough—
“Ahhhhhh!” Rhae screamed, thudding into the sandy ground a tangle of limbs. She rolled across the beach and face-planted into a sand dune. Groaning, she examined her body for injuries. Nothing seemed broken, but already a few bruises announced themselves when she prodded tender spots.
A whoop of victory sounded beside her. She turned to see Thenxi touch down gracefully and come over to pick her up from the sands.
Breathless with wonder, Rhae hugged Thenxi as soon as the woman helped her back up to standing. Rhae planted her feet on the ground, shaking from the adrenaline, but she couldn’t stop grinning at Thenxi. “That was amazing!”
“Looks like you had it in you after all,” Thenxi said, smug satisfaction on her face.
“You came all this way for me. Thank you. You all came! It was incredible to watch you fly. ” She hugged Thenxi, then stepped back as a thought struck her. “It was so beautiful to see, but how are we getting back up to our camp?”
“You are staying down here with me. Usually it’s not safe on the ground for long, but you will be under my protection while we continue our training. The boys will climb back up and bring down our supplies. The exercise will make them strong.”
Rhae hugged Meri and the twins and waved goodbye to Aravind and Taras, who’d been ferried down between several tandem fliers. They waved back, even serious old Taras, which made her giggle. He was strange sometimes.
Soon they were all alone on the edge of the sandy beach. High tide showed in a line of smooth, black pebbles interspersed with dozens of huge, jagged rocks. Nestled inside the shelter of these standing stones, the wind didn’t cut quite as bitterly, and Thenxi could speak at a normal volume and still be heard. She resumed her instruction.
Rhae leaned forward, determined to soak in every word. She hummed a remembering song so that she wouldn’t forget, although she couldn’t imagine ever forgetting a day like this. She might not be a fairy, but flight had been magical after all.
“We’ll rest for the night,” Thenxi finally allowed. “You’ve done well today, and we’ve got a long march tomorrow to reach the temple climb.”
Rhae gasped, her horns lighting up, then covered her mouth quickly. Humans didn’t always like the ways that she expressed excitement—Taras said they that her mannerisms made people think her immature. “You have a temple on the Bridge?”
Thenxi snorted. “You always sound like you’re shocked that we have civilization here. Do not think that we can’t hear you and Taras marvel at our strange ways.”
Rhae felt her horns grow hot as she blushed furiously. “Forgive! We’ve only ever heard of the monsters and terrors that lurk on the Bridge. No one knew that anyone lived here.”
Thenxi loomed over her suddenly, standing with her arms straight out to her sides. “And are you so sure that I am not a monster, child?”
“I’m sure!” Rhae giggled. “Or if you are, then you’re the kind of monster that I like.”
“A good answer. That is what I strive to be.”
“Really? I never would have guessed,” Rhae said. After a long moment she frowned. “You’re teasing me.”
“Humor is another sign of civilization.”
This time they both laughed until Rhae felt shaky and drained. It had been a long day of emotional highs and lows, and she needed to rest. She pulled out her bow harp and strummed a few simple chords, then picked her way through a little dance piece that was popular back home in Fair Haven. Thenxi took a few moments to get the feel of the song, then nodded along.
“Thank you for remembering to bring my instruments when you followed me down here. I can’t believe I left them!”
“I am the crèche mother, after all,” Thenxi said. “I look after all my children.”
Rhae settled down into the blanket Thenxi had brought and let out a long, deep breath. It felt good to belong somewhere. Drowsiness threatened to pull her under any moment, but Rhae fought it off for a little longer. “I didn’t think I could do it at first, but that albatross skull helped me fly. Thank you so much for your gift.”
Thenxi stroked her hair. “Want to know a secret?”
Rhae sat up and nodded. “Yes, please!”
Thenxi chuckled at her. “It was only a skull, child, nothing more. There’s no enchantment on it at all.”
“But I felt it,” Rhae insisted. She frowned, faltering. “I couldn’t have flown without it.”
Thenxi shook her head. “I built up its fable a bit in the retelling. You didn’t need it to fly. The courage was all you.”